THE GREEN RUST

BY

EDGAR WALLACE

WARD, LOCK & CO. , LIMITED LONDON AND MELBOURNE

MADE IN ENGLAND

Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd. , Frome and London

THE GREEN RUST

_Novels by_EDGAR WALLACE

_published by_WARD, LOCK AND CO. , LTD. 

_The "Sanders" Stories_

SANDERS OF THE RIVERBOSAMBO OF THE RIVERBONESLIEUTENANT BONESSANDI, THE KING-MAKERTHE PEOPLE OF THE RIVERTHE KEEPERS OF THE KING'S PEACE

_Mystery Stories_

THE DAFFODIL MYSTERYTHE DARK EYES OF LONDONBLUE HANDMR. JUSTICE MAXELLTHE JUST MEN OF CORDOVATHE GREEN RUSTTHE FELLOWSHIP OF THE FROGTHE SECRET HOUSE

CONTENTS

 CHAP. PAGE

 I THE PASSING OF JOHN MILLINBORN 7 II THE DRUNKEN MR. BEALE 14 III PUNSONBY'S DISCHARGE AN EMPLOYEE 24 IV THE LETTERS THAT WERE NOT THERE 35 V THE MAN WITH THE BIG HEAD 43 VI MR. SCOBBS OF RED HORSE VALLEY 50 VII PLAIN WORDS FROM MR. BEALE 58 VIII THE CRIME OF THE GRAND ALLIANCE 67 IX A CRIME AGAINST THE WORLD 74 X A FRUITLESS SEARCH 85 XI THE HOUSE NEAR STAINES 93 XII INTRODUCING PARSON HOMO 102 XIII AT DEANS FOLLY 109 XIV MR. BEALE SUGGESTS MARRIAGE 116 XV THE GOOD HERR STARDT 124 XVI THE PAWN TICKET 132 XVII THE JEW OF CRACOW 139 XVIII BRIDGERS BREAKS LOOSE 148 XIX OLIVA IS WILLING 156 XX THE MARRIAGE 163 XXI BEALE SEES WHITE 169 XXII HILDA GLAUM LEADS THE WAY 177 XXIII AT THE DOCTOR'S FLAT 185 XXIV THE GREEN RUST FACTORY 192 XXV THE LAST MAN AT THE BENCH 198 XXVI THE SECRET OF THE GREEN RUST 204 XXVII A SCHEME TO STARVE THE WORLD 212XXVIII THE COMING OF DR. MILSOM 219 XXIX THE LOST CODE 227 XXX THE WATCH 233 XXXI A CORNCHANDLER'S BILL 240 XXXII THE END OF VAN HEERDEN 244

CHAPTER I

THE PASSING OF JOHN MILLINBORN

"I don't know whether there's a law that stops my doing this, Jim; butif there is, you've got to get round it. You're a lawyer and you knowthe game. You're my pal and the best pal I've had, Jim, and you'll do itfor me. "

The dying man looked up into the old eyes that were watching him withsuch compassion and read their acquiescence. 

No greater difference could be imagined than existed between the man onthe bed and the slim neat figure who sat by his side. John Millinborn, broad-shouldered, big-featured, a veritable giant in frame and even inhis last days suggesting the enormous strength which had been his in hisprime, had been an outdoor man, a man of large voice and large capablehands; James Kitson had been a student from his youth up and had spenthis manhood in musty offices, stuffy courts, surrounded by cracklingbriefs and calf-bound law-books. 

Yet, between these two men, the millionaire ship-builder and thesuccessful solicitor, utterly different in their tastes and their modesof life, was a friendship deep and true. Strange that death should takethe strong and leave the weak; so thought James Kitson as he watched hisfriend. 

"I'll do what can be done, John. You leave a great responsibility uponthe girl--a million and a half of money. "

The sick man nodded. 

"I get rid of a greater one, Jim. When my father died he left a hundredthousand between us, my sister and I. I've turned my share into amillion, but that is by the way. Because she was a fairly rich girl anda wilful girl, Jim, she broke her heart. Because they knew she had themoney the worst men were attracted to her--and she chose the worst ofthe worst!"

He stopped speaking to get his breath. 

"She married a plausible villain who ruined her--spent every sou andleft her with a mountain of debt and a month-old baby. Poor Grace diedand he married again. I tried to get the baby, but he held it as ahostage. I could never trace the child after it was two years old. Itwas only a month ago I learnt the reason. The man was an internationalswindler and was wanted by the police. He was arrested in Paris andcharged in his true name--the name he had married in was false. When hecame out of prison he took his own name--and of course the child's namechanged, too. "

The lawyer nodded. 

"You want me to----?"

"Get the will proved and begin your search for Oliva Prédeaux. There isno such person. The girl's name you know, and I have told you where sheis living. You'll find nobody who knows Oliva Prédeaux--her fatherdisappeared when she was six--he's probably dead, and her stepmotherbrought her up without knowing her relationship to me--then she died andthe girl has been working ever since she was fifteen. "

"She is not to be found?"

"Until she is married. Watch her, Jim, spend all the money youwish--don't influence her unless you see she is getting the wrong kindof man.... "

His voice, which had grown to something of the old strength, suddenlydropped and the great head rolled sideways on the pillow. 

Kitson rose and crossed to the door. It opened upon a spacioussitting-room, through the big open windows of which could be seen thebroad acres of the Sussex Weald. 

A man was sitting in the window-seat, chin in hand, looking across tothe chequered fields on the slope of the downs. He was a man of thirty, with a pointed beard, and he rose as the lawyer stepped quickly into theroom. 

"Anything wrong?" he asked. 

"I think he has fainted--will you go to him, doctor?"

The young man passed swiftly and noiselessly to the bedside and made abrief examination. From a shelf near the head of the bed he took ahypodermic syringe and filled it from a small bottle. Baring thepatient's side he slowly injected the drug. He stood for a momentlooking down at the unconscious man, then came back to the big hallwhere James Kitson was waiting. 

"Well?"

The doctor shook his head. 

"It is difficult to form a judgment, " he said quietly, "his heart is allgone to pieces. Has he a family doctor?"

"Not so far as I know--he hated doctors, and has never been ill in hislife. I wonder he tolerated you. "

Dr. Van Heerden smiled. 

"He couldn't help himself. He was taken ill in the train on the way tothis place and I happened to be a fellow-passenger. He asked me to bringhim here and I have been here ever since. It is strange, " he added, "that so rich a man as Mr. Millinborn had no servant travelling with himand should live practically alone in this--well, it is little betterthan a cottage. "

Despite his anxiety, James Kitson smiled. 

"He is the type of man who hates ostentation. I doubt if he has everspent a thousand a year on himself all his life--do you think it is wiseto leave him?"

The doctor spread out his hands. 

"I can do nothing. He refused to allow me to send for a specialist and Ithink he was right. Nothing can be done for him. Still----"

He walked back to the bedside, and the lawyer came behind him. JohnMillinborn seemed to be in an uneasy sleep, and after an examination bythe doctor the two men walked back to the sitting-room. 

"The excitement has been rather much for him. I suppose he has beenmaking his will?"

"Yes, " said Kitson shortly. 

"I gathered as much when I saw you bring the gardener and the cook in towitness a document, " said Dr. Van Heerden. 

He tapped his teeth with the tip of his fingers--a nervous trick of his. 

"I wish I had some strychnine, " he said suddenly. "I ought to have someby me--in case. "

"Can't you send a servant--or I'll go, " said Kitson. "Is it procurablein the village?"

The doctor nodded. 

"I don't want you to go, " he demurred. "I have sent the car toEastbourne to get a few things I cannot buy here. It's a stiff walk tothe village and yet I doubt whether the chemist would supply thequantity I require to a servant, even with my prescription--you see, " hesmiled, "I am a stranger here. "

"I'll go with pleasure--the walk will do me good, " said the lawyerenergetically. "If there is anything we can do to prolong my poorfriend's life----"

The doctor sat at the table and wrote his prescription and handed it tothe other with an apology. 

Hill Lodge, John Millinborn's big cottage, stood on the crest of a hill, and the way to the village was steep and long, for Alfronston lay nearlya mile away. Half-way down the slope the path ran through a plantationof young ash. Here John Millinborn had preserved a few pheasants in theearly days of his occupancy of the Lodge on the hill. As Kitson enteredone side of the plantation he heard a rustling noise, as though somebodywere moving through the undergrowth. It was too heavy a noise for abolting rabbit or a startled bird to make, and he peered into the thickfoliage. He was a little nearsighted, and at first he did not see thecause of the commotion. Then:

"I suppose I'm trespassing, " said a husky voice, and a man stepped outtoward him. 

The stranger carried himself with a certain jauntiness, and he had needof what assistance artifice could lend him, for he was singularlyunprepossessing. He was a man who might as well have been sixty asfifty. His clothes soiled, torn and greasy, were of good cut. The shirtwas filthy, but it was attached to a frayed collar, and the crumpledcravat was ornamented with a cameo pin. 

But it was the face which attracted Kitson's attention. There wassomething inherently evil in that puffed face, in the dull eyes thatblinked under the thick black eyebrows. The lips, full and loose, partedin a smile as the lawyer stepped back to avoid contact with theunsavoury visitor. 

"I suppose I'm trespassing--good gad! Me trespassing--funny, veryfunny!" He indulged in a hoarse wheezy laugh and broke suddenly into atorrent of the foulest language that this hardened lawyer had everheard. 

"Pardon, pardon, " he said, stopping as suddenly. "Man of the world, eh?You'll understand that when a gentleman has grievances.... " He fumbledin his waistcoat-pocket and found a black-rimmed monocle and inserted itin his eye. There was an obscenity in the appearance of this foul wreckof a man which made the lawyer feel physically sick. 

"Trespassing, by gad!" He went back to his first conceit and his voicerasped with malignity. "Gad! If I had my way with people! I'd slit theirthroats, I would, sir. I'd stick pins in their eyes--red-hot pins. I'dboil them alive----"

Hitherto the lawyer had not spoken, but now his repulsion got the betterof his usually equable temper. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked sternly. "You're on privateproperty--take your beastliness elsewhere. "

The man glared at him and laughed. 

"Trespassing!" he sneered. "Trespassing! Very good--your servant, sir!"

He swept his derby hat from his head (the lawyer saw that he was bald), and turning, strutted back through the plantation the way he had come. It was not the way out and Kitson was half-inclined to follow and seethe man off the estate. Then he remembered the urgency of his errandand continued his journey to the village. On his way back he lookedabout, but there was no trace of the unpleasant intruder. Who was he? hewondered. Some broken derelict with nothing but the memory of formervain splendours and the rags of old fineries, nursing a dear hatred forsome more fortunate fellow. 

Nearly an hour had passed before he again panted up to the levelledshelf on which the cottage stood. 

The doctor was sitting at the window as Kitson passed. 

"How is he?"

"About the same. He had one paroxysm. Is that the strychnine? I can'ttell you how much obliged I am to you. "

He took the small packet and placed it on the window-ledge and Mr. Kitson passed into the house. 

"Honestly, doctor, what do you think of his chance?" he asked. 

Dr. Van Heerden shrugged his shoulders. 

"Honestly, I do not think he will recover consciousness. "

"Heavens!"

The lawyer was shocked. The tragic suddenness of it all stunned him. Hehad thought vaguely that days, even weeks, might pass before the endcame. 

"Not recover consciousness?" he repeated in a whisper. 

Instinctively he was drawn to the room where his friend lay and thedoctor followed him. 

John Millinborn lay on his back, his eyes closed, his face a ghastlygrey. His big hands were clutching at his throat, his shirt was tornopen at the breast. The two windows, one at each end of the room, werewide, and a gentle breeze blew the casement curtains. The lawyerstooped, his eyes moist, and laid his hand upon the burning forehead. 

"John, John, " he murmured, and turned away, blinded with tears. 

He wiped his face with a pocket-handkerchief and walked to the window, staring out at the serene loveliness of the scene. Over the weald agreat aeroplane droned to the sea. The green downs were dappled whitewith grazing flocks, and beneath the windows the ordered beds blazedand flamed with flowers, crimson and gold and white. 

As he stood there the man he had met in the plantation came to his mindand he was half-inclined to speak to the doctor of the incident. But hewas in no mood for the description and the speculation which wouldfollow. Restlessly he paced into the bedroom. The sick man had not movedand again the lawyer returned. He thought of the girl, that girl whosename and relationship with John Millinborn he alone knew. What use wouldshe make of the millions which, all unknown to her, she would sooninherit? What----

"Jim, Jim!"

He turned swiftly. 

It was John Millinborn's voice. 

"Quick--come.... "

The doctor had leapt into the room and made his way to the bed. 

Millinborn was sitting up, and as the lawyer moved swiftly in thedoctor's tracks he saw his wide eyes staring. 

"Jim, he has.... "

His head dropped forward on his breast and the doctor lowered him slowlyto the pillow. 

"What is it, John? Speak to me, old man.... "

"I'm afraid there is nothing to be done, " said the doctor as he drew upthe bedclothes. 

"Is he dead?" whispered the lawyer fearfully. 

"No--but----"

He beckoned the other into the big room and, after a glance at themotionless figure, Kitson followed. 

"There's something very strange--who is that?"

He pointed through the open window at the clumsy figure of a man who wasblundering wildly down the slope which led to the plantation. 

Kitson recognized the man immediately. It was the uninvited visitor whomhe had met in the plantation. But there was something in the haste ofthe shabby man, a hint of terror in the wide-thrown arms, that made thelawyer forget his tragic environment. 

"Where has he been?" he asked. 

"Who is he?"

The doctor's face was white and drawn as though he, too, sensed somehorror in that frantic flight. 

Kitson walked back to the room where the dying man lay, but was frozenstiff upon the threshold. 

"Doctor--doctor!"

The doctor followed the eyes of the other. Something was dripping fromthe bed to the floor--something red and horrible. Kitson set his teethand, stepping to the bedside, pulled down the covers. 

He stepped back with a cry, for from the side of John Millinbornprotruded the ivory handle of a knife. 

CHAPTER II

THE DRUNKEN MR. BEALE

Dr. Van Heerden's surgery occupied one of the four shops which formedthe ground floor of the Krooman Chambers. This edifice had been erectedby a wealthy philanthropist to provide small model flats for theprofessional classes who needed limited accommodation and a good address(they were in the vicinity of Oxford Street) at a moderate rental. Likemany philanthropists, the owner had wearied of his hobby and had soldthe block to a syndicate, whose management on more occasions than onehad been the subject of police inquiry. 

They had then fallen into the hands of an intelligent woman, who hadturned out the undesirable tenants, furnished the flats plainly, butcomfortably, and had let them to tenants who might be described assolvent, but honest. Krooman Chambers had gradually rehabilitated itselfin the eyes of the neighbourhood. 

Dr. Van Heerden had had his surgery in the building for six years. During the war he was temporarily under suspicion for sympathies withthe enemy, but no proof was adduced of his enmity and, though he hadundoubtedly been born on the wrong side of the Border at Cranenburg, which is the Prussian frontier station on the Rotterdam-Cologne line, his name was undoubtedly van Heerden, which was Dutch. Change the "van"to "von, " said the carping critics, and he was a Hun, and undoubtedlyGermany was full of von Heerens and von Heerdens. 

The doctor lived down criticism, lived down suspicion, and got togethera remunerative practice. He had the largest flat in the building, oneroom of which was fitted up as a laboratory, for he had a passion forresearch. The mysterious murder of John Millinborn had given him acertain advertisement which had not been without its advantages. Thefact that he had been in attendance on the millionaire had brought him alarger fame. 

His theories as to how the murder had been committed by some one who hadgot through the open window whilst the two men were out of the room hadbeen generally accepted, for the police had found footmarks on theflowerbeds, over which the murderer must have passed. They had not, however, traced the seedy-looking personage whom Mr. Kitson had seen. This person had disappeared as mysteriously as he had arrived. 

Three months after the murder the doctor stood on the steps of the broadentrance-hall which led to the flats, watching the stream of pedestrianspassing. It was six o'clock in the evening and the streets were alivewith shop-girls and workers on their way home from business. 

He smoked a cigarette and his interest was, perhaps, more apparent thanreal. He had attended his last surgery case and the door of the "shop, "with its sage-green windows, had been locked for the night. 

His eyes wandered idly to the Oxford Street end of the thoroughfare, andsuddenly he started. A girl was walking toward him. At this hour therewas very little wheeled traffic, for Lattice Street is almost acul-de-sac, and she had taken the middle of the road. She was dressedwith that effective neatness which brings the wealthy and the work-girlto a baffling level, in a blue serge costume of severe cut; a plainwhite linen coat-collar and a small hat, which covered, but did nothide, a mass of hair which, against the slanting sunlight at her back, lent the illusion of a golden nimbus about her head. 

The eyes were deep-set and wise with the wisdom which is found alike inthose who have suffered and those who have watched suffering. The nosewas straight, the lips scarlet and full. You might catalogue everyfeature of Oliva Cresswell and yet arrive at no satisfactory explanationfor her charm. 

Not in the clear ivory pallor of complexion did her charm lie. Nor inthe trim figure with its promising lines, nor in the poise of head norpride of carriage, nor in the ready laughter that came to those quieteyes. In no one particular quality of attraction did she excel. Ratherwas her charm the charm of the perfect agglomeration of all thosecharacteristics which men find alluring and challenging. 

She raised her hand with a free unaffected gesture, and greeted thedoctor with a flashing smile. 

"Well, Miss Cresswell, I haven't seen you for quite a long time. "

"Two days, " she said solemnly, "but I suppose doctors who know all thesecrets of nature have some very special drug to sustain them in trialslike that. "

"Don't be unkind to the profession, " he laughed, "and don't besarcastic, to one so young. By the way, I have never asked you did youget your flat changed?"

She shook her head and frowned. 

"Miss Millit says she cannot move me. "

"Abominable, " he said, and was annoyed. "Did you tell her about Beale?"

She nodded vigorously. 

"I said to her, says I, " she had a trick of mimicry and dropped easilyinto the southern English accent, "'Miss Millit, are you aware that thegentleman who lives opposite to me has been, to my knowledge, consistently drunk for two months--ever since he came to live atKroomans?' 'Does he annoy you?' says she. 'Drunken people always annoyme, ' says I. 'Mr. Beale arrives home every evening in a condition whichI can only describe as deplorable. '"

"What did she say?"

The girl made a little grimace and became serious. 

"She said if he did not speak to me or interfere with me or frighten meit was none of my business, or something to that effect. " She laughedhelplessly. "Really, the flat is so wonderful and so cheap that onecannot afford to get out--you don't know how grateful I am to you, doctor, for having got diggings here at all--Miss Millit isn't keen onsingle young ladies. "

She sniffed and laughed. 

"Why do you laugh?" he asked. 

"I was thinking how queerly you and I met. "

The circumstances of their meeting had indeed been curious. She wasemployed as a cashier at one of the great West End stores. He had madesome sort of purchase and made payment in a five-pound note which hadproved to be counterfeit. It was a sad moment for the girl when theforgery was discovered, for she had to make up the loss from her ownpocket and that was no small matter. 

Then the miracle had happened. The doctor had arrived full of apologies, had presented his card and explained. The note was one which he had beenkeeping as a curiosity. It has been passed on him and was such anexcellent specimen that he intended having it framed but it had gotmixed up with his other money. 

"You started by being the villain of the piece and ended by being mygood fairy, " she said. "I should never have known there was a vacancyhere but for you. I should not have been admitted by the proper MissMillit but for the terror of your name. "

She dropped her little hand lightly on his shoulder. It was a gesture ofgood-comradeship. 

She half-turned to go when an angry exclamation held her. 

"What is it? Oh, I see--No. 4!"

She drew a little closer to the doctor's side and watched with narrowinglids the approaching figure. 

"Why does he do it--oh, why does he do it?" she demanded impatiently. "How can a man be so weak, so wretchedly weak? There's nothing justifiesthat!"

"That" was apparently trying to walk the opposite kerb as though itwere a tight-rope. Save for a certain disorder of attire, a protrudingnecktie and a muddy hat, he was respectable enough. He was young and, under other conditions, passably good looking. But with his fair hairstreaming over his forehead and his hat at the back of his head helacked fascination. His attempt, aided by a walking-stick used as abalancing-pole, to keep his equilibrium on six inches of kerbing, mighthave been funny to a less sensitive soul than Oliva's. 

He slipped, recovered himself with a little whoop, slipped again, andfinally gave up the attempt, crossing the road to his home. 

He recognized the doctor with a flourish of his hat. 

"Glorious weather, my Escu-escu-lapius, " he said, with a little slur inhis voice but a merry smile in his eye; "simply wonderful weather forbacteria trypanosomes (got it) an' all the jolly little microbes. "

He smiled at the doctor blandly, ignoring the other's significant glanceat the girl, who had drawn back so that she might not find herselfincluded in the conversation. 

"I'm goin' to leave you, doctor, " he went on, "goin' top floor, awayfrom the evil smells of science an' fatal lure of beauty. Top floorjolly stiff climb when a fellow's all lit up like the HotelDoodledum--per arduis ad astra--through labour to the stars--fine motto. Flying Corps' motto--my motto. Goo' night!"

Off came his hat again and he staggered up the broad stone stairs anddisappeared round a turn. Later they heard his door slam. 

"Awful--and yet----"

"And yet?" echoed the doctor. 

"I thought he was funny. I nearly laughed. But how terrible! He's soyoung and he has had a decent education. "

She shook her head sadly. 

Presently she took leave of the doctor and made her way upstairs. Threedoors opened from the landing. Numbers 4, 6 and 8. 

She glanced a little apprehensively at No. 4 as she passed, but therewas no sound or sign of the reveller, and she passed into No. 6 andclosed the door. 

The accommodation consisted of two rooms, a bed-and a sitting-room, abath-room and a tiny kitchen. The rent was remarkably low, less than aquarter of her weekly earnings, and she managed to live comfortably. 

She lit the gas-stove and put on the kettle and began to lay the table. There was a "tin of something" in the diminutive pantry, a small loafand a jug of milk, a tomato or two and a bottle of dressing--the hightea to which she sat down (a little flushed of the face and quite happy)was seasoned with content. She thought of the doctor and accountedherself lucky to have so good a friend. He was so sensible, there was no"nonsense" about him. He never tried to hold her hand as the stupidbuyers did, nor make clumsy attempts to kiss her as one of the partnershad done. 

The doctor was different from them all. She could not imagine himsitting by the side of a girl in a bus pressing her foot with his, oraccosting her in the street with a "Haven't we met before?"

She ate her meal slowly, reading the evening newspaper and dreaming atintervals. It was dusk when she had finished and she switched on theelectric light. There was a shilling-in-the-slot meter in the bath-roomthat acted eccentrically. Sometimes one shilling would supply light fora week, at other times after two days the lights would flickerspasmodically and expire. 

She remembered that it was a perilous long time since she had bribed themeter and searched her purse for a shilling. She found that she hadhalf-crowns, florins and sixpences, but she had no shillings. This, ofcourse, is the chronic condition of all users of the slot-meters, andshe accepted the discovery with the calm of the fatalist. Sheconsidered. Should she go out and get change from the obligingtobacconist at the corner or should she take a chance?

"If I don't go out you will, " she said addressing the light, and itwinked ominously. 

She opened the door and stepped into the passage, and as she did so thelights behind her went out. There was one small lamp on the landing, aplutocratic affair independent of shilling meters. She closed the doorbehind her and walked to the head of the stairs. As she passed No. 4, she noted the door was ajar and she stopped. She did not wish to riskmeeting the drunkard, and she turned back. 

Then she remembered the doctor, he lived in No. 8. Usually when he wasat home there was a light in his hall which showed through the fanlight. Now, however, the place was in darkness. She saw a card on the door andwalking closer she read it in the dim light. 

 +---------------------------------+ | | | | | BACK AT 12. WAIT. | | | | | +---------------------------------+

He was out and was evidently expecting a caller. So there was nothingfor it but to risk meeting the exuberant Mr. Beale. She flew down thestairs and gained the street with a feeling of relief. 

The obliging tobacconist, who was loquacious on the subject of Germansand Germany, detained her until her stock of patience was exhausted; butat last she made her escape. Half-way across the street she saw thefigure of a man standing in the dark hallway of the chambers, and herheart sank. 

"Matilda, you're a fool, " she said to herself. 

Her name was not Matilda, but in moments of self-depreciation she waswont to address herself as such. 

She walked boldly up to the entrance and passed through. The man she sawout of the corner of her eye but did not recognize. He seemed as littledesirous of attracting attention as she. She thought he was rather stoutand short, but as to this she was not sure. She raced up the stairs andturned on the landing to her room. The door of No. 4 was still ajar--butwhat was much more important, so was her door. There was no doubt aboutit, between the edge of the door and the jamb there was a good twoinches of space, and she distinctly remembered not only closing it, butalso pushing it to make sure that it was fast. What should she do? Toher annoyance she felt a cold little feeling inside her and her handswere trembling. 

"If the lights were only on I'd take the risk, " she thought; but thelights were not on and it was necessary to pass into the dark interiorand into a darker bath-room--a room which is notoriously adaptable formurder--before she could reach the meter. 

"Rubbish, Matilda!" she scoffed quaveringly, "go in, you frightenedlittle rabbit--you forgot to shut the door, that's all. "

She pushed the door open and with a shiver stepped inside. 

Then a sound made her stop dead. It was a shuffle and a creak such as adog might make if he brushed against the chair. 

"Who's there?" she demanded. 

There was no reply. 

"Who's there?"

She took one step forward and then something reached out at her. A bighand gripped her by the sleeve of her blouse and she heard a deepbreathing. 

She bit her lips to stop the scream that arose, and with a wrench toreherself free, leaving a portion of a sleeve in the hands of the unknown. 

She darted backward, slamming the door behind her. In two flying stridesshe was at the door of No. 4, hammering with both her fists. 

"Drunk or sober he is a man! Drunk or sober he is a man!" she mutteredincoherently. 

Only twice she beat upon the door when it opened suddenly and Mr. Bealestood in the doorway. 

"What is it?"

She hardly noticed his tone. 

"A man--a man, in my flat, " she gasped, and showed her torn sleeve, "aman... !"

He pushed her aside and made for the door. 

"The key?" he said quickly. 

With trembling fingers she extracted it from her pocket. 

"One moment. "

He disappeared into his own flat and presently came out holding anelectric torch. He snapped back the lock, put the key in his pocket andthen, to her amazement, he slipped a short-barrelled revolver from hiship-pocket. 

With his foot he pushed open the door and she watched him vanish intothe gloomy interior. 

Presently came his voice, sharp and menacing:

"Hands up!"

A voice jabbered something excitedly and then she heard Mr. Beale speak. 

"Is your light working?--you can come in, I have him in thedining-room. "

She stepped into the bath-room, the shilling dropped through theaperture, the screw grated as she turned it and the lights sprang tolife. 

In one corner of the room was a man, a white-faced, sickly looking manwith a head too big for his body. His hands were above his head, hislower lip trembled in terror. 

Mr. Beale was searching him with thoroughness and rapidity. 

"No gun, all right, put your hands down. Now turn out your pockets. "

The man said something in a language which the girl could notunderstand, and Mr. Beale replied in the same tongue. He put thecontents, first of one pocket then of the other, upon the table, and thegirl watched the proceedings with open eyes. 

"Hello, what's this?"

Beale picked up a card. Thereon was scribbled a figure which might havebeen 6 or 4. 

"I see, " said Beale, "now the other pocket--you understand English, myfriend?"

Stupidly the man obeyed. A leather pocket-case came from an insidepocket and this Beale opened. 

Therein was a small packet which resembled the familiar wrapper of aseidlitz powder. Beale spoke sharply in a language which the girlrealized was German, and the man shook his head. He said something whichsounded like "No good, " several times. 

"I'm going to leave you here alone for awhile, " said Beale, "my friendand I are going downstairs together--I shall not be long. "

They went out of the flat together, the little man with the big headprotesting, and she heard their footsteps descending the stairs. Presently Beale came up alone and walked into the sitting-room. And thenthe strange unaccountable fact dawned on her--he was perfectly sober. 

His eyes were clear, his lips firm, and the fair hair whose tendenciesto bedragglement had emphasized his disgrace was brushed back over hishead. He looked at her so earnestly that she grew embarrassed. 

"Miss Cresswell, " he said quietly. "I am going to ask you to do me agreat favour. "

"If it is one that I can grant, you may be sure that I will, " shesmiled, and he nodded. 

"I shall not ask you to do anything that is impossible in spite of thehumorist's view of women, " he said. "I merely want you to tell nobodyabout what has happened to-night. "

"Nobody?" she looked at him in astonishment. "But the doctor----"

"Not even the doctor, " he said with a twinkle in his eye. "I ask youthis as a special favour--word of honour?"

She thought a moment. 

"I promise, " she said. "I'm to tell nobody about that horrid man fromwhom you so kindly saved me----"

He lifted his head. 

"Understand this, Miss Cresswell, please, " he said: "I don't want you tobe under any misapprehension about that 'horrid man'--he was just asscared as you, and he would not have harmed you. I have been waiting forhim all the evening. "

"Waiting for him?"

He nodded again. 

"Where?"

"In the doctor's flat, " he said calmly, "you see, the doctor and I aredeadly rivals. We are rival scientists, and I was waiting for the hairyman to steal a march on him. "

"But, but--how did you get in. "

"I had this key, " he said holding up a small key, "remember, word ofhonour! The man whom I have just left came up and wasn't certain whetherhe had to go in No. 8, that's the doctor's, or No. 6--_and the one keyfits both doors!_"

He inserted the key which was in the lock of her door and it turnedeasily. 

"And this is what I was waiting for--it was the best the poor devilcould do. "

He lifted the paper package and broke the seals. Unfolding the papercarefully he laid it on the table, revealing a teaspoonful of whatlooked like fine green sawdust. 

"What is it?" she whispered fearfully. 

Somehow she knew that she was in the presence of a big elementarydanger--something gross and terrible in its primitive force. 

"That, " said Mr. Beale, choosing his words nicely, "that is a passableimitation of the Green Rust, or, as it is to me, the Green Terror. "

"The Green Rust? What is the Green Rust--what can it do?" she asked inbewilderment. 

"I hope we shall never know, " he said, and in his clear eyes was a hintof terror. 

CHAPTER III

PUNSONBY'S DISCHARGE AN EMPLOYEE

Oliva Cresswell rose with the final despairing buzz of her alarm clockand conquered the almost irresistible temptation to close her eyes, justto see what it felt like. Her first impression was that she had had nosleep all night. She remembered going to bed at one and turning fromside to side until three. She remembered deciding that the best thing todo was to get up, make some tea and watch the sun rise, and that whilstshe was deciding whether such a step was romantic or just silly, shemust have gone to sleep. 

Still, four hours of slumber is practically no slumber to a healthy girland she swung her pyjama-ed legs over the side of the bed and spentquite five minutes in a fatuous admiration of her little white feet. With an effort she dragged herself to the bath-room and let the tap run. Then she put on the kettle. Half an hour later she was feeling well butunenthusiastic. 

When she became fully conscious, which was on her way to business, sherealized she was worried. She had been made a party to a secret withouther wish--and the drunken Mr. Beale, that youthful profligate, hadreally forced this confidence upon her. Only, and this she recalled witha start which sent her chin jerking upward (she was in the bus at thetime and the conductor, thinking she was signalling him to stop, pulledthe bell), only Mr. Beale was surprisingly sober and masterful for oneso weak of character. 

Ought she to tell the doctor--Dr. Van Heerden, who had been so good afriend of hers? It seemed disloyal, it was disloyal, horribly disloyalto him, to hide the fact that Mr. Beale had actually been in thedoctor's room at night. 

But was it a coincidence that the same key opened her door and thedoctor's? If it were so, it was an embarrassing coincidence. She mustchange the locks without delay. 

The bus set her down at the corner of Punsonby's great block. Punsonby'sis one of the most successful and at the same time one of the mostexclusive dress-houses in London, and Oliva had indeed been fortunate insecuring her present position, for employment at Punsonby's was almostequal to Government employment in its permanency, as it was certainlymore lucrative in its pay. 

As she stepped on to the pavement she glanced up at the big ornateclock. She was in good time, she said to herself, and was pushing openthe big glass door through which employees pass to the variousdepartments when a hand touched her gently on the arm. 

She turned in surprise to face Mr. Beale, looking particularly smart ina well-fitting grey suit, a grey felt hat and a large bunch of violetsin his buttonhole. 

"Excuse me, Miss Cresswell, " he said pleasantly, "may I have one wordwith you?"

She looked at him doubtfully. 

"I rather wish you had chosen another time and another place, Mr. Beale, " she said frankly. 

He nodded. 

"I realize it is rather embarrassing, " he said, "but unfortunately mybusiness cannot wait. I am a business man, you know, " he smiled, "inspite of my dissolute habits. "

She looked at him closely, for she thought she detected a gentle mockerybehind his words, but he was not smiling now. 

"I won't keep you more than two minutes, " he went on, "but in that twominutes I have a great deal to tell you. I won't bore you with the storyof my life. "

This time she saw the amusement in his eyes and smiled against her will, because she was not feeling particularly amused. 

"I have a business in the city of London, " he said, "and again I wouldask you to respect my confidence. I am a wheat expert. "

"A wheat expert?" she repeated with a puzzled frown. 

"It's a queer job, isn't it? but that's what I am. I have a vacancy inmy office for a confidential secretary. It is a nice office, the pay isgood, the hours are few and the work is light. I want to know whetheryou will accept the position. "

She shook her head, regarding him with a new interest, from whichsuspicion was not altogether absent. 

"It is awfully kind of you, Mr. Beale, and adds another to the debts Iowe you, " she said, "but I have no desire to leave Punsonby's. It iswork I like, and although I am sure you are not interested in myprivate business"--he could have told her that he was very muchinterested in her private business, but he refrained--"I do not mindtelling you that I am earning a very good salary and I have no intentionor desire to change my situation. "

His eyes twinkled. 

"Ah well, that's my misfortune, " he said, "there are only two things Ican say. The first is that if you work for me you will neither bedistressed nor annoyed by any habits of mine which you may have observedand which may perhaps have prejudiced you against me. In the secondplace, I want you to promise me that if you ever leave Punsonby's youwill give me the first offer of your services. "

She laughed. 

"I think you are very funny, Mr. Beale, but I feel sure that you meanwhat you say, and that you would confine your--er--little eccentricitiesto times outside of business hours. As far as leaving Punsonby's isconcerned I promise you that I will give you the first offer of myinvaluable services if ever I leave. And now I am afraid I must runaway. I am awfully obliged to you for what you did for me last night. "

He looked at her steadily in the eye. 

"I have no recollection of anything that happened last night, " he said, "and I should be glad if your memory would suffer the same lapse. "

He shook hands with her, lifted his hat and turned abruptly away, andshe looked after him till the boom of the clock recalled her to the factthat the head of the firm of Punsonby was a stickler for punctuality. 

She went into the great cloak-room and hung up her coat and hat. As sheturned to the mirror to straighten her hair she came face to face with atall, dark girl who had been eyeing her thoughtfully. 

"Good morning, " said Oliva, and there was in her tone more of politenessthan friendship, for although these two girls had occupied the sameoffice for more than a year, there was between them an incompatibilitywhich no length of acquaintance could remove. 

Hilda Glaum was of Swiss extraction, and something of a mystery. Shewas good looking in a sulky, saturnine way, but her known virtuesstopped short at her appearance. She neither invited nor gaveconfidence, and in this respect suited Oliva, but unlike Oliva, she madeno friends, entered into none of the periodical movements amongst thegirls, was impervious to the attractions of the river in summer and ofthe Proms in winter, neither visited nor received. 

"'Morning, " replied the girl shortly; then: "Have you been upstairs?"

"No--why?"

"Oh, nothing. "

Oliva mounted to the floor where her little office was. She and Hildadealt with the registered mail, extracted and checked the money thatcame from the post-shoppers and sent on the orders to the variousdepartments. 

Three sealed bags lay on her desk, and a youth from the postaldepartment waited to receive a receipt for them. This she scribbled, after comparing the numbers attached to the seals with those inscribedon the boy's receipt-book. 

For some reason Hilda had not followed her, and she was alone and hadtumbled the contents of the first bag on to her desk when the managingdirector of Punsonby's made a surprising appearance at theglass-panelled door of her office. 

He was a large, stout and important-looking man, bald and bearded. Heenjoyed an episcopal manner, and had a trick of pulling back his headwhen he asked questions, as though he desired to evade the full force ofthe answer. 

He stood in the doorway and beckoned her out, and she went without anypremonition of what was in store for her. 

"Ah, Miss Cresswell, " he said. "I--ah--am sorry I did not see you beforeyou had taken off your coat and hat. Will you come to my office?"

"Certainly, Mr. White, " said the girl, wondering what had happened. 

He led the way with his majestic stride, dangling a pair of pince-nezby their cord, as a fastidious person might carry a mouse by its tail, and ushered her into his rosewood-panelled office. 

"Sit down, sit down, Miss Cresswell, " he said, and seating himself athis desk he put the tips of his fingers together and looked up to theceiling for inspiration. "I am afraid, Miss Cresswell, " he said, "that Ihave--ah--an unpleasant task. "

"An unpleasant task, Mr. White?" she said, with a sinking feeling insideher. 

He nodded. 

"I have to tell you that Punsonby's no longer require your services. "

She rose to her feet, looking down at him open-mouthed with wonder andconsternation. 

"Not require my services?" she said slowly. "Do you mean that I amdischarged?"

He nodded again. 

"In lieu of a month's notice I will give you a cheque for a month'ssalary, plus the unexpired portion of this week's salary. "

"But why am I being discharged? Why? Why?"

Mr. White, who had opened his eyes for a moment to watch the effect ofhis lightning stroke, closed them again. 

"It is not the practice of Punsonby's to give any reason for dispensingwith the services of its employees, " he said oracularly, "it issufficient that I should tell you that hitherto you have given everysatisfaction, but for reasons which I am not prepared to discuss we mustdispense with your services. "

Her head was in a whirl. She could not grasp what had happened. For fiveyears she had worked in the happiest circumstances in this great store, where everybody had been kind to her and where her tasks had beencongenial. She had never thought of going elsewhere. She regardedherself, as did all the better-class employees, as a fixture. 

"Do I understand, " she asked, "that I am to leave--at once?"

Mr. White nodded. He pushed the cheque across the table and she took itup and folded it mechanically. 

"And you are not going to tell me why?"

Mr. White shook his head. 

"Punsonby's do nothing without a good reason, " he said solemnly, feelingthat whatever happened he must make a good case for Punsonby's, and thatwhoever was to blame for this unhappy incident it was not an august firmwhich paid its fourteen per cent. With monotonous regularity. "Welack--ah--definite knowledge to proceed any further in this matterthan--in fact, than we have proceeded. Definite knowledge" (the girl wasall the more bewildered by his cumbersome diplomacy) "definite knowledgewas promised but has not--in fact, has not come to hand. It is all veryunpleasant--very unpleasant, " and he shook his head. 

She bowed and turning, walked quickly from the room, passed to the lobbywhere her coat was hung, put on her hat and left Punsonby's for ever. 

It was when she had reached the street that, with a shock, sheremembered Beale's words and she stood stock-still, pinching her lipthoughtfully. Had he known? Why had he come that morning, hours beforehe was ordinarily visible--if the common gossip of Krooman Mansions beworthy of credence?--and then as though to cap the amazing events of themorning she saw him. He was standing on the corner of the street, leaning on his cane, smoking a long cigarette through a much longerholder, and he seemed wholly absorbed in watching a linesman, perchedhigh above the street, repairing a telegraph wire. 

She made a step toward him, but stopped. He was so evidently engrossedin the acrobatics of the honest workman in mid-air that he could nothave seen her and she turned swiftly and walked the other way. 

She had not reached the end of the block before he was at her side. 

"You are going home early, Miss Cresswell, " he smiled. 

She turned to him. 

"Do you know why?" she asked. 

"I don't know why--unless----"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you have been discharged, " he said coolly. 

Her brows knit. 

"What do you know about my discharge?" she asked. 

"Such things are possible, " said Mr. Beale. 

"Did you know I was going to be discharged?" she asked again. 

He nodded. 

"I didn't exactly know you would be discharged this morning, but I hadan idea you would be discharged at some time or other. That is why Icame with my offer. "

"Which, of course, I won't accept, " she snapped. 

"Which, of course, you have accepted, " he said quietly. "Believe me, Iknow nothing more than that Punsonby's have been prevailed upon todischarge you. What reason induced them to take that step, honestly Idon't know. "

"But why did you think so?"

He was grave of a sudden. 

"I just thought so, " he said. "I am not going to be mysterious with youand I can only tell you that I had reasons to believe that some suchstep would be taken. "

She shrugged her shoulders wearily. 

"It is quite mysterious enough, " she said. "Do you seriously want me towork for you?"

He nodded. 

"You didn't tell me your city address. "

"That is why I came back, " he said. 

"Then you knew I was coming out?"

"I knew you would come out some time in the day. "

She stared at him. 

"Do you mean to tell me that you would have waited all day to give meyour address?"

He laughed. 

"I only mean this, " he replied, "that I should have waited all day. "

It was a helpless laugh which echoed his. 

"My address is 342 Lothbury, " he went on, "342. You may begin work thisafternoon and----" He hesitated. 

"And?" she repeated. 

"And I think it would be wise if you didn't tell your friend, thedoctor, that I am employing you. "

He was examining his finger-nails attentively as he spoke, and he didnot meet her eye. 

"There are many reasons, " he went on. "In the first place, I haveblotted my copy-book, as they say, in Krooman Mansions, and it might notrebound to your credit. "

"You should have thought of that before you asked me to come to you, "she said. 

"I thought of it a great deal, " he replied calmly. 

There was much in what he said, as the girl recognized. She blamedherself for her hasty promise, but somehow the events of the previousnight had placed him on a different footing, had given him a certainindefinable position to which the inebriate Mr. Beale had not aspired. 

"I am afraid I am rather bewildered by all the mystery of it, " she said, "and I don't think I will come to the office to-day. To-morrow morning, at what hour?"

"Ten o'clock, " he said, "I will be there to explain your duties. Yoursalary will be £5 a week. You will be in charge of the office, to whichI very seldom go, by the way, and your work will be preparingstatistical returns of the wheat-crops in all the wheat-fields of theworld for the last fifty years. "

"It sounds thrilling, " she said, and a quick smile flashed across hisface. 

"It is much more thrilling than you imagine, " were his parting words. 

She reached Krooman Mansions just as the doctor was coming out, and helooked at her in surprise. 

"You are back early!"

Should she tell him? There was no reason why she shouldn't. He had beena good friend of hers and she felt sure of his sympathy. It occurred toher at that moment that Mr. Beale had been most unsympathetic, and hadnot expressed one word of regret. 

"Yes, I've been discharged, " she exclaimed. 

"Discharged? Impossible!"

She nodded. 

"To prove that it is possible it has happened, " she said cheerfully. 

"My dear girl, this is monstrous! What excuse did they give?"

"None. " This was said with a lightness of tone which did not reflect theindignation she felt at heart. 

"Did they give you no reason?"

"They gave me none. They gave me my month's cheque and just told me togo off, and off I came like the well-disciplined wage-earner I am. "

"But it is monstrous, " he said indignantly. "I will go and see them. Iknow one of the heads of the firm--at least, he is a patient of mine. "

"You will do nothing of the kind, " she replied firmly. "It reallydoesn't matter. "

"What are you going to do? By Jove!" he said suddenly, "what a splendididea! I want a clinical secretary. "

The humour of it got the better of her, and she laughed in his face. 

"What is the joke?" he asked. 

"Oh, I am so sorry, doctor, but you mustn't think I am ungrateful, but Iam beginning to regard myself as one of the plums in the labour market. "

"Have you another position?" he asked quickly. 

"I have just accepted one, " she said, and he did not disguise hisdisappointment, which might even have been interpreted, were Oliva moreconceited, into absolute chagrin. 

"You are very quick, " said he, and his voice had lost some of itsenthusiasm. "What position have you taken?"

"I am going into an office in the city, " she said. 

"That will be dull. If you have settled it in your mind, of course, Icannot alter your decision, but I would be quite willing to give you £5or £6 a week, and the work would be very light. "

She held out her hand, and there was a twinkle in her eye. 

"London is simply filled with people who want to give me £5 a week forwork which is very light; really I am awfully grateful to you, doctor. "

She felt more cheerful as she mounted the stairs than she thought wouldhave been possible had such a position been forecast and had she tospeculate upon the attitude of mind with which she would meet such amisfortune. 

Punsonby's, for all the humiliation of her dismissal, seemed fairlyunimportant. Some day she would discover the circumstances which haddecided the high gods who presided over the ready-made clothing businessin their action. 

She unlocked the door and passed in, not without a comprehensive and anamused glance which took in the sober front doors of her new employerand her would-be employer. 

"Sarah, your luck's in, " she said, as she banged the door--Sarah was theapproving version of Matilda. "If the wheezy man fires you, be surethere'll be a good angel waiting on the doorstep to offer you £20 a weekfor 'phoning the office once a day. "

It occurred to her that it would be wise to place on record her protestagainst her summary dismissal, and she went to the littlebookshelf-writing-table where she kept her writing-material to inditethe epistle whilst she thought of it. It was one of those littlefumed-oak contraptions where the desk is formed by a hinged flap whichserves when not in use to close the desk. 

She pulled out the two little supports, inserted the key in the lock, but it refused to turn, for the simple reason that it was unlocked. Shehad distinctly remembered that morning locking it after putting away thebill which had arrived with the morning post. 

She pulled down the flap slowly and stared in amazement at the littlewhich it hid. Every pigeon-hole had been ransacked and the contents werepiled up in a confused heap. The two tiny drawers in which she keptstamps and nibs were out and emptied. 

CHAPTER IV

THE LETTERS THAT WERE NOT THERE

She made a rapid survey of the documents. They were unimportant, andconsisted mainly of letters from the few girl friends she had madeduring her stay at Punsonby's--old theatre programmes, recipes copiedfrom newspapers and bunches of snapshots taken on her last summerexcursion. 

She arranged the things in some sort of rough order and made aninspection of her bedroom. Here, too, there was evidence that somebodyhad been searching the room. The drawers of her dressing-table wereopen, and though the contents had been little disturbed, it was clearthat they had been searched. She made another discovery. The window ofthe bedroom was open at the bottom. Usually it was open half-way downfrom the top, and was fastened in that position by a patent catch. Thisprecaution was necessary, because the window looked upon a narrow ironparapet which ran along the building and communicated with thefire-escape. She looked out. Evidently the intruder had both come andgone this way, and as evidently her return had disturbed him in hisinspection, for it was hardly likely he would leave her papers andbureau in that state of confusion. 

She made a brief inspection of the drawers in the dressing-table, and sofar as she could see nothing was missing. She went back to thewriting-bureau, mechanically put away the papers, littlememorandum-books and letters which had been dragged from theirpigeon-holes, then resting her elbow on the desk she sat, chin in hand, her pretty forehead wrinkled in a frown, recalling the events of themorning. 

Who had searched her desk? What did they hope to discover? She had noillusions that this was the work of a common thief. There was somethingbehind all this, something sinister and terrifying. 

What association had the search with her summary dismissal and what didthe pompous Mr. White mean when he talked about definite knowledge?Definite knowledge of what? She gave it up with a shrug. She was not asmuch alarmed as disturbed. Life was grating a little, and she resentedthis departure from the smooth course which it had hitherto run. Sheresented the intrusion of Mr. Beale, who was drunk one moment and soberthe next, who had offices in the city which he did not visit and whotook such an inordinate interest in her affairs, and she resented himall the more because, in some indefinable way, he had shaken herfaith--no, not shaken her faith, that was too strong a term--he hadpared the mild romance which Dr. Van Heerden's friendship represented. 

She got up from the table and paced the room, planning her day. Shewould go out to lunch and indulge in the dissipation of a matinee. Perhaps she would stay out to dinner and come back--she shiveredunconsciously and looked round the room. Somehow she did not lookforward to an evening spent alone in her flat. 

"Matilda, you're getting maudlin, " she said, "you are getting romantic, too. You are reading too many sensational novels and seeing too manysensational films. "

She walked briskly into her bedroom, unhooked a suit from the wardrobeand laid it on the bed. 

At that moment there came a knock at the door. She put down theclothes-brush which was in her hand, walked out into the hall, openedthe door and stepped back. Three men stood in the passage without. Twowere strangers with that curious official look which the plain-clothespoliceman can never wholly eradicate from his bearing. The third was Mr. White, more pompous and more solemn than ever. 

"Miss Cresswell?" asked one of the strangers. 

"That is my name. "

"May we come inside? I want to see you. "

She led the way to her little sitting-room. Mr. White followed in therear. 

"Your name is Oliva Cresswell. You were recently employed by Punsonby's, Limited, as cashier. "

"That is true, " she said, wondering what was coming next. 

"Certain information was laid against you, " said the spokesman, "as aresult of which you were discharged from the firm this morning?"

She raised her eyebrows in indignant surprise. 

"Information laid against me?" she said haughtily. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that a charge was made against you that you were convertingmoney belonging to the firm to your own use. That was the charge, Ibelieve, sir?" He turned to Mr. White. 

Mr. White nodded slowly. 

"It is a lie. It is an outrageous lie, " cried the girl, turning flamingeyes upon the stout managing director of Punsonby's. "You know it's alie, Mr. White! Thousands of pounds have passed through my hands and Ihave never--oh, it's cruel. "

"If you will only keep calm for a little while, miss, " said the man, whowas not unused to such outbreaks, "I will explain that at the moment ofyour dismissal there was no evidence against you. "

"No definite knowledge of your offence, " murmured Mr. White. 

"And now?" demanded the girl. 

"Now we have information, miss, to the effect that three registeredletters, containing in all the sum of £63----"

"Fourteen and sevenpence, " murmured Mr. White. 

"Sixty-three pounds odd, " said the detective, "which were abstracted byyou yesterday are concealed in this flat. "

"In the left-hand bottom drawer of your bureau, " murmured Mr. White. "That is the definite knowledge which has come to us--it is a greatpity. "

The girl stared from one to the other. 

"Three registered envelopes, " she said incredulously; "in this flat?"

"In the bottom drawer of your bureau, " mumbled Mr. White, who stoodthroughout the interview with his eyes closed, his hands clasped infront of him, a picture of a man performing a most painful act of duty. 

"I have a warrant----" began the detective. 

"You need no warrant, " said the girl quietly, "you are at liberty tosearch this flat or bring a woman to search me. I have nothing in theserooms which I am ashamed that you should see. "

The detective turned to his companion. 

"Fred, " he said, "just have a look over that writing-bureau. Is itlocked, miss?"

She had closed and locked the secretaire and she handed the man the key. The detective who had done the speaking passed into the bedroom, and thegirl heard him pulling out the drawers. She did not move from where shestood confronting her late employer, still preserving his attitude ofsomnolent detachment. 

"Mr. White, " she asked quietly, "I have a right to know who accused meof stealing from your firm. "

He made no reply. 

"Even a criminal has a right to that, you know, " she said, recoveringsome of her poise. "I suppose that you have been missing things forquite a long while--people always miss things for quite a long whilebefore the thief is discovered, according to the Sunday papers. "

"I do not read newspapers published on the Lord's Day, " said Mr. Whitereproachfully. "I do not know the habits of the criminal classes, but asyou say, and I fear I must convey the gist of your speech to theofficers of the law, money has been missed from your department for aconsiderable time. As to your accuser, acting as--ah--as a good citizenand performing the duties which are associated with good-citizenship, Icannot reveal his, her, or their name. "

She was eyeing him curiously with a gleam of dormant laughter in herclear eyes. Then she heard a hurried footstep in the little passage andremembered that the door had been left open and she looked round. 

The new-comer was Dr. Van Heerden. 

"What is this I hear?" he demanded fiercely, addressing White. "You dareaccuse Miss Cresswell of theft?"

"My dear doctor, " began White. 

"It is an outrage, " said the doctor. "It is disgraceful, Mr. White. Iwill vouch for Miss Cresswell with my life. "

The girl stopped him with a laugh. 

"Please don't be dramatic, doctor. It's really a stupid mistake. Ididn't know you knew Mr. White. "

"It is a disgraceful mistake, " said the doctor violently. "I amsurprised at you, White. "

Mr. White could not close his eyes any tighter than they were closed. Hepassed the responsibility for the situation upon an invisible Providencewith one heaving shrug of his shoulders. 

"It is awfully kind of you to take this interest, doctor, " said thegirl, putting out her hands to him, "it was just like you. "

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked earnestly. "You can depend uponme to the last shilling if any trouble arises out of this. "

"No trouble will arise out of it, " she said. "Mr. White thinks that Ihave stolen money and that that money is hidden in the flat--by the way, who told you that I had been accused?"

For a moment he was taken aback; then:

"I saw the police officers go into your flat. I recognized them, and asthey were accompanied by White, and you had been dismissed this morning, I drew my own conclusions. "

It was at this moment that the detective came back from the bedroom. 

"There's nothing there, " he said. 

Mr. White opened his eyes to their fullest extent. 

"In the bottom drawer of the bureau?" he asked incredulously. 

"Neither in the bottom drawer nor the top drawer, " said the detective. "Have you found anything, Fred?"

"Nothing, " said the other man. 

"Have a look behind those pictures. "

They turned up the corners of the carpets, searched her one littlebookcase, looked under the tables, an unnecessary and amusingproceeding in the girl's eyes till the detective explained with thatdisplay of friendliness which all policemen show to suspected personswhom they do not at heart suspect, it was not an uncommon process forcriminals to tack the proceeds of bank-note robberies to the undersideof the table. 

"Well, miss, " said the detective at last, with a smile, "I hope wehaven't worried you very much. What do you intend doing, sir?" Headdressed White. 

"Did you search the bottom drawer of the bureau?" said Mr. White again. 

"I searched the bottom drawer of the bureau, the top drawer and themiddle drawer, " said the detective patiently. "I searched the back ofthe bureau, the trinket-drawer, the trinket-boxes----"

"And it was not there?" said Mr. White, as though he could not believehis ears. 

"It was not there. What I want to know is, do you charge this younglady? If you charge her, of course you take all the responsibility forthe act, and if you fail to convict her you will be liable to an actionfor false arrest. "

"I know, I know, I know, " said Mr. White, with remarkable asperity inone so placid. "No, I do not charge her. I am sorry you have beeninconvenienced"--he turned to the girl in his most majestic manner--"andI trust that you bear no ill-will. "

He offered a large and flabby hand, but Oliva ignored it. 

"Mind you don't trip over the mat as you go out, " she said, "the passageis rather dark. "

Mr. White left the room, breathing heavily. 

"Excuse me one moment, " said the doctor in a low voice. "I have a fewwords to say to White. "

"Please don't make a fuss, " said Oliva, "I would rather the matterdropped where it is. "

He nodded, and strode out after the managing director of Punsonby's. They made a little group of four. 

"Can I see you in my flat for a moment, Mr. White?"

"Certainly, " said Mr. White cheerfully. 

"You don't want us any more?" asked the detective. 

"No, " said Mr. White; then: "Are you quite sure you searched the bottomdrawer of the bureau?"

"Perfectly sure, " said the detective irritably, "you don't suppose I'vebeen at this job for twenty years and should overlook the one placewhere I expected to find the letters. "

Mr. White was saved the labour of framing a suitable retort, for thedoor of Mr. Beale's flat was flung open and Mr. Beale came forth. Hisgrey hat was on the back of his head and he stood erect with the aid ofthe door-post, surveying with a bland and inane smile the little knot ofmen. 

"Why, " he said jovially, "it's the dear old doctor, and if my eyes don'tdeceive me, it's the jolly old Archbishop. "

Mr. White brindled. That he was known as the Archbishop in the intimatecircles of his acquaintances afforded him a certain satisfaction. That aperfect stranger, and a perfectly drunken stranger at that, shouldemploy a nickname which was for the use of a privileged few, distressedhim. 

"And, " said the swaying man by the door, peering through thehalf-darkness: "Is it not Detective-Sergeant Peterson and ConstableFairbank? Welcome to this home of virtue. "

The detective-sergeant smiled but said nothing. The doctor fingered hisbeard indecisively, but Mr. White essayed to stride past, his chin inthe air, ignoring the greeting, but Mr. Beale was too quick for him. Helurched forward, caught the lapels of the other's immaculate frock-coatand held himself erect thereby. 

"My dear old Whitey, " he said. 

"I don't know you, sir, " cried Mr. White, "will you please unhand me?"

"Don't know me, Whitey? Why you astonishing old thing!"

He slipped his arm over the other's shoulder in an attitude ofaffectionate regard. "Don't know old Beale?"

"I never met you before, " said Mr. White, struggling to escape. 

"Bless my life and soul, " said Mr. Beale, stepping back, shocked andhurt, "I call you to witnesh, Detective-Sergeant Peterson and amiableConstable Fairbank and learned Dr. Van Heerden, that he has denied me. And it has come to this, " he said bitterly, and leaning his head againstthe door-post he howled like a dog. 

"I say, stop your fooling, Beale, " said the doctor angrily, "there'sbeen very serious business here, and I should thank you not tointerfere. "

Mr. Beale wiped imaginary tears from his eyes, grasped Mr. White'sunwilling hand and shook it vigorously, staggered back to his flat andslammed the door behind him. 

"Do you know that man?" asked the doctor, turning to the detective. 

"I seem to remember his face, " said the sergeant. "Come on, Fred. Goodmorning, gentlemen. "

They waited till the officers were downstairs and out of sight, and thenthe doctor turned to the other and in a different tone from any he hademployed, said:

"Come into my room for a moment, White, " and Mr. White followed himobediently. 

They shut the door and passed into the study, with its rows of heavilybound books, its long table covered with test-tubes and theparaphernalia of medical research. 

"Well, " said White, dropping into a chair, "what happened?"

"That is what I want to know, " said the doctor. 

He took a cigarette from a box on the table and lit it and the two menlooked at one another without speaking. 

"Do you think she had the letters and hid them?"

"Impossible, " replied the doctor briefly. 

White grunted, took a cigar from a long leather case, bit off the endsavagely and reached out his hand for a match. 

"'The best-laid schemes of mice and men!'" he quoted. 

"Oh, shut up, " said the doctor savagely. 

He was pacing the study with long strides. He stopped at one end of theroom staring moodily through the window, his hands thrust in hispockets. 

"I wonder what happened, " he said again. "Well, that can wait. Now justtell me exactly how matters stand in regard to you and Punsonby's. "

"I have all the figures here, " said Mr. White, as he thrust his handinto the inside pocket of his frock-coat, "I can raise £40, 000 bydebentures and--hello, what's this?"

He drew from his pocket a white packet, fastened about by a rubber band. This he slipped off and gasped, for in his hands were three registeredletters, and they were addressed to Messrs. Punsonby, and each had beenslit open. 

CHAPTER V

THE MAN WITH THE BIG HEAD

No. 342, Lothbury, is a block of business offices somewhat unpretentiousin their approach but of surprising depth and importance when explored. Oliva Cresswell stood for awhile in the great lobby, inspecting thenames of the occupants, which were inscribed on porcelain slips in twobig frames on each wall of the vestibule. 

After a lengthy search she discovered the name of the Beale Agency underthe heading "fourth floor" and made her way to the elevator. 

Mr. Beale's office was at the end of a seemingly interminable corridorand consisted, as she was to find, of an outer and an inner chamber. Theouter was simply furnished with a table, two chairs and a railed fencebisected with a little wooden gateway. 

A boy sat at one table, engaged in laborious exercise on a typewriterwith one finger of one hand. 

He jumped up as she came through the door. 

"Miss Cresswell?" he asked. "Mr. Beale will see you. "

He opened the wicket-gate and led the way to a door marked "Private. "

It was Beale who opened the door in response to the knock. 

"Come in, Miss Cresswell, " he said cheerily, "I didn't expect you forhalf an hour. "

"I thought I'd start well, " she smiled. 

She had had many misgivings that morning, and had spent a restless nightdebating the wisdom of engaging herself to an employer whose knownweakness had made his name a by-word. But a promise was a promise and, after all, she told herself, her promise was fulfilled when she hadgiven the new work a trial. 

"Here is your desk, " he said, indicating a large office table in thecentre of the room, "and here is my little library. You will note thatit mainly consists of agricultural returns and reports--do you readFrench?" She nodded. "Good, and Spanish--that's rather too much toexpect, isn't it?"

"I speak and read Spanish very well, " she said. "When I was a littlegirl I lived around in Paris, Lyons, and Barcelona--my first regularwork--the first I was paid for--was in the Anglo-Spanish Cable office inBarcelona. "

"That's lucky, " he said, apparently relieved, "though I could havetaught you the few words that it is necessary you should know tounderstand the Argentine reports. What I particularly want you todiscover--and you will find two or three hundred local guide-books onthat shelf at the far end of the room, and these will help you a greatdeal--is the exact locations of all the big wheat-growing districts, thenumber of hectares under cultivation in normal times, the method bywhich the wheat areas are divided--by fences, roads, etc. --the averagesize of the unbroken blocks of wheatland and, if possible, the width ofthe roads or paths which divide them. "

"Gracious!" she cried in dismay. 

"It sounds a monumental business, but I think you will find it simple. The Agricultural Department of the United States Government, forinstance, tabulate all those facts. For example, they compel farmers incertain districts to keep a clear space between each lot so that incase of the crops being fired, the fire may be isolated. Canada, theArgentine and Australia have other methods. "

She had seated herself at the desk and was jotting down a note of herduties. 

"Anything more?" she asked. 

"Yes--I want the names of the towns in the centre of the wheat-growingareas, a list of the hotels in those towns. The guide-books you willfind up to date, and these will inform you on this subject. Particularlydo I want hotels noted where automobiles can be hired, the address ofthe local bank and the name of the manager and, where the information isavailable, the name of the chief constable, sheriff or chefd'gendarmerie in each district. "

She looked up at him, her pencil poised. 

"Are you serious--of course, I'll do all this, but somehow it reminds meof a story I once read----"

"I know it, " said Beale promptly, "it is 'The Case of the Red-HairedMan, ' one of Doyle's stories about a man who, to keep him away from hisshop, was employed on the useless task of copying the _EncyclopædiaBritannica_--no, I am asking you to do serious work, MissCresswell--work which I do not want spoken about. "

He sat on the edge of the table, looking down at her, and if his eyeswere smiling it was because that was their natural expression. She hadnever seen them when they did not hold the ghost of some joke inwardlyenjoyed. 

But her instinct told her that he was very much in earnest and that thetask he had set her was one which had reason behind it. 

"Take the districts first and work up the hotels, et cetera, " hesuggested, "you will find it more interesting than a novel. Those littlebooks, " he pointed to the crowded shelf by the window, "will carry youto stations and ranches and farms all over the world. You shall bewafted through Manitoba, and cross the United States from New England toCalifornia. You will know Sydney and Melbourne and the great cornland atthe back of beyond. And you'll sit in cool patios and sip iced drinkswith Señor Don Perfecto de Cuba who has ridden in from his rancio toinquire the price of May wheat, or maybe you'll just amble through Indiaon an elephant, sleeping in bungalows, listening to the howling oftigers, mosquitoes----"

"Now I know you're laughing at me, " she smiled. 

"Not altogether, " he said quietly; then: "Is there any question you'dlike to ask me? By the way, the key of the office is in the right-handdrawer; go to lunch when you like and stay away as long as you like. Your cheque will be paid you every Friday morning. "

"But where----?" She looked round the room. "Where do you work?"

"I don't work, " he said promptly, "you do the work and I get the honourand glory. When I come in I will sit on the edge of your desk, which isnot graceful but it is very comfortable. There is one question I meantto ask you. You said you were in a cable office--do you add to youraccomplishments a working knowledge of the Morse Code?"

She nodded. 

"I can see you being useful. If you need me"--he jerked his head towarda telephone on a small table--"call 8761 Gerrard. "

"And where is that?" she asked. 

"If I thought you were anything but a very sane young lady, I shouldtell you that it is the number of my favourite bar, " he said gravely. "Iwill not, however, practise that harmless deception upon you. "

Again she saw the dancing light of mischief in his eyes. 

"You're a queer man, " she said, "and I will not make myself ridiculousby speaking to you for your good. "

She heard his soft laughter as the door closed behind him and, gatheringan armful of the guide-books, she settled down for a morning's workwhich proved even more fascinating than his fanciful pictures hadsuggested. She found herself wondering to what use all this informationshe extracted could be put. Was Mr. Beale really a buyer or was heinterested in the sale of agricultural machinery? Why should he want toknow that Jonas Scobbs was the proprietor of Scobbs' Hotel and GeneralEmporium in the town of Red Horse Valley, Alberta, and whatsignificance attached to the fact that he had an automobile for hire orthat he ran a coach every Wednesday to Regina?

Then she fell to speculating upon the identity and appearance of thisman who bore this weird name of Scobbs. She pictured him an elderly manwith chin whiskers who wore his pants thrust into top-boots. And why wasRed Horse Valley so called? These unexpected and, to her, hithertounknown names of places and people set in train most interestingprocessions of thought that slid through the noisy jangle of traffic, and coloured the drab walls of all that was visible of the City ofLondon through the window with the white lights and purple shadows ofdream prairies. 

When she looked at her watch--being impelled to that act by theindescribable sensation of hunger--she was amazed to discover that itwas three o'clock. 

She jumped up and went to the outer office in search of the boy who, shefaintly remembered, had erupted into her presence hours before with arequest which she had granted without properly hearing. He was not inevidence. Evidently his petition had also been associated with thegnawing pangs which assail boyhood at one o'clock in the afternoon. 

She was turning back to her office, undecided as to whether she shouldremain until his return or close the office entirely, when the shuffleof feet brought her round. 

The outer office was partitioned from the entrance by a long "fence, "the farther end of which was hidden by a screen of wood and frostedglass. It was from behind that screen that the noise came and sheremembered that she had noted a chair there--evidently a place wherecallers waited. 

"Who is there?" she asked. 

There was a creak as the visitor rose. 

"Eggscuse, mattam, " said a wheezy voice, "I gall to eng-vire for MisterPeale, isn't it?"

He shuffled forward into view, a small man with a dead white face and ahead of monstrous size. 

She was bereft of speech and could only look at him, for this was theman she had found in her rooms the night before her dismissal--the manwho carried the Green Rust. 

Evidently he did not recognize her. 

"Mister Peale, he tolt me, I must gall him mit der telephone, but dernomber she vas gone oudt of mine head!"

He blinked at her with his short-sighted eyes and laid a big hairy handon the gate. 

"You must--you mustn't come in, " she said breathlessly. "I will call Mr. Beale--sit--sit down again. "

"Sch, " he said obediently, and shuffled back to his chair, "dell him derHerr Brofessor it was. "

The girl took up the telephone receiver with a shaking hand and gave thenumber. It was Beale's voice that answered her. 

"There's a man here, " she said hurriedly, "a--a--the man--who was in myroom--the Herr Professor. "

She heard his exclamation of annoyance. 

"I'm sorry, " and if she could judge by the inflection of his voice hissorrow was genuine. "I'll be with you in ten minutes--he's quite aharmless old gentleman----"

"Hurry, please. "

She heard the "click" of his receiver and replaced her own slowly. Shedid not attempt to go back to the outer office, but waited by the closeddoor. She recalled the night, the terror of that unknown presence in herdarkened flat, and shuddered. Then Beale, surprisingly sober, had comein and he and the "burglar" had gone away together. 

What had these two, Mr. Beale and the "Herr Professor, " in common? Sheheard the snap of the outer door, and Beale's voice speaking quickly. Itwas probably German--she had never acquired the language and hardlyrecognized it, though the guttural "Zu befel, Herr Peale" was distinct. 

She heard the shuffle of the man's feet and the closing of the outerdoor and then Beale came in, and his face was troubled. 

"I can't tell you how sorry I am that the old man called--I'd forgottenthat he was likely to come. "

She leant against the table, both hands behind her. 

"Mr. Beale, " she said, "will you give me straightforward answers to anumber of plain questions?"

He nodded. 

"If I can, " he said. 

"Is the Herr Professor a friend of yours?"

"No--I know him and in a way I am sorry for him. He is a German whopretends to be Russian. Immensely poor and unprepossessing to a painfuldegree, but a very clever scientist. In fact, a truly great analyticalchemist who ought to be holding a good position. He told me that he hadthe best qualifications, and I quite believe him, but that his physicalinfirmities, his very freakishness had ruined him. "

Her eyes softened with pity--the pity of the strong for the weak, of thebeautiful for the hideous. 

"If that is true----" she began, and his chin went up. "I beg yourpardon, I know it is true. It is tragic, but--did you know him beforeyou met him in my room?"

He hesitated. 

"I knew him both by repute and by sight, " he said. "I knew the work hewas engaged on and I guessed why he was engaged. But I had never spokento him. "

"Thank you--now for question number two. You needn't answer unless youwish. "

"I shan't, " he said. 

"That's frank, anyway. Now tell me, Mr. Beale, what is all this mysteryabout? What is the Green Rust? Why do you pretend to be a--a drunkardwhen you're not one?" (It needed some boldness to say this, and sheflushed with the effort to shape the sentence. ) "Why are you alwaysaround so providentially when you're needed, and, " here she smiled (ashe thought) deliciously, "why weren't you round yesterday, when I wasnearly arrested for theft?"

He was back on the edge of the table, evidently his favouriteresting-place, she thought, and he ticked her questions off on hisfingers. 

"Question number one cannot be answered. Question number two, why do Ipretend to be a--a drunkard?" he mimicked her audaciously. "There areother things which intoxicate a man beside love and beer, MissCresswell. "

"How gross!" she protested. "What are they?"

"Work, the chase, scientific research and the first spring scent of thehawthorn, " he said solemnly. "As to the third question, why was I notaround when you were nearly arrested? Well, I was around. I was in yourflat when you came in and escaped along the fire parapet. "

"Mr. Beale!" she gasped. "Then it was you--you are a detective!"

"I turned your desk and dressing-chest upside down? Yes, it was I, " hesaid without shame, ignoring the latter part of the sentence. "I waslooking for something. "

"You were looking for something?" she repeated. "What were you lookingfor?"

"Three registered envelopes which were planted in your flat yesterdaymorning, " he said, "and what's more I found 'em!"

She put her hand to her forehead in bewilderment. 

"Then you----"

"Saved you from a cold, cold prison cell. Have you had any lunch? Why, you're starving!"

"But----"

"Bread and butter is what you want, " said the practical Mr. Beale, "witha large crisp slice of chicken and stacks of various vegetables. "

And he hustled her from the office. 

CHAPTER VI

MR. SCOBBS OF RED HORSE VALLEY

Mr. White, managing director of Punsonby's Store, was a man of simpletastes. He had a horror of extravagance and it was his boast that he hadnever ridden in a taxi-cab save as the guest of some other person whopaid. He travelled by tube or omnibus from the Bayswater Road, where helived what he described as his private life. He lunched in the staffdining-room, punctiliously paying his bill; he dined at home in solitarystate, for he had neither chick nor child, heir or wife. Once an eldersister had lived with him and had died (according to the popularlyaccepted idea) of slow starvation, for he was a frugal man. 

It seems the fate of apparently rich and frugal men that they either dieand leave their hoardings to the State or else they disappear, leavingbehind them monumental debts. The latter have apparently no vices; eventhe harassed accountant who disentangles their estates cannot discoverthe channel through which their hundreds of thousands have poured. Themoney has gone and, if astute detectives bring back the defaulter fromthe pleasant life which the Southern American cities offer to richidlers, he is hopelessly vague as to the method by which it went. 

Mr. Lassimus White was the managing director and general manager ofPunsonby's. He held, or was supposed to hold, a third of the shares inthat concern, shares which he had inherited from John Punsonby, hisuncle, and the founder of the firm. He drew a princely salary and asubstantial dividend, he was listed as a debenture holder and wasaccounted a rich man. 

But Mr. White was not rich. His salary and his dividends were absorbedby a mysterious agency which called itself the Union Jack Investment andMortgage Corporation, which paid premiums on Mr. White's heavy lifeinsurance and collected the whole or nearly the whole of his income. Hissecret, well guarded as it was, need be no secret to the reader. Mr. White, who had never touched a playing-card in his life and who grewapoplectic at the sin and shame of playing the races, was an inveterategambler. His passion was for Sunken Treasure Syndicates, formed torecover golden ingots from ships of the Spanish Armada; for companiesthat set forth to harness the horse-power of the sea to the services ofcommerce; for optimistic companies that discovered radium mines in theUral Mountains--anything which promised a steady three hundred per cent. Per annum on an initial investment had an irresistible attraction forMr. White, who argued that some day something would really fulfilexpectations and his losses would be recovered. 

In the meantime he was in the hands of Moss Ibramovitch, trading as theUnion Jack Investment and Mortgage Corporation, licensed and registeredas a moneylender according to law. And being in the hands of thisgentleman, was much less satisfactory and infinitely more expensive thanbeing in the hands of the bankruptcy officials. 

In the evening of the day Oliva Cresswell had started working for hernew employer, Mr. White stalked forth from his gloomy house and hisdeparture was watched by the two tough females who kept house for him, with every pleasure. He strutted eastward swinging his umbrella, hishead well back, his eyes half-closed, his massive waistcoat curvingregally. His silk hat was pushed back from his forehead and thepince-nez he carried, but so seldom wore, swung from the cord he heldbefore him in that dead-mouse manner which important men affect. 

He had often been mistaken for a Fellow of the Royal Society, so learnedand detached was his bearing. Yet no speculation upon the origin ofspecies or the function of the nebulæ filled his mind. 

At a moment of great stress and distraction, Dr. Van Heerden had arisenabove his horizon, and there was something in Dr. Van Heerden's mannerwhich inspired confidence and respect. They had met by accident at ameeting held to liquidate the Shining Strand Alluvial Gold MiningCompany--a concern which had started forth in the happiest circumstancesto extract the fabulous riches which had been discovered by an Americanphilanthropist (he is now selling Real Estate by correspondence) on aSouthern Pacific island. 

Van Heerden was not a shareholder, but he was intensely interested inthe kind of people who subscribe for shares in Dreamland Gold mines. Mr. White had attended incognito--his shares were held in the name of hislawyer, who was thinking seriously of building an annex to hold theunprofitable scrip. 

Mr. White was gratified to discover a kindred soul who believed in thiskind of speculation. 

It was to the doctor's apartment that he was now walking. That gentlemanmet him in the entrance and accompanied him to his room. There was alight in the fanlight of Oliva's flat, for she had brought some of herwork home to finish, but Mr. Beale's flat was dark. 

This the doctor noted before he closed his own door, and switched on thelight. 

"Well, White, have you made up your mind?" he demanded withoutpreliminary. 

"I--ah--have and I--ah--have not, " said the cautious adventurer. "Fortythousand is a lot of money--a fortune, one might say--yes, a fortune. "

"Have you raised it?"

Mr. White sniffed his objection to this direct examination. 

"My broker has very kindly realized the debentures--I am--ah--somewhatindebted to him, and it was necessary to secure his permission and--yes, I have the money at my bank. "

He gazed benignly at the other, as one who conferred a favour by themere bestowal of his confidences. 

"First, doctor--forgive me if I am a little cautious; first I say, it isnecessary that I should know a little more about your remarkable scheme, for remarkable I am sure it is. "

The doctor poured out a whisky and soda and passed the glass to hisvisitor, who smilingly waved it aside. 

"Wine is a mocker, " he said, "nothing stronger than cider has everpassed my lips--pray do not be offended. "

"And yet I seem to remember that you held shares in the Northern SaloonTrust, " said the doctor, with a little curl of his bearded lips. 

"That, " said Mr. White hastily, "was a purely commercial--ah--affair. Inbusiness one must exploit even the--ah--sins and weaknesses of ourfellows. "

"As to my scheme, " said the doctor, changing the subject, "I'm afraid Imust ask you to invest in the dark. I can promise you that you will getyour capital back a hundred times over. I realize that you have heardthat sort of thing before, and that my suggestion has all the appearanceof a confidence trick, except that I do not offer you even thesubstantial security of a gold brick. I may not use your money--Ibelieve that I shall not. On the other hand, I may. If it is to be ofany use to me it must be in my hands very soon--to-morrow. "

He wandered restlessly about the room as he spoke, and jerked hissentences out now to Mr. White's face, now over his shoulder. 

"I will tell you this, " he went on, "my scheme within the narrowinterpretation of the law is illegal--don't mistake me, there is nodanger to those who invest in ignorance. I will bear the full burden ofresponsibility. You can come in or you can stay out, but if you come inI shall ask you never to mention the name of the enterprise to a livingsoul. "

"The Green Rust Syndicate?" whispered Mr. White fearfully. "What--ah--isGreen Rust?"

"I have offered the scheme to my--to a Government. But they are scaredof touching it. Scared, by Jove!" He threw up his arms to the ceilingand his voice trembled with passion. "Germany scared! And there was atime when Europe cringed at the clank of the Prussian sword! When thelightest word of Potsdam set ministries trembling in Petrograd andLondon. You told me the other day you were a pacifist during the war andthat you sympathized with Prussia in her humiliation. I am a Prussian, why should I deny it? I glory in the religion of might--I believe itwere better that the old civilization were stamped into the mud ofoblivion than that Prussian Kultur should be swept away by thelicentious French, the mercenary English----"

"British, " murmured Mr. White. 

"And the dollar-hunting Yankees--but I'm making a fool of myself. "

With an effort he regained his calm. 

"The war's over and done with. As I say, I offered my Government mysecret. They thought it good but could not help me. They were afraidthat the League would come to learn they were supporting it. They'llhelp me in other ways--innocent ways. If this scheme goes through theywill put the full resources of the State at my disposal. "

Mr. White rose, groped for his hat and cleared his throat. 

"Dr. --ah--van Heerden, you may be sure that I shall--ah--respect yourconfidence. With your very natural indignation I am in completesympathy. 

"But let us forget, ah--that you have spoken at all about the scheme inany detail--especially in so far as to its legality or otherwise. Let usforget, sir "--Mr. White thrust his hand into the bosom of his coat, anattitude he associated with the subtle rhetoric of statesmanship. "Letus forget all, save this, that you invite me to subscribe £40, 000 to asyndicate for--ah--let us say model dwellings for the working classes, and that I am willing to subscribe, and in proof of my willingness willsend you by the night's post a cheque for that amount. Good night, doctor. "

He shook hands, pulled his hat down upon his head, opened the door andran into the arms of a man whose hand was at that moment raised to pressthe electric bell-push by the side of the door. 

Both started back. 

"Excuse me, " mumbled Mr. White, and hurried down the stairs. 

Dr. Van Heerden glared at the visitor, white with rage. 

"Come in, you fool!" he hissed, and half-dragged the man into his room, "what made you leave Scotland?"

"Scotland I hate!" said the visitor huskily. "Sticking a fellow away inthe wilds of the beastly mountains, eh? That's not playing the game, mycheery sportsman. "

"When did you arrive?" asked van Heerden quickly. 

"Seven p. M. Travelled third class! Me! Is it not the most absurdposition for a man of my parts--third class, with foul and commonpeople--I'd like to rip them all up--I would, by heavens!"

The doctor surveyed the coarse, drink-bloated face, the loose, weakmouth, half-smiled at the vanity of the dangling monocle and pointed tothe decanter. 

"You did wrong to come, " he said, "I have arranged your passage toCanada next week. "

"I'll not go!" said the man, tossing down a drink and wiping his lipswith a not over-clean handkerchief. "Curse me, van Heerden, why should Ihide and fly like a--a----"

"Like a man who escaped from Cayenne, " suggested the doctor, "or like aman who is wanted by the police of three countries for crimes rangingfrom arson to wilful murder. "

The man shuddered. 

"All fair fights, my dear fellow, " he said more mildly, "if I hadn'tbeen a boastful, drunken sot, you wouldn't have heard of 'em--youwouldn't, curse you. I was mad! I had you in my hand like that!" Heclosed a not over-clean fist under van Heerden's nose. "I saw it all, all, I saw you bullying the poor devil, shaking some secret out of him, I saw you knife him----"

"Hush!" hissed van Heerden. "You fool--people can hear through thesewalls. "

"But there are no windows to see through, " leered the man, "and I _saw_!He came out of his death-trance to denounce you, by Jove! I heard himshout and I saw you run in and lay him down--lay him down! Lay him outis better! You killed him to shut his mouth, my bonnie doctor!"

Van Heerden's face was as white as a sheet, but the hand he raised tohis lips was without a tremor. 

"You were lucky to find me that night, dear lad, " the man went on. "Iwas in a mind to split on you. "

"You have no cause to regret my finding you, Jackson, " said the doctor. "I suppose you still call yourself by that name?"

"Yes, Jackson, " said the other promptly. "Jack--son, son of Jack. Finename, eh--good enough for me and good enough for anybody else. Yes, youfound me and done me well. I wish you hadn't. How I wish you hadn't. "

"Ungrateful fool!" said van Heerden. "I probably saved your life--hidyou in Eastbourne, took you to London, whilst the police were searchingfor you. "

"For me!" snarled the other. "A low trick, by the EverlastingVirtues----!"

"Don't be an idiot--whose word would they have taken, yours or mine? Nowlet's talk--on Thursday next you sail for Quebec.... "

He detailed his instructions at length and the man called Jackson, mellowed by repeated visits to the decanter, listened and even approved. 

On the other side of the hallway, behind the closed door, OlivaCresswell, her dining-table covered with papers and books, was workinghard. 

She was particularly anxious to show Mr. Beale a sample of her work inthe morning and was making a fair copy of what she had described to himthat afternoon as her "hotel list. "

"They are such queer names, " she said; "there is one called Scobbs ofRed Horse Valley--Scobbs!"

He had laughed. 

"Strangely enough, I know Mr. Scobbs, who is quite a personage in thatpart of the world. He owns a chain of hotels in Western Canada. Youmustn't leave him out. "

Even had she wished to, or even had the name been overlooked once, shecould not have escaped it. For Jonas Scobbs was the proprietor ofScobbs' Hotel in Falling Star City; of the Bellevue in Snakefence, ofthe Palace Hotel in Portage. 

After awhile it began to lose its novelty and she accepted the discoveryof unsuspected properties of Mr. Scobbs as inevitable. 

She filled in the last ruled sheet and blotted it, gathered the sheetstogether and fastened them with a clip. 

She yawned as she rose and realized that her previous night's sleep hadbeen fitful. 

She wondered as she began to undress if she would dream of Scobbsor--no, she didn't want to dream of big-headed men with white faces, andthe thought awoke a doubt in her mind. Had she bolted the door of theflat? She went along the passage in her stockinged feet, shot the boltssmoothly and was aware of voices outside. They came to her clearlythrough the ventilator above the fanlight. 

She heard the doctor say something and then a voice which she had notheard before. 

"Don't worry--I've a wonderful memory, by Jove!... "

The murmur of the doctor did not reach her, but----

"Yes, yes ... Scobbs' Hotel, Red Horse Valley ... Know the place well... Good night, dear old thing.... "

A door banged, an uncertain footstep died away in the well of the stairsbelow, and she was left to recover from her amazement. 

CHAPTER VII

PLAIN WORDS FROM MR. BEALE

Oliva Cresswell did not feel at all sleepy, so she discovered, by thetime she was ready for bed. To retire in that condition of wakefulnessmeant another sleepless night, and she slipped a kimono over her, founda book and settled into the big wicker-chair under the light for thehalf-hour's reading which would reduce her to the necessary state ofdrowsiness. The book at any other time would have held her attention, but now she found her thoughts wandering. On the other side of the wall(she regarded it with a new interest) was the young man who had sostrangely intruded himself into her life. Or was he out? What would aman like that do with his evenings? He was not the sort of person whocould find any pleasure in making a round of music-halls or sitting uphalf the night in a card-room. 

She heard a dull knock, and it came from the wall. 

Mr. Beale was at home then, he had pushed a chair against the wall, orhe was knocking in nails at this hour of the night. 

"Thud--thud--thud"--a pause--"thud, tap, thud, tap. "

The dull sound was as if made by a fist, the tap by a finger-tip. 

It was repeated. 

Suddenly the girl jumped up with a little laugh. He was signalling toher and had sent "O. C. "--her initials. 

She tapped three times with her finger, struck once with the flat of herhand and tapped again. She had sent the "Understood" message. 

Presently he began and she jotted the message on the margin of her book. 

"Most urgent: Don't use soap. Bring it to office. "

She smiled faintly. She expected something more brilliant in the way ofhumour even from Mr. Beale. She tapped "acknowledged" and went to bed. 

"Matilda, my innocent child, " she said to herself, as she snuggled upunder the bed-clothes, "exchanging midnight signals with a lodger isneither proper nor lady-like. "

She had agreed with herself that in spite of the latitude she wasallowed in the matter of office hours, that she would put in anappearance punctually at ten. This meant rising not later than eight, for she had her little household to put in order before she left. 

It was the postman's insistent knocking at eight-thirty that woke herfrom a dreamless sleep, and, half-awake, she dragged herself into herdressing-gown and went to the door. 

"Parcel, miss, " said the invisible official, and put into the hand thatcame round the edge of the door a letter and a small package. Shebrought them to the sitting-room and pulled back the curtains. Theletter was type-written and was on the note-paper of a well-known firmof perfumers. It was addressed to "Miss Olivia Cresswell, " and ran:

 "DEAR MADAME, --

 "We have pleasure in sending you for your use a sample cake of our new Complexion Soap, which we trust will meet with your approval. "

"But how nice, " she said, and wondered why she had been singled out forthe favour. She opened the package. In a small carton, carefully wrappedin the thinnest of paper, was an oval tablet of lavender-coloured soapthat exhaled a delicate fragrance. 

"But how nice, " she said again, and put the gift in the bath-room. 

This was starting the day well--a small enough foundation for happiness, yet one which every woman knows, for happiness is made up of small andacceptable things and, given the psychological moment, a bunch ofprimroses has a greater value than a rope of pearls. 

In her bath she picked up the soap and dropped it back in the tidy againquickly. 

"Don't use soap; bring it to office. "

She remembered the message in a flash. Beale had known that this parcelwas coming then, and his "most urgent" warning was not a joke. Shedressed quickly, made a poor breakfast and was at the office ten minutesbefore the hour. 

She found her employer waiting, sitting in his accustomed place on theedge of the table in her office. He gave her a little nod of welcome, and without a word stretched out his hand. 

"The soap?" she asked. 

He nodded. 

She opened her bag. 

"Good, " he said. "I see you have kept the wrappings, and that, Ipresume, is the letter which accompanied the--what shall I say--gift?Don't touch it with your bare hand, " he said quickly. "Handle it withthe paper. "

He pulled his gloves from his pocket and slipped them on, then took thecake of soap in his hand and carried it to the light, smelt it andreturned it to its paper. 

"Now let me see the letter. "

She handed it to him, and he read it. 

"From Brandan, the perfumers. They wouldn't be in it, but we had bettermake sure. "

He walked to the telephone and gave a number, and the girl heard himspeaking in a low tone to somebody at the other end. Presently he putdown the receiver and walked back, his hands thrust into his pockets. 

"They know nothing about this act of generosity, " he said. 

By this time she had removed her coat and hat and hung them up, and hadtaken her place at her desk. She sat with her elbows on theblotting-pad, her chin on her clasped hands, looking up at him. 

"I don't think it's fair that things should be kept from me any longer, "she said. "Many mysterious things have happened in the past few days, and since they have all directly affected me, I think I am entitled tosome sort of explanation. "

"I think you are, " said Mr. Beale, with a twinkle in his grey eyes, "butI am not prepared to explain everything just yet. Thus much I will tellyou, that had you used this soap this morning, by the evening you wouldhave been covered from head to foot in a rather alarming and irritatingrash. "

She gasped. 

"But who dared to send me this?"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Who knows? But first let me ask you this. Miss Cresswell. Supposeto-night when you had looked at yourself in the glass you had discoveredyour face was covered with red blotches and, on further examination, youfound your arms and, indeed, the whole of your body similarlydisfigured, what would you have done?"

She thought for a moment. 

"Why, of course, I should have sent for the doctor. "

"Which doctor?" he asked carelessly. 

"Doctor van Heerden--oh!" She looked at him resentfully. "You don'tsuggest that Doctor van Heerden sent that hideous thing to me?"

"I don't suggest anything, " said Mr. Beale coolly. 

"I merely say that you would have sent for a doctor, and that thatdoctor would have been Doctor van Heerden. I say further, that he wouldhave come to you and been very sympathetic, and would have ordered youto remain in bed for four or five days. I think, too, " he said, lookingup at the ceiling and speaking slowly, as though he were working out thepossible consequence in his mind, "that he would have given you somevery palatable medicine. "

"What are you insinuating?" she asked quietly. 

He did not reply immediately. 

"If you will get out of your mind the idea that I have any particulargrievance against Doctor van Heerden, that I regard him as a rival, abusiness rival let us say, or that I have some secret grudge againsthim, and if in place of that suspicion you would believe that I amserving a much larger interest than is apparent to you, I think we mightdiscuss"--he smiled--"even Doctor van Heerden without such a discussiongiving offence to you. "

She laughed. 

"I am really not offended. I am rather distressed, if anything, " shesaid, knitting her brows. "You see, Doctor van Heerden has always beenmost kind to me. "

Beale nodded. 

"He got you your rooms at the flats, " he replied quietly; "he was alsoready to give you employment the moment you were providentiallydischarged from Punsonby's. Does it not strike you, Miss Cresswell, thatevery kind act of Doctor van Heerden's has had a tendency to bring youtogether, into closer association, I mean? Does it not appear to youthat the net result of all the things that might have happened to you inthe past few days would have been to make you more and more dependentupon Doctor van Heerden? For example, if you had gone into his employ ashe planned that you should?"

"Planned!" she gasped. 

His face was grave now and the laughter had gone out of his eyes. 

"Planned, " he said quietly. "You were discharged from Punsonby's atDoctor van Heerden's instigation. "

"I will not believe it!"

"That will not make it any less the fact, " said Mr. Beale. "You werenearly arrested--again at Doctor van Heerden's instigation. He waswaiting for you when you came back from Punsonby's, ready to offer youhis job. When he discovered you had already engaged yourself hetelephoned to White, instructing him to have you arrested so that youmight be disgraced and might turn to him, your one loyal friend. "

She listened speechless. She could only stare at him and could not eveninterrupt him. For her shrewd woman instinct told her so convincinglythat even her sense of loyalty could not eject the doubt which assailedher mind, that if there was not truth in what he was saying there was atleast probability. 

"I suggest even more, " Beale went on. "I suggest that for some purpose, Doctor van Heerden desires to secure a mental, physical and moralascendancy over you. In other words, he wishes to enslave you to hiswill. "

She looked at him in wonder and burst into a peal of ringing laughter. 

"Really, Mr. Beale, you are too absurd, " she said. 

"Aren't I?" he smiled. "It sounds like something out of a melodrama. "

"Why on earth should he want to secure a mental ascendancy over me? Doyou suggest----" She flushed. 

"I suggest nothing any longer, " said Beale, slipping off from the end ofthe table. "I merely make a statement of fact. I do not think he has anydesigns on you, within the conventional meaning of that phrase, indeed, I think he wants to marry you--what do you think about that?"

She had recovered something of her poise, and her sense of humour washelping her out of a situation which, without such a gift, might havebeen an embarrassing one. 

"I think you have been seeing too many plays and reading too manyexciting books, Mr. Beale, " she said, "I confess I have never regardedDoctor van Heerden as a possible suitor, and if I thought he was Ishould be immensely flattered. But may I suggest to you that there areother ways of winning a girl than by giving her nettle-rash!"

They laughed together. 

"All right, " he said, swinging up his hat, "proceed with the good workand seek out the various domiciles of Mr. Scobbs. "

Then she remembered. 

"Do you know----?"

He was at the door when she spoke and he stopped and turned. 

"The name of Mr. Scobbs gives me a cold shiver. "

"Why?"

"Answer me this, " she said: "why should I who have never heard of himbefore until yesterday hear his name mentioned by a perfect stranger?"

The smile died away from his face. 

"Who mentioned him! No, it isn't idle curiosity, " he said in face of herderisive finger. "I am really serious. Who mentioned his name?"

"A visitor of Doctor van Heerden's. I heard them talking through theventilator when I was bolting my door. "

"A visitor to Doctor van Heerden, and he mentioned Mr. Scobbs of RedHorse Valley, " he said half to himself. "You didn't see the man?"

"No. "

"You just heard him. No names were mentioned?"

"None, " she said. "Is it a frightfully important matter?"

"It is rather, " he replied. "We have got to get busy, " and with thiscryptic remark he left her. 

The day passed as quickly as its predecessor. The tabulation at whichshe was working grew until by the evening there was a pile of sheets inthe left-hand cupboard covered with her fine writing. She might havedone more but for the search she had to make for a missing report toverify one of her facts. It was not on the shelf, and she was about toabandon her search and postpone the confirmation till she saw Beale, when she noticed a cupboard beneath the shelves. It was unlocked and sheopened it and found, as she had expected, that it was full of books, amongst which was the missing documentation she sought. 

With a view to future contingencies, she examined the contents of thecupboard and was arrested by a thin volume which bore no inscription ortitle on its blank cover. She opened it, and on the title page read:"The Millinborn Murder. " The author's name was not given and thecontents were made up of very careful analysis of evidence given by thevarious witnesses at the inquest, and plans and diagrams with little redcrosses to show where every actor in that tragedy had been. 

She read the first page idly and turned it. She was half-way down thesecond page when she uttered a little exclamation, for a familiar namewas there, the name of Dr. Van Heerden. 

Fascinated, she read the story to the end, half-expecting that the nameof Mr. Beale would occur. 

There were many names all unknown to her and one that occurred with thegreatest frequency was that of James Kitson. Mr. Beale did not appear tohave played any part. She read for an hour, sitting on the floor by thecupboard. She reached the last page, closed the book and slipped it backin the cupboard. She wondered why Beale had preserved this record andwhether his antagonism to the doctor was founded on that case. At firstshe thought she identified him with the mysterious man who had appearedin the plantation before the murder, but a glance back at thedescription of the stranger dispelled that idea. For all the reputationhe had, Mr. Beale did not have "an inflamed, swollen countenance, colourless bloodshot eyes, " nor was he bald. 

She was annoyed with herself that she had allowed her work to beinterrupted, and in penance decided to remain on until six instead offive o'clock as she had intended. Besides, she half expected that Mr. Beale would return, and was surprised to discover that she wasdisappointed that he had not. 

At six o'clock she dismissed the boy, closed and locked the office, andmade her way downstairs into the crowded street. 

To her surprise she heard her name spoken, and turned to face Dr. VanHeerden. 

"I have been waiting for you for nearly an hour, " he said withgood-humoured reproach. 

"And your patients are probably dying like flies, " she countered. 

It was in her mind to make some excuse and go home alone, but curiositygot the better of her and impelled her to wait to discover the object ofthis unexpected visitation. 

"How did you know where I was working?" she asked, as the thoughtoccurred to her. 

He laughed. 

"It was a very simple matter. I was on my way to a patient and I saw youcoming out to lunch, " he said, "and as I found myself in theneighbourhood an hour ago I thought I would wait and take you home. Youare doing a very foolish thing, " he added. 

"What do you mean-in stopping to talk to you when I ought to be on myway home to tea?"

"No, in engaging yourself to a man like Beale. You know the reputationhe has! My dear girl, I was shocked when I discovered who your employerwas. "

"I don't think you need distress yourself on my account, doctor, " shesaid quietly. "Really, Mr. Beale is quite pleasant--in his lucidmoments, " she smiled to herself. 

She was not being disloyal to her employer. If he chose to encouragesuspicion in his mode of life he must abide by the consequences. 

"But a drunkard, faugh!" The exquisite doctor shivered. "I have alwaystried to be a friend of yours, Miss Cresswell, and I hope you are goingto let me continue to be, and my advice to you in that capacity is--giveMr. Beale notice. "

"How absurd you are!" she laughed. "There is no reason in the world whyI should do anything of the sort. Mr. Beale has treated me with thegreatest consideration. "

"What is he, by the way?" asked the doctor. 

"He's an agent of some sort, " said the girl, "but I am sure you don'twant me to discuss his business. And now I must go, doctor, if you willexcuse me. "

"One moment, " he begged. "I have a cab here. Won't you come and havetea somewhere?"

"Where is somewhere?" she asked. 

"The Grand Alliance?" he suggested. 

She nodded slowly. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE CRIME OF THE GRAND ALLIANCE

The hotel and the café of the Grand Alliance was London's newestrendezvous. Its great palm-court was crowded at the tea-hour and if, asthe mysterious Mr. Beale had hinted, any danger was to be apprehendedfrom Dr. Van Heerden, it could not come to her in that most open ofpublic places. 

She had no fear, but that eighth sense of armed caution, which is thepossession of every girl who has to work for her living and is consciousof the perils which await her on every side, reviewed with lightningspeed all the possibilities and gave her the passport of approval. 

It was later than she had thought. Only a few tables were occupied, buthe had evidently reserved one, for immediately on his appearance thewaiter with a smirk led him to one of the alcoves and pulled back achair for the girl. She looked round as she stripped her gloves. Theplace was not unfamiliar to her. It was here she came at rare intervals, when her finances admitted of such an hilarious recreation, to findcomfort for jangled nerves, to sit and sip her tea to the sound ofviolins and watch the happy crowd at her leisure, absorbing something ofthe happiness they diffused. 

The palm-court was a spacious marble hall, a big circle of polishedpillars supporting the dome, through the tinted glass of which the lightwas filtered in soft hues upon the marble floor below. 

"Doctor, " she said, suddenly remembering, "I have been reading quite alot about you to-day. "

He raised his eyebrows. 

"About me?"

She nodded, smiling mischievously. 

"I didn't know that you were such a famous person--I have been readingabout the Millinborn murder. "

"You have been reading about the Millinborn murder?" he said steadily, looking into her eyes. "An unpleasant case and one I should like toforget. "

"I thought it was awfully thrilling, " she said. "It read like adetective story without a satisfactory end. "

He laughed. 

"What a perfectly gruesome subject for tea-table talk, " he said lightly, and beckoned the head-waiter. "You are keeping us waiting, Jaques. "

"Doctor, it will be but a few minutes, " pleaded the waiter, and then ina low voice, which was not so low that it did not reach the girl. "Wehave had some trouble this afternoon, doctor, with your friend. "

"My friend?"

The doctor looked up sharply. 

"Whom do you mean?"

"With Mr. Jackson. "

"Jackson, " said the doctor, startled. "I thought he had left. "

"He was to leave this morning by the ten o'clock train, but he had afainting-fit. We recovered him with brandy and he was too well, for thisafternoon he faint again. "

"Where is he now?" asked van Heerden, after a pause. 

"In his room, monsieur. To-night he leave for Ireland--this he tellme--to catch the mail steamer at Queenstown. "

"Don't let him know I am here, " said the doctor. 

He turned to the girl with a shrug. 

"A dissolute friend of mine whom I am sending out to the colonies, " hesaid. 

"Won't you go and see him?" she asked. "He must be very ill if hefaints. "

"I think not, " said Dr. Van Heerden quietly, "these little attacks arenot serious--he had one in my room the other night. It is a result ofover-indulgence, and six months in Canada will make a man of him. "

She did not reply. With difficulty she restrained an exclamation. Sothat was the man who had been in the doctor's room and who was going toRed Horse Valley! She would have dearly loved to supplement herinformation about Mr. Scobbs, proprietor of many hotels, and to havemystified him with her knowledge of Western Canada, but she refrained. 

Instead, she took up the conversation where he had tried to break itoff. 

"Do you know Mr. Kitson?"

"Kitson? Oh yes, you mean the lawyer man, " he replied reluctantly. "Iknow him, but I am afraid I don't know much that is good about him. Now, I'm going to tell you, Miss Cresswell"--he leant across the table andspoke in a lower tone--"something that I have never told to a humanbeing. You raised the question of the Millinborn murder. My view is thatKitson, the lawyer, knew much more about that murder than any man inthis world. If there is anybody who knows more it is Beale. "

"Mr. Beale?" she said incredulously. 

"Mr. Beale, " he repeated. "You know the story of the murder: you say youhave read it. Millinborn was dying and I had left the room with Kitsonwhen somebody entered the window and stabbed John Millinborn to theheart. I have every reason to believe that that murder was witnessed bythis very man I am sending to Canada. He persists in denying that he sawanything, but later he may change his tune. "

A light dawned upon her. 

"Then Jackson is the man who was seen by Mr. Kitson in the plantation?"

"Exactly, " said the doctor. 

"But I don't understand, " she said, perplexed. "Aren't the policesearching for Jackson?"

"I do not think that it is in the interests of justice that they shouldfind him, " he said gravely. "I place the utmost reliance on him. I amsending Mr. Jackson to a farm in Ontario kept by a medical friend ofmine who has made a hobby of dealing with dipsomaniacs. "

He met her eyes unfalteringly. 

"Dr. Van Heerden, " she said slowly, "you are sending Mr. Jackson to RedHorse Valley. "

He started back as if he had been struck in the face, and for a momentwas inarticulate. 

"What--what do you know?" he asked incoherently. 

His face had grown white, his eyes tragic with fear. She was alarmed atthe effect of her words and hastened to remove the impression she hadcreated. 

"I only know that I heard Mr. Jackson through the ventilator of my flat, saying good-bye to you the other night. He mentioned Red HorseValley----"

He drew a deep breath and was master of himself again, but his face wasstill pale. 

"Oh, that, " he said, "that is a polite fiction. Jackson knows of thisinebriates' home in Ontario and I had to provide him with a destination. He will go no farther than----"

"Why, curse my life, if it isn't the doctor!"

At the sound of the raucous voice both looked up. The man called Jacksonhad hailed them from the centre of the hall. He was well dressed, but notailor could compensate for the repulsiveness of that puckered andswollen face, those malignant eyes which peered out into the worldthrough two slits. He was wearing his loud-check suit, his new hat wasin his hand and the conical-shaped dome of his head glistened baldly. 

"I'm cursed if this isn't amiable of you, doctor!"

He did not look at the girl, but grinned complacently upon her angrycompanion. 

"Here I am "--he threw out his arms with an extravagantgesture--"leaving the country of my adoption, if not birth, without onesolitary soul to see me off or take farewell of me. I, who havebeen--well, you know, what I've been, van Heerden. The world has treatedme very badly. By heaven! I'd like to come back a billionaire and ruinall of 'em. I'd like to cut their throats and amputate 'em limb fromlimb, I would like----"

"Be silent!" said van Heerden angrily. "Have you no decency? Do you notrealize I am with a lady?"

"Pardon. " The man called Jackson leapt up from the chair into which hehad fallen and bowed extravagantly in the direction of the girl. "Icannot see your face because of your hat, my dear lady, " he saidgallantly, "but I am sure my friend van Heerden, whose taste----"

"Will you be quiet?" said van Heerden. "Go to your room and I will comeup to you. "

"Go to my room!" scoffed the other. "By Jove! I like that! That anywhipper-snapper of a sawbones should tell me to go to my room. Afterwhat I have been, after the position I have held in society. I have hadambassadors' carriages at my door, my dear fellow, princes of the royalblood, and to be told to go to my room like a naughty little boy! It'stoo much!"

"Then behave yourself, " said van Heerden, "and at least wait until I amfree before you approach me again. "

But the man showed no inclination to move; rather did this rebuffstimulate his power of reminiscence. 

"Ignore me, miss--I have not your name, but I am sure it is a nobleone, " he said. "You see before you one who in his time has been a squireof dames, by Jove! I can't remember 'em. They must number thousands andonly one of them was worth two sous. Yes, " he shook his head inmelancholy, "only one of 'em. By Jove! The rest were"--he snapped hisfingers--"that for 'em!"

The girl listened against her will. 

"Jackson!"--and van Heerden's voice trembled with passion--"will you goor must I force you to go?"

Jackson rose with a loud laugh. 

"Evidently I am _de trop_, " he said with heavy sarcasm. 

He held out a swollen hand which van Heerden ignored. 

"Farewell, mademoiselle. " He thrust the hand forward, so that she couldnot miss it. 

She took it, a cold flabby thing which sent a shudder of loathingthrough her frame, and raised her face to his for the first time. 

He let the hand drop. He was staring at her with open mouth and featuresdistorted with horror. 

"You!" he croaked. 

She shrunk back against the wall of the alcove, but he made no movement. She sensed the terror and agony in his voice. 

"You!" he gasped. "Mary!"

"Hang you! Go!" roared van Heerden, and thrust him back. 

But though he staggered back a pace under the weight of the other's arm, his eyes did not leave the girl's face, and she, fascinated by theappeal in the face of the wreck, could not turn hers away. 

"Mary!" he whispered, "what is your other name?"

With an effort the girl recovered herself. 

"My name is not Mary, " she said quietly. "My name is Oliva Cresswell. "

"Oliva Cresswell, " he repeated. "Oliva Cresswell!"

He made a movement toward her but van Heerden barred his way. She heardJackson say something in a strangled voice and heard van Heerden's sharp"What!" and there was a fierce exchange of words. 

The attention of the few people in the palm-court had been attracted tothe unusual spectacle of two men engaged in what appeared to be astruggle. 

"Sit down, sit down, you fool! Sit over there. I will come to you in aminute. Can you swear what you say is true?"

Jackson nodded. He was shaking from head to foot. 

"My name is Prédeaux, " he said; "that is my daughter--I married in thename of Cresswell. My daughter, " he repeated. "How wonderful!"

"What are you going to do?" asked van Heerden. 

He had half-led, half-pushed the other to a chair near one of thepillars of the rotunda. 

"I am going to tell her, " said the wreck. "What are you doing with her?"he demanded fiercely. 

"That is no business of yours, " replied van Heerden sharply. 

"No business of mine, eh! I'll show you it's some business of mine. I amgoing to tell her all I know about you. I have been a rotter and worsethan a rotter. " The old flippancy had gone and the harsh voice wasvibrant with purpose. "My path has been littered with the wrecks ofhuman lives, " he said bitterly, "and they are mostly women. I broke theheart of the best woman in the world, and I am going to see that youdon't break the heart of her daughter. "

"Will you be quiet?" hissed van Heerden. "I will go and get her away andthen I will come back to you. "

Jackson did not reply. He sat huddled up in his chair, muttering tohimself, and van Heerden walked quickly back to the girl. 

"I am afraid I shall have to let you go back by yourself. He is havingone of his fits. I think it is delirium tremens. "

"Don't you think you had better send for----" she began. She was goingto say "send for a doctor, " and the absurdity of the request struck her. 

"I think you had better go, " he said hastily, with a glance at the manwho was struggling to his feet. "I can't tell you how sorry I am thatwe've had this scene. "

"Stop!"--it was Jackson's voice. 

He stood swaying half-way between the chair he had left and the alcove, and his trembling finger was pointing at them. 

"Stop!" he said in a commanding voice. "Stop! I've got something to sayto you. I know ... He's making you pay for the Green Rust.... "

So far he got when he reeled and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Thedoctor sprang forward, lifted him and carried him to the chair by thepillar. He picked up the overcoat that the man had been wearing andspread it over him. 

"It's a fainting-fit, nothing to be alarmed about, " he said to thelittle knot of people from the tables who had gathered about the limpfigure. "Jaques"--he called the head-waiter--"get some brandy, he mustbe kept warm. "

"Shall I ring for an ambulance, m'sieur?"

"It is not necessary, " said van Heerden. "He will recover in a fewmoments. Just leave him, " and he walked back to the alcove. 

"Who is he?" asked the girl, and her voice was shaking in spite ofherself. 

"He is a man I knew in his better days, " said van Heerden, "and now Ithink you must go. "

"I would rather wait to see if he recovers, " she said with someobstinacy. 

"I want you to go, " he said earnestly; "you would please me very much ifyou would do as I ask. "

"There's the waiter!" she interrupted, "he has the brandy. Won't yougive it to him?"

It was the doctor who in the presence of the assembled visitorsdissolved a white pellet in the brandy before he forced the clenchedteeth apart and poured the liquor to the last drop down the man'sthroat. 

Jackson or Prédeaux, to give him his real name, shuddered as he drank, shuddered again a few seconds later and then went suddenly limp. 

The doctor bent down and lifted his eyelid. 

"I am afraid--he is dead, " he said in a low voice. 

"Dead!" the girl stared at him. "Oh no! Not dead!"

Van Heerden nodded. 

"Heart failure, " he said. 

"The same kind of heart failure that killed John Millinborn, " said avoice behind him. "The cost of the Green Rust is totalling up, doctor. "

The girl swung round. Mr. Beale was standing at her elbow, but hissteady eyes were fixed upon van Heerden. 

CHAPTER IX

A CRIME AGAINST THE WORLD

"What do you mean?" asked Dr. Van Heerden. 

"I merely repeat the words of the dead man, " answered Beale, "heartfailure!"

He picked up from the table the leather case which the doctor had takenfrom his pocket. There were four little phials and one of these wasuncorked. 

"Digitalis!" he read. "That shouldn't kill him, doctor. "

He looked at van Heerden thoughtfully, then picked up the phial again. It bore the label of a well-known firm of wholesale chemists, and theseal had apparently been broken for the first time when van Heerdenopened the tiny bottle. 

"You have sent for the police?" Beale asked the agitated manager. 

"Oui, m'sieur--directly. They come now, I think. "

He walked to the vestibule to meet three men in plain clothes who hadjust come through the swing-doors. There was something about vanHeerden's attitude which struck Beale as strange. He was standing in theexact spot he had stood when the detective had addressed him. It seemedas if something rooted him to the spot. He did not move even when theambulance men were lifting the body nor when the police were takingparticulars of the circumstances of the death. And Beale, escorting theshaken girl up the broad staircase to a room where she could rest andrecover, looked back over his shoulder and saw him still standing, hishead bent, his fingers smoothing his beard. 

"It was dreadful, dreadful, " said the girl with a shiver. "I have neverseen anybody--die. It was awful. "

Beale nodded. His thoughts were set on the doctor. Why had he stood somotionless? He was not the kind of man to be shocked by so normal aphenomenon as death. He was a doctor and such sights were common to him. What was the reason for this strange paralysis which kept him chained tothe spot even after the body had been removed?

The girl was talking, but he did not hear her. He knew instinctivelythat in van Heerden's curious attitude was a solution of Prédeaux'sdeath. 

"Excuse me a moment, " he said. 

He passed with rapid strides from the room, down the broad stairway andinto the palm-court. 

Van Heerden had gone. 

The explanation flashed upon him and he hurried to the spot where thedoctor had stood. 

On the tessellated floor was a little patch no bigger than a saucerwhich had been recently washed. 

He beckoned the manager. 

"Who has been cleaning this tile?" he asked. 

The manager shrugged his shoulders. 

"It was the doctor, sare--so eccentric! He call for a glass of water andhe dip his handkerchief in and then lift up his foot and with rapidityincredible he wash the floor with his handkerchief!"

"Fool!" snapped Beale. "Oh, hopeless fool!"

"Sare!" said the startled manager. 

"It's all right, M'sieur Barri, " smiled Beale ruefully. "I wasaddressing myself--oh, what a fool I've been!"

He went down on his knees and examined the floor. 

"I want this tile, don't let anybody touch it, " he said. 

Of course, van Heerden had stood because under his foot he had crushedthe digitalis tablet he had taken from the phial, and for which he hadsubstituted something more deadly. Had he moved, the powdered tabletwould have been seen. It was simple--horribly simple. 

He walked slowly back to where he had left Oliva. 

What followed seemed ever after like a bad dream to the girl. She wasstunned by the tragedy which had happened under her eyes and could offerno evidence which in any way assisted the police in their subsequentinvestigation, the sum of which was ably set forth in the columns of the_Post Record_. 

 "The tragedy which occurred in the Palm-Court of the Grand Alliance Hotel yesterday must be added to the already long list of London's unravelled mysteries. The deceased, a man named Jackson, has been staying at the hotel for a week and was on the point of departure for Canada. At the last moment Dr. Van Heerden, who was assisting the unfortunate man, discovered that Jackson was no other than the wanted man in the Millinborn murder, a crime which most of our readers will recall. 

 "Dr. Van Heerden stated to our representative that the man had represented that he was a friend of the late John Millinborn, but was anxious to get to Canada. He had produced excellent credentials, and Dr. Van Heerden, in a spirit of generosity, offered to assist him. At the eleventh hour, however, he was struck with the likeness the man bore to the published description of the missing man in the Millinborn case, and was on the point of telegraphing to the authorities at Liverpool, when he discovered that Jackson had missed the train. 

 "The present tragedy points to suicide. The man, it will be remembered, collapsed, and Dr. Van Heerden rendered first aid, administering to the man a perfectly harmless drug. The post-mortem examination reveals the presence in the body of a considerable quantity of cyanide of potassium, and the police theory is that this was self-administered before the collapse. In the man's pocket was discovered a number of cyanide tablets. 

 "'I am satisfied, ' said Dr. Van Heerden, 'that the man already contemplated the deed, and when I voiced my suspicions in the palm-court he decided upon the action. The presence in his pocket of cyanide--one of the deadliest and quickest of poisons--suggests that he had the project in his mind. I did not see his action or, of course, I should have stopped him!'"

Oliva Cresswell read this account in her room two nights following thetragedy and was struck by certain curious inaccuracies, if all that thedoctor had told her was true. 

Mr. Beale read the account, smiled across the table grimly to thebearded superintendent of the Criminal Investigation Department. 

"How does that strike you for ingenuity?" he said, pushing the paperover the table. 

"I have read it, " said the other laconically, "I think we havesufficient evidence to arrest van Heerden. The tile from the GrandAlliance shows traces of digitalis. "

Beale shook his head. 

"The case would fall, " he said. "What evidence have you? We did notconfiscate his medicine-case. He might have dropped a tablet ofdigitalis by accident. The only evidence you could convict van Heerdenon is proof that he brought with him cyanide tablets which he slippedinto Prédeaux's pocket. No, we can prove nothing. "

"What is your theory in connection with the crime?"

"I have many theories, " said Mr. Beale, rising and pacing the room, "andone certainty. I am satisfied that Millinborn was killed by Doctor vanHeerden. He was killed because, during the absence of Mr. Kitson in thevillage, the doctor forced from the dying man a secret which up tillthen he had jealously preserved. When Kitson returned he found hisfriend, as he thought, _in extremis_, and van Heerden also thought thatJohn Millinborn would not speak again. To his surprise Millinborn didspeak and van Heerden, fearful of having his villainy exposed, stabbedhim to the heart under the pretext of assisting him to lie down. 

"Something different occurred at the Grand Alliance Hotel. A man swoons, immediately he is picked up by the doctor, who gives him a harmlessdrug--that is to say, harmless in small quantities. In five seconds theman is dead. At the inquest we find he has been poisoned--cyanide isfound in his pocket. And who is this man? Obviously the identical personwho witnessed the murder of John Millinborn and whom we have been tryingto find ever since that crime. "

"Van Heerden won't escape the third time. His presence will be a littlemore than a coincidence, " said the superintendent. 

Beale laughed. 

"There will be no third time, " he said shortly, "van Heerden is not afool. "

"Have you any idea what the secret was that he wanted to get from oldMillinborn?" asked the detective. 

Beale nodded. 

"Yes, I know pretty well, " he said, "and in course of time you willknow, too. "

The detective was glancing over the newspaper account. 

"I see the jury returned a verdict of 'Suicide whilst of unsound mind!'"he said. "This case ought to injure van Heerden, anyway. "

"That is where you are wrong, " said Beale, stopping in his stride, "vanHeerden has so manoeuvred the Pressmen that he comes out with anenhanced reputation. You will probably find articles in the weeklypapers written and signed by him, giving his views on the indiscriminatesale of poisons. He will move in a glamour of romance, and hisconsulting-rooms will be thronged by new admirers. "

"It's a rum case, " said the superintendent, rising, "and if you don'tmind my saying so, Mr. Beale, you're one of the rummiest men that figurein it. I can't quite make you out. You are not a policeman and yet wehave orders from the Foreign Office to give you every assistance. What'sthe game?"

"The biggest game in the world, " said Beale promptly, "a game which, ifit succeeds, will bring misery and suffering to thousands, and willbring great businesses tumbling, and set you and your children and yourchildren's children working for hundreds of years to pay off a newnational debt. "

"Man alive!" said the other, "are you serious?"

Beale nodded. 

"I was never more serious in my life, " he said, "that is why I don'twant the police to be too inquisitive in regard to this murder ofJackson, whose real name, as I say, is Prédeaux. I can tell you this, chief, that you are seeing the development of the most damnable plotthat has ever been hatched in the brain of the worst miscreant thathistory knows. Sit down again. Do you know what happened last year?" heasked. 

"Last year?" said the superintendent. "Why, the war ended last year. "

"The war ended, Germany was beaten, and had to accept terms humiliatingfor a proud nation, but fortunately for her Prussia was not proud, shewas merely arrogant. Her worst blow was the impoverishing conditionswhich the Entente Powers imposed. That is to say, they demanded certainconcessions of territory and money which, added to the enormous interestof war stock which the Germans had to pay, promised to cripple Prussiafor a hundred years. "

"Well?" said the detective, when the other had stopped. 

"Well?" repeated Beale, with a hard little smile. "Germany is going toget that money back. "

"War?"

Beale laughed. 

"No, nothing so foolish as war. Germany has had all the war she wants. Oh no, there'll be no war. Do you imagine that we should go to warbecause I came to the Foreign Office with a crazy story. I can tell youthis, that officially the German Government have no knowledge of thisplot and are quite willing to repudiate those people who are engaged init. Indeed, if the truth be told, the Government has not contributed asingle mark to bring the scheme to fruition, but when it is working allthe money required will be instantly found. At present the inventor ofthis delightful little scheme finds himself with insufficient capital togo ahead. It is his intention to secure that capital. There are manyways by which this can be done. He has already borrowed £40, 000 fromWhite, of Punsonby's. "

Superintendent McNorton whistled. 

"There are other ways, " Beale went on, "and he is at liberty to try themall except one. The day he secures control of that fortune, that day Ishoot him. "

"The deuce you will?" said the startled Mr. McNorton. 

"The deuce I will, " repeated Beale. 

There was a tap at the door and McNorton rose. 

"Don't go, " said Beale, "I would like to introduce you to thisgentleman. "

He opened the door and a grey-haired man with a lean, ascetic face camein. 

Beale closed the door behind him and led the way to the dining-room. 

"Mr. Kitson, I should like you to know Superintendent McNorton. "

The two men shook hands. 

"Well?" said Kitson, "our medical friend seems to have got away withit. " He sat at the table, nervously drumming with his fingers. "Does thesuperintendent know everything?"

"Nearly everything, " replied Beale. 

"Nearly everything, " repeated the superintendent with a smile, "exceptthis great Green Rust business. There I admit I am puzzled. "

"Even I know nothing about that, " said Kitson, looking curiously atBeale. "I suppose one of these days you will tell us all about it. It isa discovery Mr. Beale happed upon whilst he was engaged in protectingMiss----" He looked at Beale and Beale nodded--"Miss Cresswell, " saidKitson. 

"The lady who was present at the murder of Jackson?"

"There is no reason why we should not take you into our confidence, themore so since the necessity for secrecy is rapidly passing. Miss OlivaCresswell is the niece of John Millinborn. Her mother married a scampwho called himself Cresswell but whose real name was Prédeaux. He firstspent every penny she had and then left her and her infant child. "

"Prédeaux!" cried the detective. "Why you told me that was Jackson'sreal name. "

"Jackson, or Prédeaux, was her father, " said Kitson, "it was believedthat he was dead; but after John Millinborn's death I set inquiries onfoot and discovered that he had been serving a life sentence in Cayenneand had been released when the French President proclaimed a generalamnesty at the close of the war. He was evidently on his way to see JohnMillinborn the day my unhappy friend was murdered, and it was therecognition of his daughter in the palm-court of the Grand Alliancewhich produced a fainting-fit to which he was subject. "

"But how could he recognize the daughter? Had he seen her before?"

For answer Kitson took from his pocket a leather folder and opened it. There were two photographs. One of a beautiful woman in the fashion of25 years before; and one a snapshot of a girl in a modern costume, whomMcNorton had no difficulty in recognizing as Oliva Cresswell. 

"Yes, " he said, "they might be the same person. "

"That's the mother on the left, " explained Kitson, "the resemblance isremarkable. When Jackson saw the girl he called her Mary--that was hiswife's name. Millinborn left the whole of his fortune to Miss Cresswell, but he placed upon me a solemn charge that she was not to benefit or toknow of her inheritance until she was married. He had a horror offortune-hunters. This was the secret which van Heerden surprised--I fearwith violence--from poor John as he lay dying. Since then he has beenplotting to marry the girl. To do him justice, I believe that thecold-blooded hound has no other wish than to secure her money. Hisacquaintance with White, who is on the verge of ruin, enabled him to getto know the girl. He persuaded her to come here and a flat was found forher. Partly, " said the lawyer dryly, "because this block of flatshappens to be her own property and the lady who is supposed to be thelandlady is a nominee of mine. "

"And I suppose that explains Mr. Beale, " smiled the inspector. 

"That explains Mr. Beale, " said Kitson, "whom I brought from New Yorkespecially to shadow van Heerden and to protect the girl. In the courseof investigations Mr. Beale has made another discovery, the particularsof which I do not know. "

There was a little pause. 

"Why not tell the girl?" said the superintendent. 

Kitson shook his head. 

"I have thought it out, and to tell the girl would be tantamount tobreaking my faith with John Millinborn. No, I must simply shepherd her. The first step we must take"--he turned to Beale--"is to get her awayfrom this place. Can't you shift your offices to--say New York?"

Beale shook his head. 

"I can and I can't, " he said. "If you will forgive my saying so, thematter of the Green Rust is of infinitely greater importance than MissCresswell's safety. "

James Kitson frowned. 

"I don't like to hear you say that, Beale. "

"I don't like hearing myself say it, " confessed the other, "but let meput it this way. I believe by staying here I can afford her greaterprotection and at the same time put a spoke in the wheel of Mr. VanHeerden's larger scheme. "

Kitson pinched his lips thoughtfully. 

"Perhaps you are right, " he said. "Now I want to see this young lady, that is why I have come. I suppose there will be no difficulty?"

"None at all, I think, " said Beale. "I will tell her that you areinterested in the work she is doing. I might introduce you as Mr. Scobbs, " he smiled. 

"Who is Scobbs?"

"He is a proprietor of a series of hotels in Western Canada, and is, Ishould imagine, a most praiseworthy and inoffensive captain of minorindustry, but Miss Cresswell is rather interested in him, " he laughed. "She found the name occurring in Canadian guide-books and was struck byits quaintness. "

"Scobbs, " said the lawyer slowly. "I seem to know that name. "

"You had better know it if I am going to introduce you as Scobbshimself, " laughed Beale. 

"Shall I be in the way?" asked the superintendent. 

"No, please stay, " said Beale. "I would like you to see this lady. Wemay want your official assistance one of these days to get her out of ascrape. "

Mr. Beale passed out of the flat and pressed the bell of the door nextto his. There was no response. He pressed it again after an interval, and stepped back to look at the fanlight. No light showed and he tookout his watch. It was nine o'clock. He had not seen the girl all day, having been present at the inquest, but he had heard her door close twohours before. No reply came to his second ring, and he went back to hisflat. 

"She's out, " he said. "I don't quite understand it. I particularlyrequested her yesterday not to go out after dark for a day or two. "

He walked into his bedroom and opened the window. The light of day wasstill in the sky, but he took a small electric lamp to guide him alongthe narrow steel balcony which connected all the flats with thefire-escape. He found her window closed and bolted, but with the skillof a professional burglar he unfastened the catch and stepped inside. 

The room was in darkness. He switched on the light and glanced round. Itwas Oliva's bedroom, and her workday hat and coat were lying on the bed. He opened the long cupboard where she kept her limited wardrobe. Heknew, because it was his business to know, every dress she possessed. They were all there as, also, were the three hats which she kept on ashelf. All the drawers of the bureau were closed and there was no signof any disorder such as might be expected if she had changed and goneout. He opened the door of the bedroom and walked into the sitting-room, lighting his way across to the electric switch by means of his lamp. 

The moment the light flooded the room he realized that something waswrong. There was no disorder, but the room conveyed in someindescribable manner a suggestion of violence. An object on the floorattracted his attention and he stooped and picked it up. It was a shoe, and the strap which had held it in place was broken. He looked at it, slipped it in his pocket and passed rapidly through the other rooms tothe little kitchen and the tiny bath-room, put on the light in the halland made a careful scrutiny of the walls and the floor. 

The mat was twisted out of its place, and on the left side of the wallthere were two long scratches. There was a faint sickly odour. 

"Ether, " he noted mentally. 

He went quickly into the dining-room. The little bureau-desk was openand a letter half-finished was lying on the pad, and it was addressed tohim and ran:

 "DEAR MR. BEALE, --

 Circumstances beyond my control make it necessary for me to leave to-night for Liverpool. "

That was all. It was obviously half finished. He picked it up, folded itcarefully and slipped it in his pocket. Then he returned to the hall, opened the door and passed out. 

He explained briefly what had happened and crossed to the doctor's flat, and rang the bell. 

CHAPTER X

A FRUITLESS SEARCH

A light glowed in the hall, the door was opened and the doctor, inslippers and velvet coat, stood in the entrance. He showed no resentmentnor did he have time to show it. 

"I want a word with you, " said Beale. 

"Twenty if you wish, " said the doctor cheerfully. "Won't you come in?"

Beale was half-way in before the invitation was issued and followed thedoctor to his study. 

"Are you alone?" he asked. 

"Quite alone. I have very few visitors. In fact, my last visitor wasthat unhappy man Jackson. "

"When did you see Miss Cresswell last?"

The doctor raised his eyebrows. 

"By what right----?" he began. 

"Cut all that out, " said Beale roughly. "When did you see Miss Cresswelllast?"

"I have not seen her to-day, " said the doctor. "I have not been out ofmy flat since I came back from the inquest. "

"I should like to search your flat, " said Beale. 

"Policeman, eh?" smiled the doctor. "Certainly you can search the flatif you have a warrant. "

"I have no warrant, but I shall search your flat. "

The doctor's face went dull red. 

"I suppose you know you are liable to an action for trespass?"

"I know all about that, " said Beale, "but if you have nothing toconceal, Dr. Van Heerden, I don't see why you should object. "

"I don't object, " shrugged the doctor, "search by all means. Where wouldyou like to start? Here?"

He pointed to three upright cases which stood at the end of the roomnearest the door. 

"You will see nothing very pleasant here, they are anatomical modelswhich have just arrived from Berlin. In fact, I have been trading withthe enemy, " he smiled. "They are screwed up, but I have a screwdriverhere. "

Beale hesitated. 

"There is only another room, " the doctor went on, "my bedroom, but youwill not find her there. "

Beale twisted round like lightning. 

"Her?" he asked. "Who said Her?"

"I gather you are looking for Miss Cresswell, " said the doctor coolly. "You are searching for something, and you ask me when I saw her last. Who else could you be looking for?"

"Quite right, " he said quietly. 

"Let me show you the way. " The doctor walked ahead and turned on thelight in the inner bedroom. 

It was a large apartment, simply furnished with a small steel bed, ahanging wardrobe and a dressing-chest. Beyond that was his bath-room. 

Beale was making a casual survey of this when he heard the door of thebedroom click behind him. He turned round, jumped for the door, turnedthe handle and pulled, but it did not yield. As he did so he thought heheard a mutter of voices. 

"Open the door!" he cried, hammering on the panel. 

There was no answer. Then:

"Mr. Beale!"

His blood froze at the wild appeal in the tone, for it was the voice ofOliva Cresswell, and it came from the room he had quitted. 

He smashed at the panel but it was made of tough oak. His revolver wasin his hand and the muzzle was against the lock when the handle turnedand the door opened. 

"Did you lock yourself in?" smiled the doctor, looking blandly at theother's pale face. 

"Where is the girl, where is Miss Cresswell?" he demanded. "I heard hervoice. "

"You are mad, my friend. "

"Where is Miss Cresswell?"

His hand dropped on the other's shoulder and gripped it with a forcethat made the other shrink. With an oath the doctor flung him off. 

"Hang you, you madman! How should I know?"

"I heard her voice. "

"It was imagination, " said the doctor. "I would have opened the door toyou before but I had walked out into the passage and had rung MissCresswell's bell. I found the door open. I suppose you had been in. Ijust shut the door and came back here. "

Without a word Beale thrust him aside. He had taken one step to the doorwhen he stopped: At the end of the room had been the three longanatomical cases. Now there were only two. One had gone. He did not stopto question the man. He bounded through the door and raced down thestairs. There was no vehicle in sight and only a few pedestrians. At thecorner of the street he found a policeman who had witnessed nothingunusual and had not seen any conveyance carrying a box. 

As he returned slowly to the entrance of Krooman Mansions something madehim look up. The doctor was leaning out of the window smoking a cigar. 

"Found her?" he asked mockingly. 

Beale made no reply. He came up the stairs, walked straight through theopen door of the doctor's flat and confronted that calm man as he leantagainst the table, his hands gripping the edge, a cigar in the corner ofhis mouth and a smile of quiet amusement on his bearded lips. 

"Well?" he asked, "did you find her?"

"I did not find her, but I am satisfied that _you_ will. "

Van Heerden's eyes did not falter. 

"I am beginning to think, Mr. Beale, that over-indulgence in alcoholicstimulants has turned your brain, " he said mockingly. "You come into myapartment and demand, with an heroic gesture, where I am concealing abeautiful young lady, in whose welfare I am at least as much interestedas you, since that lady is my fiancée and is going to be my wife. "

There was a pause. 

"She is going to be your wife, is she?" said Beale softly. "Icongratulate you if I cannot congratulate her. And when is thisinteresting engagement to be announced?"

"It is announced at this moment, " said the doctor. "The lady is on herway to Liverpool, where she will stay with an aunt of mine. You need nottrouble to ask me for her address, because I shall not give it to you. "

"I see, " said Beale. 

"You come in here, I repeat, demanding with all the gesture and voice ofmelodrama, the hiding-place of my fiancée, "--he enunciated the two lastwords with great relish--"you ask to search my rooms and I give youpermission. You lock yourself in through your own carelessness and whenI release you you have a revolver in your hand, and are even moremelodramatic than ever. I know what you are going to say----"

"You are a clever man, " interrupted Beale, "for I don't know myself. "

"You were going to say, or you think, that I have some sinister purposein concealing this lady. Well, to resume my narrative, and to show youyour conduct from my point of view, I no sooner release you than youstare like a lunatic at my anatomical cases and dash wildly out, toreturn full of menace in your tone and attitude. Why?"

"Doctor van Heerden, when I came into your flat there were threeanatomical cases at the end of that room. When I came out there weretwo. What happened to the third whilst I was locked in the room?"

Doctor van Heerden shook his head pityingly. 

"I am afraid, I am very much afraid, that you are not right in yourhead, " he said, and nodded toward the place where the cases stood. 

Beale followed the direction of his head and gasped, for there werethree cases. 

"I admit that I deceived you when I said they contained specimens. As amatter of fact, they are empty, " said the doctor. "If you like toinspect them, you can. You may find some--clue!"

Beale wanted no invitation. He walked to the cases one by one andsounded them. Their lids were screwed on but the screws were dummies. Hefound in the side of each a minute hole under the cover of the lid and, taking out his knife, he pressed in the bodkin with which the knife wasequipped and with a click the lid flew open. The box was empty. Thesecond one answered the same test and was also empty. The third gave nobetter result. He flashed his lamp on the bottom of the box, but therewas no trace of footmarks. 

"Are you satisfied?" asked the doctor. 

"Far from satisfied, " said Beale, and with no other word he walked outand down the stairs again. 

Half-way down he saw something lying on one of the stairs and picked itup. It was a shoe, the fellow of that which he had in his pocket, and ithad not been there when he came up. 

 * * * * *

Oliva Cresswell had read the story of the crime in the _Post Record_, had folded up the paper with a little shiver and was at her tinywriting-bureau when a knock came at the door. It was Dr. Van Heerden. 

"Can I come in for a moment?" he asked. 

She hesitated. 

"I shan't eat you, " he smiled, "but I am so distressed by what hashappened and I feel that an explanation is due to you. "

"I shouldn't trouble about that, " she smiled, "but if you want to comein, please do. "

She closed the door behind him and left the light burning in the hall. She did not ask him to sit down. 

"You have seen the account in the _Post Record_?" he asked. 

She nodded. 

"And I suppose you are rather struck with the discrepancy between what Itold you and what I told the reporters, but I feel you ought to knowthat I had a very special reason for protecting this man. "

"Of that I have no doubt, " she said coldly. 

"Miss Cresswell, you must be patient and kind to me, " he said earnestly. "I have devoted a great deal of time and I have run very considerabledangers in order to save you. "

"To save me?" she repeated in surprise. 

"Miss Cresswell, " he asked, "did you ever know your father?"

She shook her head, so impressed by the gravity of his tone that she didnot cut the conversation short as she had intended. 

"No, " she said, "I was a girl when he died. I know nothing of him. Evenhis own people who brought him up never spoke of him. "

"Are you sure he is dead?" he asked. 

"Sure? I have never doubted it. Why do you ask me? Is he alive?"

He nodded. 

"What I am going to tell you will be rather painful, " he said: "yourfather was a notorious swindler. " He paused, but she did not protest. 

In her life she had heard many hints which did not redound to herfather's credit, and she had purposely refrained from pursuing herinquiries. 

"Some time ago your father escaped from Cayenne. He is, you will besurprised to know, a French subject, and the police have been searchingfor him for twelve months, including our friend Mr. Beale. "

"It isn't true, " she flamed. "How dare you suggest----?"

"I am merely telling you the facts, Miss Cresswell, and you must judgethem for yourself, " said the doctor. "Your father robbed a bank inFrance and hid the money in England. Because they knew that sooner orlater he would send for you the police have been watching you day andnight. Your father is at Liverpool. I had a letter from him thismorning. He is dying and he begs you to go to him. "

She sat at the table, stunned. There was in this story a hideousprobability. Her first inclination was to consult Beale, but instantlyshe saw that if what the doctor had said was true such a course would befatal. 

"How do I know you are speaking the truth?" she asked. 

"You cannot know until you have seen your father, " he said. "It is avery simple matter. "

He took from his pocket an envelope and laid it before her. 

"Here is the address--64 Hope Street. I advise you to commit it tomemory and tear it up. After all, what possible interest could I have inyour going to Liverpool, or anywhere else for the matter of that?"

"When is the next train?" she asked. 

"One leaves in an hour from Euston. "

She thought a moment. 

"I'll go, " she said decidedly. 

She was walking back to her room to put on her coat when he called herback. 

"There's no reason in the world why you should not write to Beale totell him where you have gone, " he said. "You can leave a note with meand I will deliver it. "

She hesitated again, sat down at her desk and scribbled the few lineswhich Beale had found. Then she twisted round in her chair inperplexity. 

"I don't understand it all, " she said. "If Mr. Beale is on the track ofmy father, surely he will understand from this letter that I have goneto meet him. "

"Let me see what you have written, " said van Heerden coolly, and lookedover her shoulder. "Yes, that's enough, " he said. 

"Enough?"

"Quite enough. You see, my idea was that you should write sufficient toput him off the track. "

"I don't understand you--there's somebody in the passage, " she saidsuddenly, and was walking to the door leading to the hall when heintercepted her. 

"Miss Cresswell, I think you will understand me when I tell you thatyour father is dead, that the story I have told you about Beale being onhis track is quite untrue, and that it is necessary for a purpose whichI will not disclose to you that you should be my wife. "

She sprang back out of his reach, white as death. Instinctively sherealized that she was in some terrible danger, and the knowledge turnedher cold. 

"Your wife?" she repeated. "I think you must be mad, doctor. "

"On the contrary, I am perfectly sane. I would have asked you before, but I knew that you would refuse me. Had our friend Beale notinterfered, the course of true love might have run a little moresmoothly than it has. Now I am going to speak plainly to you, MissCresswell. It is necessary that I should marry you, and if you agree Ishall take you away and place you in safe keeping. I will marry you atthe registrar's office and part from you the moment the ceremony iscompleted. I will agree to allow you a thousand a year and I willpromise that I will not interfere with you or in any way seek yoursociety. "

Her courage had revived during this recital of her future. 

"What do you expect me to do, " she asked contemptuously--"fall on yourneck and thank you, you with your thousand a year and your church-doorpartings? No, doctor, if you are sane then you are either a great foolor a great scoundrel. I would never dream of marrying you under anycircumstances. And now I think you had better go. "

This time he did not stop her as she walked to the door and flung itopen. She started back with an exclamation of fear, for there were twomen in the hall. 

"What do you----"

So far she got when the doctor's arm was round her and his hand waspressed against her mouth. One of the men was carrying what looked likea rubber bottle with a conical-shaped mouthpiece. She struggled, but thedoctor held her in a grip of steel. She was thrown to the ground, therubber cap of the bottle was pressed over her face, there came a rush ofcold air heavily charged with a sickly scent, and she felt life slippingaway.... 

"I think she's off now, " said the doctor, lifting up her eyelid, "see ifthe coast is clear, Gregory, and open the door of my flat. "

The man departed. The doctor lifted the unconscious girl in his arms. Hewas in the hall when he felt her move. Half-conscious as she was, shewas struggling to prevent the abduction. 

"Quick, the door!" he gasped. 

He carried her across the landing into his room, and the door closedquietly behind him. 

CHAPTER XI

THE HOUSE NEAR STAINES

Oliva Cresswell remembered nothing. She did not remember being thrustlimply into a long narrow box, nor hearing Beale's voice, nor the clickof the door that fastened him in Dr. Van Heerden's bedroom. If she criedout, as she did, she had no recollection of the fact. 

"Carry her, box and all, to her flat. The door is open, " whispered vanHeerden to the two men who had made their lightning disappearance intothe anatomical cases at the sound of Beale's knock. 

"What shall we do?"

"Wait till I come to you. Hurry!"

They crossed the landing and passed through the open door of Oliva'sflat and the doctor closed the door behind them and returned in time torelease the savage Beale. 

He watched him racing down the stairs, darted to the door of Oliva'srooms, opened it and went in. In ten seconds she had been lifted fromher narrow prison and laid on her bed, the box had been returned to theplace where it had stood in the doctor's study and the men had returnedto join van Heerden in Oliva's darkened sitting-room. 

Van Heerden had switched on the light in the girl's room and thennoticed for the first time that one of her shoes was missing. Quickly heslipped off the remaining shoe. 

"You wait here, " he told the men, "until you hear Beale return. Thenmake your escape. On your way down leave the shoe on the stairs. It willhelp to put our friend off the trail. "

Half an hour after the discovery of the shoe on the stairs Beale wentout accompanied by his visitors. 

The doctor watched the dark figures disappear into the night from thewindow of his sitting-room and made his way back to the girl's flat. Shewas lying where he had left her, feeling dizzy and sick. Her eyes closedin a little grimace of distaste as he put on the light. 

"How does my little friend feel now?" he asked coolly. 

She made no reply. 

"Really, you must not sulk, " he said chidingly, "and you must get usedto being polite because you are going to see a great deal of me. You hadbetter get up and put your coat on. "

She noticed that he had a medicine glass in his hand, half-filled with amilky-white liquor. 

"Drink this, " he said. 

She pushed it away. 

"Come, drink it, " he said, "you don't suppose I want to poison you, doyou? I don't even want to drug you, otherwise it would have been simpleto have given you a little more ether. Drink it. It will take that hazyfeeling out of your head. "

She took the glass with an unsteady hand and swallowed its contents. Itwas bitter and hot and burnt her throat, but its effects were magical. In three minutes her mind had cleared and when she sat up she could doso without her head swimming. 

"You will now put on your coat and hat, pack a few things that you wantfor a journey, and come along with me. "

"I shall do nothing of the sort, " she said, "I advise you to go, Dr. VanHeerden, before I inform the police of your outrageous conduct. "

"Put on your hat and coat, " he repeated calmly, "and don't talknonsense. You don't suppose that I have risked all that I have risked tolet you go at this hour. "

"Dr. Van Heerden, " she said, "if you have any spark of decency ormanhood you will leave me. "

He laughed a little. 

"Now you are talking like a heroine of Lyceum drama, " he said. "Anyappeal you might make, Miss Cresswell, is a waste of time and a waste ofbreath. I shall have no hesitation in using violence of the mostunpleasant character unless you do as I tell you. "

His voice was quiet, but there was about him a convincing air ofpurpose. 

"Where are you going to take me?" she asked. 

"I am going to take you to a place of safety. When I say safety, " headded, "I mean safety for me. You yourself need fear nothing unless youact foolishly, in which case you have everything to fear. Disabuse yourmind of one thought, Miss Cresswell, " he said, "and that is that I am inlove with you and that there is any quality or charm in your admirableperson which would prevent my cutting your throat if it was necessaryfor my safety. I am not a brute. I will treat you decently, as well asany lady could wish to be treated, if you do not cross me, but I warnyou that if in the street you call for help or attempt to escape youwill never know what happened to you. "

She stood at the end of her bed, one hand gripping the rail, her whiteteeth showing against the red lower lip. 

"Don't bite your lips, it does not stimulate thought, I can tell youthat as a medical man, and I can also tell you that this is not themoment for you to consider plans for outwitting me. Get your coat andhat on. "

His voice was now peremptory, and she obeyed. In a few minutes she wasdressed ready for the street. He led the way out and holding her armlightly they passed out into the street. He turned sharply to the left, the girl keeping in step by his side. To the casual observer, and fewcould observe them in the gloom of the ill-lit thoroughfares throughwhich they passed, they were a couple on affectionate terms, but the armlocked in hers was the arm of a gaoler, and once when they stood waitingto cross busy Oxford Circus, and she had seen a policeman a few yardsaway and had cautiously tried to slip her arm from his, she found herwrist gripped with a hand of steel. 

At the Marylebone Road end of Portland Place a car was waiting and thedoctor opened the door and pushed her in, following immediately. 

"I had to keep the car some distance from Krooman Mansions or Bealewould have spotted it immediately, " he said in an easy conversationaltone. 

"Where are you taking me?" she asked. 

"To a highly desirable residence in the Thames Valley, " he said, "in thedays when I thought you might be wooed and wed, as the saying goes, Ithought it might make an excellent place for a honeymoon. " He felt hershrink from him. 

"Please don't be distressed, I am rather glad that matters have turnedout as they have. I do not like women very much, and I should have beeninexpressibly bored if I had to keep up the fiction of being in lovewith you. "

"What do you intend doing?" she asked. "You cannot hope to escape fromMr. Beale. He will find me. "

He chuckled. 

"As a sleuth-hound, Mr. Beale has his points, " he said, "but they arenot points which keep me awake at night. I have always suspected he wasa detective, and, of course, it was he who planted the registeredenvelopes on poor old White--that was clever, " he admitted handsomely, "but Beale, if you will excuse my hurting your feelings--and I know youare half in love with him----"

She felt her face go hot. 

"How dare you!" she flamed. 

"Don't be silly, " he begged. "I dare anything in these circumstances, the greater outrage includes the less. If I abdicate you I feel myselfentitled to tease you. No, I think you had better not place too muchfaith in Mr. Beale, who doesn't seem to be a member of the regularpolice force, and is, I presume, one of those amateur gentlemen whofigure in divorce cases. "

She did not reply. Inwardly she was boiling, and she recognized with alittle feeling of dismay that it was not so much the indignity which hewas offering her, as his undisguised contempt for the genius of Beale, which enraged her. 

They had left the town and were spinning through the country when shespoke again. 

"Will you be kind enough to tell me what you intend doing?"

He had fallen into a reverie and it was evidently a pleasant reverie, for he came back to the realities of life with an air of reluctance. 

"Eh? Oh, what am I going to do with you? Why, I am going to marry you. "

"Suppose I refuse?"

"You won't refuse. I am offering you the easiest way out. When you aremarried to me your danger is at an end. Until you marry me your hold onlife is somewhat precarious. "

"But why do you insist upon this?" she asked, bewildered, "If you don'tlove me, what is there in marriage for you? There are plenty of womenwho would be delighted to have you. Why should you want to marry a girlwithout any influence or position--a shop-girl, absolutely penniless?"

"It's a whim of mine, " he said lightly, "and it's a whim I mean togratify. "

"Suppose I refuse at the last moment?"

"Then, " he said significantly, "you will be sorry. I tell you, no harmis coming to you if you are sensible. If you are not sensible, imaginethe worst that can happen to you, and that will be the least. I willtreat you so that you will not think of your experience, let alone talkof it. "

There was a cold malignity in his voice that made her shudder. For amoment, and a moment only, she was beaten down by the horriblehopelessness of her situation, then her natural courage, herindomitable, self-reliance overcame fear. If he expected an outburst ofanger and incoherent reproach, or if he expected her to break down intohysterical supplication, he was disappointed. She had a firm grip uponherself, perfect command of voice and words. 

"I suppose you are one of those clever criminals one reads about, " shesaid, "prepared for all emergencies, perfectly self-confident, capableand satisfied that there is nobody quite so clever as themselves. "

"Very likely, " he smiled. "It is a form of egotism, " he said quietly. "Iread a book once about criminals. It was written by an Italian and hesaid that was the chief characteristic of them all. "

"Vanity? And they always do such clever things and such stupid things atthe same time, and their beautiful plans are so full of absurdmiscalculations, just as yours are. "

"Just as mine are, " he said mockingly. 

"Just as yours are, " she repeated; "you are so satisfied that becauseyou are educated and you are a scientist, that you are ever so much moreclever than all the rest of the world. "

"Go on, " he said. "I like to hear you talking. Your analysis is nearlyperfect and certainly there is a lot of truth in what you say. "

She held down the surging anger which almost choked her and retained acalm level. Sooner or later she would find the joint in his harness. 

"I suppose you have everything ready?"

"My staff work is always good, " he murmured, "marriage licence, parson, even the place where you will spend your solitary honeymoon aftersigning a few documents. "

She turned toward him slowly. Against the window of the big limousinehis head was faintly outlined and she imagined the smile which was onhis face at that moment. 

"So that is it!" she said. "I must sign a few documents saying that Imarried you of my own free will!"

"No, madam, " he said, "the circumstances under which you marry merequire no justification and that doesn't worry me in the slightest. "

"What documents have I to sign?" she asked. 

"You will discover in time, " said he. "Here is the house, unless myeyesight has gone wrong. "

The car turned from the road, seemed to plunge into a high hedge, thoughin reality, as the girl saw for a second as the lamps caught the stonegate-posts, it was the entrance to a drive, and presently came to a stopbefore a big rambling house. Van Heerden jumped down and assisted her toalight. The house was in darkness, but as they reached the door it wasopened. 

"Go in, " said van Heerden, and pushed her ahead. 

She found herself in an old-fashioned hall, the walls panelled of oak, the floor made of closely mortised stone flags. She recognized the manwho had admitted them as one of those she had seen in her flat that samenight. He was a cadaverous man with high cheekbones and short, bristlyblack hair and a tiny black moustache. 

"I won't introduce you, " said the doctor, "but you may call this manGregory. It is not his name, but it is good enough. "

The man smiled furtively and eyed her furtively, took up the candle andled the way to a room which opened off the hall at the farther end. 

"This is the dining-room, " said van Heerden. "It is chiefly interestingto you as the place where the ceremony will be performed. Your room isimmediately above. I am sorry I did not engage a maid for you, but Icannot afford to observe the proprieties or consider your reputation. The fact is, I know no woman I could trust to perform that duty, andyou will have to look after yourself. "

He led the way upstairs, unlocked a door and passed in. There was onewindow which was heavily curtained. He saw her glance and nodded. 

"You will find the windows barred, " he said. "This was evidently thenursery and is admirably suited to my purpose. In addition, I might tellyou that the house is a very old one and that it is impossible to walkabout the room without the door creaking and, as I spend most of my timein the dining-room below, you will find it extremely difficult even tomake preparations for escape without my being aware of the fact. "

The room was comfortably furnished. A small fire was alight in the tinygrate and a table had been laid, on which were displayed sandwiches, athermos flask and a small silver basket of confectionery. 

There was a door by the big four-poster bed. 

"You may consider yourself fortunate in having the only room in thehouse with a bath-room attached, " he said. "You English people arerather particular about that kind of thing. "

"And you German people aren't, " she said coolly. 

"German?" he laughed. "So you guessed that, did you?"

"Guessed it?"--it was her turn to laugh scornfully. "Isn't the factself-evident? Who but a Hun----"

His face went a dull red. 

"That is a word you must not use to me, " he said roughly--"hang yourarrogance! Huns! We, who gave the world its kultur, who lead in everydepartment of science, art and literature!"

She stared at him in amazement. 

"You are joking, of course, " she said, forgetting her danger for themoment in face of this extraordinary phenomenon. "If you are a German, and I suppose you are, and an educated German at that, you don't for amoment imagine you gave the world anything. Why, the Germans have neverbeen anything but exploiters of other men's brains. "

From dull red, his face had gone white, his lip was trembling withpassion and when he spoke he could scarcely control his voice. 

"We were of all people ordained by God to save the world through theGerman spirit. "

So far he got when she burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Itwas so like all the caricatures of German character she had read or seendepicted. He looked at her, his face distorted with rage, and before shehad realized what had happened he had raised his hand and struck heracross the mouth. 

She staggered back, speechless. To her had happened the most incrediblething in the world, more incredible than her abduction, more incrediblethan all the villainies known or suspected, in this man. 

He stood there glowering at her, unrepentant, half-tempted, it seemed, to repeat the blow. He had struck a woman and was not overwhelmed byshame. All her views of men and things, all her conceptions of the codeswhich govern mankind in their dealings one with the other, crumbledaway. If he had fallen on his knees and asked her pardon, if he hadshown any contrition, any fear, any shame, she might have gone back toher old standards. 

"You swine cat!" he said in German, "Herr Gott, but I will punish you ifyou laugh at me!"

She was staring at him in intense curiosity. Her lip was bleeding alittle, the red mark of his fingers showed against her white face, butshe seemed to have forgotten the pain or the shock of the actual blowand was wholly concerned in this new revelation. 

"A Hun, " she said, but she seemed to be speaking to herself, "of coursehe's a Hun. They do that sort of thing, but I never believed it before. "

He took a step toward her, but she did not flinch, and he turned andwalked quickly from the room, locking the door behind him. 

CHAPTER XII

INTRODUCING PARSON HOMO

When Beale left Krooman Mansions with his two companions he had only thehaziest idea as to where he should begin his search. Perhaps thepersonal interest he had in his client, an interest revealed by themomentary panic into which her disappearance had thrown this usuallycollected young man, clouded his better judgment. 

A vague discomfort possessed him and he paused irresolutely at thecorner of the street. There was a chance that she might still beconcealed in the building, but a greater chance that if he followed oneof the three plans which were rapidly forming in his mind he might savethe girl from whatever danger threatened her. 

"You are perfectly sure you heard her voice?"

"Certain, " replied Beale shortly, "just as I am sure that I smelt theether. "

"She may have been using it for some other purpose. Women put thesedrugs to all sorts of weird purposes, like cleaning gloves, and----"

"That may be, " interrupted Beale, "but I wasn't mistaken about hervoice. I am not subject to illusions of that kind. "

He whistled. A man who had been lurking in the shadow of a building onthe opposite side of the road crossed to him. 

"Fenson, " said Beale, "watch these flats. If you see a car drive up justgo along and stand in front of the door. Don't let anybody enter thatcar or carry any bundle into that car until you are sure that MissCresswell is not one of the party or the bundle. If necessary you canpull a gun--I know it isn't done in law-abiding London, " he smiled atSuperintendent McNorton, "but I guess you've got to let me do a littlelaw-breaking. "

"Go all the way, " said the superintendent easily. 

"That will do, Fenson. You know Miss Cresswell?"

"Sure, sir, " said the man, and melted back into the shadows. 

"Where are you going now?" asked Kitson. 

"I am going to interview a gentleman who will probably give me a greatdeal of information about van Heerden's other residences. "

"Has he many?" asked Kitson, in surprise. 

Beale nodded. 

"He has been hiring buildings and houses for the past three months, " hesaid quietly, "and he has been so clever that I will defy you to traceone of them. All his hiring has been done through various lawyers he hasemployed, and they are all taken in fictitious names. "

"Do you know any of them?"

"Not one, " said Beale, with a baffled little laugh, "didn't I tell youhe's mighty clever? I got track of two of them but they were the onlytwo where the sale didn't go through. "

"What does he want houses for?"

"We shall learn one of these days, " said Beale cryptically. "I can tellyou something else, gentlemen, and this is more of a suspicion than acertainty, that there is not a crank scientist who has ever gone underthrough drink or crime in the whole of this country, aye, and Americaand France, too, that isn't working for him. And now, gentlemen, if youwill excuse me----"

"You don't want any assistance?" asked the superintendent. 

"I guess not, " said Beale, with a smile, "I guess I can manage the HerrProfessor. "

 * * * * *

On the south side of the River Thames is a congested and thicklypopulated area lying between the Waterloo and the Blackfriars Roads. Here old houses, which are gauntly picturesque because of their age, stand cheek-by-jowl with great blocks of model dwellings, which make upin utility all that they lack in beauty. Such dwelling-places have adouble advantage. Their rent is low and they are close to the centre ofLondon. Few of the houses are occupied by one family, and indeed it isthe exception that one family rents in its entirety so much as a floor. 

In a basement room in one of those houses sat two men as unlike oneanother as it is possible to conceive. The room itself was strangelytidy and bare of anything but the necessary furniture. A camp bed wasunder the window in such a position as to give its occupant a view ofthe ankles of those people who trod the pavement of the little street. 

A faded cretonne curtain hid an inner and probably a smaller room wherethe elder of the men slept. They sat on either side of a table, akerosene lamp placed exactly in the centre supplying light for theirvarious occupations. 

The elder of the two was bent forward over a microscope, his big handsadjusting the focus screw. Presently he would break off his work ofobservation and jot down a few notes in crabbed German characters. Hisbig head, his squat body, his long ungainly arms, his pale face with itslittle wisp of beard, would have been recognized by Oliva Cresswell, forthis was Professor Heyler--"the Herr Professor, " as Beale called him. 

The man sitting opposite was cast in a different mould. He was tall, spare, almost æsthetic. The clean-shaven face, the well-moulded nose andchin hinted at a refinement which his shabby threadbare suit and hiscollarless shirt freakishly accentuated. Now and again he would raisehis deep-set eyes from the book he was reading, survey the absorbedprofessor with a speculative glance and then return to his reading. 

They had sat in silence for the greater part of an hour, when Beale'stap on the door brought the reader round with narrow eyes. 

"Expecting a visitor, professor?" he asked in German. 

"Nein, nein, " rambled the old man, "who shall visit me? Ah yes"--hetapped his fat forefinger--"I remember, the Fräulein was to call. "

He got up and, shuffling to the door, slipped back the bolt and turnedit. His face fell when he saw Beale, and the man at the table rose. 

"Hope I am not disturbing you, " said the detective. "I thought youlived alone. "

He, too, spoke in the language which the professor understood best. 

"That is a friend of mine, " said old Heyler uncomfortably, "we livetogether. I did not think you knew my address. "

"Introduce me, " said the man at the table coolly. 

The old professor looked dubiously from one to the other. 

"It is my friend, Herr Homo. "

"Herr Homo, " repeated Beale, offering his hand, "my name is Beale. "

Homo shot a keen glance at him. 

"A split! or my criminal instincts fail me, " he said, pleasantly enough. 

"Split?" repeated Beale, puzzled. 

"American I gather from your accent, " said Mr. Homo; "pray sit down. 'Split' is the phrase employed by the criminal classes to describe agentleman who in your country is known as a 'fly cop'!"

"Oh, a detective, " smiled Beale. "No, in the sense you mean I am not adetective. At any rate, I have not come on business. "

"So I gather, " said the other, seating himself, "or you would havebrought one of the 'busy fellows' with you. Here again you must pardonthe slang but we call the detective the 'busy fellow' to distinguish himfrom the 'flattie, ' who is the regular cop. Unless you should be underany misapprehension, Mr. Beale, it is my duty to tell you that I am arepresentative of the criminal classes, a fact which our learnedfriend, " he nodded toward the distressed professor, "never ceases todeplore, " and he smiled blandly. 

They had dropped into English and the professor after waitinguncomfortably for the visitor to explain his business had dropped backto his work with a grunt. 

"I am Parson Homo and this is my _pied-à-terre_. We professionalcriminals must have somewhere to go when we are not in prison, youknow. "

The voice was that of an educated man, its modulation, the confidenceand the perfect poise of the speaker suggested the college man. 

"So that you shall not be shocked by revelations I must tell you that Ihave just come out of prison. I am by way of being a professionalburglar. "

"I am not easily shocked, " said Beale. 

He glanced at the professor. 

"I see, " said Parson Homo, rising, "that I am _de trop_. Unfortunately Icannot go into the street without risking arrest. In this country, youknow, there is a law which is called the Prevention of Crimes Act, whichempowers the unemployed members of the constabulary who find timehanging on their hands to arrest known criminals on suspicion if theyare seen out in questionable circumstances. And as all circumstances arequestionable to the unimaginative 'flattie, ' and his no less obtusefriend the 'split, ' I will retire to the bedroom and stuff my ears withcotton-wool. "

"You needn't, " smiled Beale, "I guess the professor hasn't many secretsfrom you. "

"Go on guessing, my ingenious friend, " said the parson, smiling with hiseyes, "my own secrets I am willing to reveal but--_adios!_"

He waved his hand and passed behind the cretonne curtain and the old manlooked up from his instrument. 

"It is the Donovan Leichmann body that I search for, " he said solemnly;"there was a case of sleeping-sickness at the docks, and the HerrProfessor of the Tropical School so kindly let me have a little bloodfor testing. "

"Professor, " said Beale, sitting down in the place which Parson Homo hadvacated and leaning across the table, "are you still working for vanHeerden?"

The old man rolled his big head from side to side in an agony ofprotest. 

"Of the learned doctor I do not want to speak, " he said, "to me he hasbeen most kind. Consider, Herr Peale, I was starving in this countrywhich hates Germans and regard as a mad old fool and an ugly old devil, and none helped me until the learned doctor discovered me. I am aGerman, yes. Yet I have no nationality, being absorbed in the largerbrotherhood of science. As for me I am indifferent whether the Kaiser orthe Socialists live in Potsdam, but I am loyal, Herr Peale, to all whohelp me. To you, also, " he said hastily, "for you have been most kind, and once when in foolishness I went into a room where I ought not tohave been you saved me from the police. " He shrugged his massiveshoulders again. "I am grateful, but must I not also be grateful to thelearned doctor?"

"Tell me this, professor, " said Beale, "where can I find the learneddoctor to-night?"

"At his so-well-known laboratory, where else?" asked the professor. 

"Where else?" repeated Beale. 

The old man was silent. 

"It is forbidden that I should speak, " he said; "the Herr Doctor isengaged in a great experiment which will bring him fortune. If I betrayhis secrets he may be ruined. Such ingratitude, Herr Peale!"

There was a silence, the old professor, obviously distressed and ill atease, looking anxiously at the younger man. 

"Suppose I tell you that the Herr Doctor is engaged in a dangerousconspiracy, " said Beale, "and that you yourself are running aconsiderable risk by assisting him?"

The big hands were outspread in despair. 

"The Herr Doctor has many enemies, " mumbled Heyler. "I can tell younothing, Herr Peale. "

"Tell me this, " said Beale: "is there any place you know of where thedoctor may have taken a lady--the young lady into whose room you wentthe night I found you?"

"A young lady?" The old man was obviously surprised. "No, no, HerrPeale, there is no place where a young lady could go. Ach! No!"

"Well, " said Beale, after a pause, "I guess I can do no more with you, professor. " He glanced round at the cretonne recess: "I won'tinconvenience you any longer, Mr. Homo. "

The curtains were pushed aside and the æsthetic-looking man steppedout, the half-smile on his thin lips. 

"I fear you have had a disappointing visit, " he said pleasantly, "and itis on the tip of your tongue to ask me if I can help you. I will saveyou the trouble of asking--I can't. "

Beale laughed. 

"You are a bad thought-reader, " he said. "I had no intention of askingyou. "

He nodded to the old man, and with another nod to his companion wasturning when a rap came at the door. He saw the two men exchange glancesand noted in the face of the professor a look of blank dismay. The knockwas repeated impatiently. 

"Permit me, " said Beale, and stepped to the door. 

"Wait, wait, " stammered the professor, "if Mr. Peale will permit----"

He shuffled forward, but Beale had turned the latch and opened the doorwide. Standing in the entrance was a girl whom he had no difficulty inrecognizing as Hilda Glaum, sometime desk companion of Oliva Cresswell. His back was to the light and she did not recognize him. 

"Why did you not open more quickly?" she asked in German, and swung theheavy bag she carried into the room, "every moment I thought I should beintercepted. Here is the bag. It will be called for to-morrow----"

It was then that she saw Beale for the first time and her face wentwhite. 

"Who--who are you?" she asked; then quickly, "I know you. You are theman Beale. The drunken man----"

She looked from him to the bag at her feet and to him again, then beforehe could divine her intention she had stooped and grasped the handle ofthe bag. Instantly all his attention was riveted upon that leather caseand its secret. His hand shot out and gripped her arm, but she wrenchedherself free. In doing so the bag was carried by the momentum of itsrelease and was driven heavily against the wall. He heard a shiveringcrash as though a hundred little glasses had broken simultaneously. 

Before he could reach the bag she snatched it up, leapt through theopen door and slammed it to behind her. His hand was on the latch----

"Put 'em up, Mr. Beale, put 'em up, " said a voice behind him. "Rightabove your head, Mr. Beale, where we can see them. "

He turned slowly, his hands rising mechanically to face Parson Homo, whostill sat at the table, but he had discarded his Greek book and washandling a business-like revolver, the muzzle of which covered thedetective. 

"Smells rotten, doesn't it?" said Homo pleasantly. 

Beale, too, had sniffed the musty odour, and knew that it came from thebag the girl had wrenched from his grasp. It was the sickly scent of theGreen Rust!

CHAPTER XIII

AT DEANS FOLLY

With her elbows resting on the broad window-ledge and her cheeks againstthe cold steel bars which covered the window, Oliva Cresswell watchedthe mists slowly dissipate in the gentle warmth of the morning sun. Shehad spent the night dozing in a rocking-chair and at the first light ofday she had bathed and redressed ready for any emergency. She had notheard any sound during the night and she guessed that van Heerden hadreturned to London. 

The room in which she was imprisoned was on the first floor at the backof the house and the view she had of the grounds was restricted to aglimpse between two big lilac bushes which were planted almost on alevel with her room. 

The house had been built on the slope of a gentle rise so that you mightwalk from the first-floor window on to the grassy lawn at the back ofthe house but for two important obstacles, the first being representedby the bars which protected the window and the second by a deep area, concrete-lined, which formed a trench too wide to jump. 

She could see, however, that the grounds were extensive. The high wallwhich, apparently, separated the garden from the road was a hundredyards away. She knew it must be the road because of a little brown gatewhich from time to time she saw between the swaying bushes. She turnedwearily from the window and sat on the edge of the bed. She was notafraid--irritated would be a better word to describe her emotion. Shewas mystified, too, and that was an added irritation. 

Why should this man, van Heerden, who admittedly did not love her, whoindeed loved her so little that he could strike her and show no signs ofremorse--why did this man want to marry her? If he wanted to marry her, why did he kidnap her?

There was another question, too, which she had debated that night. Whydid his reference to the American detective, Beale, so greatly embarrassher?

She had reached the point where even such tremendous subjects of debatehad become less interesting than the answer to that question which wasfurnished, when a knock came to her door and a gruff voice said:

"Breakfast!"

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. The man called Gregory wasstanding on the landing. He jerked his thumb to the room opposite. 

"You can use both these rooms, " he said, "but you can't come downstairs. I have put your breakfast in there. "

She followed the thumb across the landing and found herself in a plainlyfurnished sitting-room. The table had been laid with a respectablebreakfast, and until she had appeased her healthy young appetite shetook very little stock of her surroundings. 

The man came up in half an hour to clear away the table. 

"Will you be kind enough to tell me where I am?" asked Oliva. 

"I am not going to tell you anything, " said Gregory. 

"I suppose you know that by detaining me here you are committing a veryserious crime?"

"Tell it to the doctor, " said the man, with a queer little smile. 

She followed him out to the landing. She wanted to see what sort ofguard was kept and what possibilities there were of escape. Somehow itseemed easier to make a reconnaissance now under his very eyes than ithad been in the night, when in every shadow had lurked a menace. 

She did not follow him far, however. He put down the tray at the head ofthe stairs and reaching out both his hands drew two sliding doors fromthe wall and snapped them in her face. She heard the click of a door andknew that any chance of escape from this direction was hopeless. Thedoors had slid noiselessly on their oiled runners and had formed for hera little lobby of the landing. She guessed that the sliding doors hadbeen closed after van Heerden's departure. She had exhausted all thepossibilities of her bedroom and now began an inspection of the other. 

Like its fellow, the windows were barred. There was a bookshelf, crowdedwith old volumes, mostly on matters ecclesiastical or theological. Shelooked at it thoughtfully. 

"Now, if I were clever like Mr. Beale, " she said aloud, "I could deducequite a lot from this room. "

A distant church bell began to clang and she realized with a start thatthe day was Sunday. She looked at her watch and was amazed to see it wasnearly eleven. She must have slept longer than she had thought. 

This window afforded her no better view than did that of the bedroom, except that she could see the gate more plainly and what looked to bethe end of a low-roofed brick building which had been erected againstthe wall. She craned her neck, looking left and right, but the busheshad been carefully planted to give the previous occupants of these tworooms greater privacy. 

Presently the bell stopped and she addressed herself again to anexamination of the room. In an old-fashioned sloping desk she found afew sheets of paper, a pen and a bottle half-filled with thick ink. There were also two telegraph forms, and these gave her an idea. Shewent back to the table in the middle of the room. With paper before hershe began to note the contents of the apartment. 

"I am trying to be Bealish, " she admitted. 

She might also have confessed that she was trying to keep her mind offher possibly perilous position and that though she was not afraid shehad a fear of fear. 

"A case full of very dull good books. That means that the person wholived here before was very serious-minded. "

She walked over and examined the titles, pulled out a few books andlooked at their title pages. They all bore the same name, "L. T. B. Stringer. " She uttered an exclamation. Wasn't there some directory ofclergymen's names?--she was sure this was a clergyman, nobody else wouldhave a library of such weighty volumes. 

Her fingers ran along the shelves and presently she found what shewanted--Crocker's Clergy List of 1879. She opened the book and presentlyfound, "Stringer, Laurence Thomas Benjamin, Vicar of Upper Staines, Deans Folly, Upper Reach Village, near Staines. "

Her eyes sparkled. Instinctively she knew that she had located herprison. Van Heerden had certainly hired the house furnished, probablyfrom the clergyman or his widow. She began to search the room withfeverish haste. Near the window was a cupboard built out. She opened itand found that it was a small service lift, apparently communicatingwith the kitchen. In a corner of the room was an invalid chair onwheels. 

She sat down at the table and reconstructed the character of itsoccupant. She saw an invalid clergyman who had lived permanently in thispart of the house. He was probably wheeled from his bedroom to hissitting-room, and in this cheerless chamber had spent the last years ofhis life. And this place was Deans Folly? She took up the telegraph formand after a few minutes' deliberation wrote:

"To Beale, Krooman Mansions. "

She scratched that out, remembering that he had a telegraphic addressand substituted:

"Belocity, London. " She thought a moment, then wrote: "Am imprisoned atDeans Folly, Upper Reach Village, near Staines. Oliva. " That looked toobold, and she added "Cresswell. "

She took a florin from her bag and wrapped it up in the telegraph form. She had no exact idea as to how she should get the message sent to thetelegraph office, and it was Sunday, when all telegraph offices would beclosed. Nor was there any immediate prospect of her finding a messenger. She supposed that tradesmen came to the house and that the kitchen doorwas somewhere under her window, but tradesmen do not call on Sundays. She held the little package irresolutely in her hand. She must take herchance to-day. To-morrow would be Monday and it was certain somebodywould call. 

With this assurance she tucked the message into her blouse. She was inno mood to continue her inspection of the room, and it was only becausein looking again from the window she pulled it from its hook that shesaw the strange-looking instrument which hung between the window and theservice lift. She picked it up, a dusty-looking thing. It consisted of ashort vulcanite handle, from which extended two flat steel supports, terminating in vulcanite ear-plates. The handle was connected by a greencord with a plug in the wall. 

Oliva recognized it. It was an electrophone. One of those instruments bywhich stay-at-home people can listen to an opera, a theatricalentertainment or--a sermon. Of course it was a church. It was a verycommon practice for invalids to be connected up with their favouritepulpit, and doubtless the Rev. Mr. Stringer had derived considerablecomfort from this invention. 

She dusted the receiver and put them to her ears. She heard nothing. Beneath the plug was a little switch. She turned this over and instantlyher ears were filled with a strange hollow sound--the sound which a badgramophone record makes. 

Then she realized that she was listening to a congregation singing. This ceased after awhile and she heard a cough, so surprisingly near andloud that she started. Of course, the transmitter would be in thepulpit, she thought. Then a voice spoke, clear and distinct, yet withthat drawl which is the peculiar property of ministers of theEstablished Church. She smiled as the first words came to her. 

"I publish the banns of marriage between Henry Colebrook, and Jane MariaSmith both of this parish. This is the second time of asking. " A pause, then: "Also between Henry Victor Vanden and Oliva Cresswell Prédeaux, both of this parish. This is the third time of asking. If any of youknow cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joinedtogether in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. "

She dropped the instrument with a crash and stood staring down at it. She had been listening to the publication of her own wedding-notice. 

"Vanden" was van Heerden. "Oliva Cresswell Prédeaux" was herself. Thestrangeness of the names meant nothing. She guessed rather than knewthat the false name would not be any insuperable bar to the ceremony. She must get away. For the first time she had a horrible sense of beingtrapped, and for a few seconds she must have lost her head, for shetugged at the iron bars, dashed wildly out and hammered at the slidingdoor. Presently her reason took charge. She heard the heavy step ofGregory on the stairs and recovered her calm by the time he had unlockedthe bar and pulled the doors apart. 

"What do you want?" he asked. 

"I want you to let me out of here. "

"Oh, is that all?" he said sarcastically, and for the second time thatday slammed the door in her face. 

She waited until he was out of hearing, then she went back noiselesslyto the sitting-room. She pushed open the door of the service lift andtested the ropes. There were two, one which supported the lift and oneby which it was hauled up, and she gathered that these with the liftitself formed an endless chain. 

Gripping both ropes firmly she crept into the confined space of thecupboard and let herself down hand over hand. She had about twelve feetto descend before she reached the kitchen entrance of the elevator. Shesqueezed through the narrow opening and found herself in a stone-flaggedkitchen. It was empty. A small fire glowed in the grate. Her own traywith all the crockery unwashed was on the dresser, and there were theremnants of a meal at one end of the plain table. She tiptoed across thekitchen to the door. It was bolted top and bottom and locked. Fortunately the key was in the lock, and in two minutes she was outsidein a small courtyard beneath the level of the ground. 

One end of the courtyard led past another window, and that she could notrisk. To her right was a flight of stone steps, and that was obviouslythe safer way. She found herself in a little park which fortunately forher was plentifully sprinkled with clumps of rhododendrons, and shecrept from bush to bush, taking care to keep out of sight of the house. She had the telegram and the money in her hand, and her first object wasto get this outside. It took her twenty minutes to reach the wall. Itwas too high to scale and there was no sign of a ladder. The only wayout was the little brown door she had seen from her bedroom window, andcautiously she made her way back, flitting from bush to bush until shecame to the place where a clear view of the door and the building to itsleft could be obtained. 

The low-roofed shed she had seen was much longer than she had expectedand evidently had recently been built. Its black face was punctured atintervals with square windows, and a roughly painted door to the left ofthe brown garden gate was the only entrance she could see. She lookedfor a key but without hope of finding one. She must take her chance, shethought, and a quick run brought her from the cover of the bushes to thebrown portal which stood between her and liberty. 

With trembling hands she slid back the bolts and turned the handle. Herheart leapt as it gave a little. Evidently it had not been used foryears and she found it was only held fast by the gravel which hadaccumulated beneath it. 

Eagerly she scraped the gravel aside with her foot and her hand was onthe knob when she heard a muffled voice behind her. She turned and thenwith a gasp of horror fell back. Standing in the doorway of the shed wasa thing which was neither man nor beast. It was covered in a wrap whichhad once been white but was now dappled with green. The face and headwere covered with rubber, two green staring eyes surveyed her, and agreat snout-like nose was uplifted as in amazement. She was paralysedfor a moment. For the beastliness of the figure was appalling. 

Then realizing that it was merely a man whose face was hidden by ahideous mask, she sprang again for the door, but a hand gripped her armand pulled her back. She heard a cheerful whistle from the road withoutand remembering the package in her hand she flung it high over the walland heard its soft thud, and the whistle stop. 

Then as the hideous figure slipped his arm about her and pressed a mustyhand over her mouth she fainted. 

CHAPTER XIV

MR. BEALE SUGGESTS MARRIAGE

"Held up by a gunman?" asked James Kitson incredulously, "why, what doyou mean?"

"It doesn't sound right, does it?" smiled Beale, "especially afterMcNorton telling us the other day that there was no such thing as agunman in England. Do you remember his long dissertation on thelaw-abiding criminals of this little old country?" he laughed. 

"But a gunman, " protested Mr. Kitson--"by the way, have you hadbreakfast?"

"Hours ago, " replied Beale, "but don't let me interrupt you. "

Mr. James Kitson pulled his chair to the table and unfolded his napkin. It was almost at this hour that Oliva Cresswell had performed a similaract. 

"You are not interrupting me, " said Kitson, "go on. "

Beale was frowning down at deserted Piccadilly which Mr. Kitson'spalatial suite at the Ritz-Carlton overlooked. 

"Eh?" he said absently, "oh yes, the gunman--a sure enough gunman. "

He related in a few words his experience of the previous night. 

"This man Homo, " said Kitson, "is he one of the gang?"

Beale shook his head. 

"I don't think so. He may be one of van Heerden's ambassadors. "

"Ambassadors?"

"I will explain van Heerden's game one of these days and you willunderstand what I mean, " said Beale. "No, I don't think that Parson Homois being any more than a gentle knight succouring a distressed lady, whether for love of the lady, out of respect for the professor or from ageneral sense of antagonism to all detectives, I can only speculate. Anyway, he held me until the lady was out of hearing and presumably outof sight. And then there was no need for me to go. I just sat down andtalked, and a more amiable and cultured gentleman it would be impossibleto meet. "

Kitson looked at his companion through narrowed lids. 

"Why, that's not like you, Beale, " he said. "I thought you were too hoton the scent to waste time. "

"So I am, " said the other, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, "that's just what I am. " He turned suddenly to the older man. "Mr. Kitson, I've got to know a little more about John Millinborn's will thanI know at present. "

The lawyer looked up, fixed his glasses and regarded the younger manwith a troubled look. 

"I'm sorry to jump in on you like this, but I'm rattled. I don'tunderstand much about the English law though I know that marriagesaren't as easy to make here in London as they are in our country. Buthere as everywhere else it is fairly difficult to force a girl intomarriage against her will, and the marriage of course is not good inlaw. "

He sat down on the arm of a couch, dangling his hat between his legs, and ran his fingers through his hair with a nervous little laugh. 

"Here I'm telling you all that I came to ask you. "

"Have a cup of tea, " said Kitson, with a smile, "everybody in Englandrushes to tea and I hope I shall get you in the habit. "

Beale shook his head. 

"You are right about the marriage, " Kitson went on, "but I'll give youthe law on the subject. A marriage can only be solemnized if due noticeis given by the parties who must be resident in the district where it isto take place--three weeks is the period of notice. "

"Is there no other way?"

"Yes. By paying special fees and offering a good and sufficient reason afaculty can be secured from the Archbishop of Canterbury, or rather fromhis officials, authorizing a marriage without notice. It is called aspecial licence, and the marriage may occur at any hour and at anyplace. "

"Is there a register of applications?" asked Beale quickly. 

"I've thought of that, " nodded the lawyer, "yes, I'm keeping that sideunder observation. It is difficult because officialdom isn't as obligingas it might be. My own view is that van Heerden will be married in theordinary way, that is to say by giving notice. To secure his speciallicence he would be obliged to give his own name and be vouched for; hecan be married in the ordinary way even if he gives a false name, whichin all probability he will. "

"Would the marriage be legal if it was in a false name?"

"Absolutely. In English law you may commit an offence by marrying in awrong name, but it would not invalidate the marriage. "

Stanford Beale sat studying the pattern of the carpet. 

"Is there any chance of two special licences being issued to marry thesame girl?" he asked. 

"None--why do you ask?"

Beale did not reply immediately. 

"Something Homo said last night when I told him frankly that I wassearching for Miss Cresswell. 'Oh, ' said he, 'that's the lady that'smarrying the doctor. ' He wouldn't tell me more. But he gave me an ideato make sure that no special licence is issued to van Heerden. I shallapply for one myself. "

The lawyer stared at him. 

"To marry the girl?" he gasped. "But----"

Stanford Beale laughed a little bitterly. 

"Say, don't get up in the air, Mr. Kitson--I'm only thinking of MissCresswell. A special licence in my name would stop one of van Heerden'spaths to easy money. Tell me, and this is what I came to ask you, underMillinborn's will, does the husband benefit directly by the marriage, oris he dependent upon what his wife gives him?'

"He benefits directly, " said Kitson after a pause, "on his marriage hereceives exactly one-half of the girl's fortune. That was Millinborn'sidea. 'Make the husband independent, ' he said, 'do not put him in thehumiliating position of dependence on his wife's generosity, and therewill be a chance of happiness for them both. '"

"I see--of course, van Heerden knows that. He has only to produce amarriage certificate to scoop in two and a half million dollars--that ishalf a million in English money. This is the secret of it all. He wantsmoney immediately, and under the terms of the will----?"

"He gets it, " said Kitson. "If he came to me to-morrow with proof of hismarriage, even if I knew that he had coerced the girl into marriage, Imust give him his share--van Heerden was pretty thorough when he put mydying friend through his examination. " His face hardened. "Heavens, I'dgive every penny I had in the world to bring that fiend to the gallows, Beale!"

His voice shook, and rising abruptly he walked to the window. Presentlyhe turned. "I think there is something in your idea. Get the licence. "

"I will--and marry her, " said Beale quickly. 

"Marry her--I don't quite understand you?"

For the first time there was suspicion in his voice. 

"Mr. Kitson, I'm going to put all my cards on the table, " said Bealequietly, "will you sit down a moment? There are certain facts which wecannot ignore. Fact one is that Oliva Cresswell is in the hands of a manwho is absolutely unscrupulous, but has no other object in view thanmarriage. Her beauty, her charm, all the attractive qualities whichappeal to most men and to all brutes have no appeal for him--to him sheis just a money proposition. If he can't marry her, she has no furtherinterest for him. "

"I see that, " agreed the lawyer, "but----"

"Wait, please. If we knew where she was we could stop the marriage andindict van Heerden--but I've an idea that we shan't locate her until itis too late or nearly too late. I can't go hunting with a pack ofpolicemen. I must play a lone hand, or nearly a lone hand. When I findher I must be in a position to marry her without losing a moment. "

"You mean to marry her to foil van Heerden, and after--to dissolve themarriage?" asked the lawyer, shaking his head. "I don't like thatsolution, Beale--I tell you frankly, I don't like it. You're a good manand I have every faith in you, but if I consented, even though I wereconfident that you would play fair, which I am, I should feel that I hadbetrayed John Millinborn's trust. It isn't because it is you, my son, "he said kindly enough, "but if you were the Archangel Gabriel I'd kickat that plan. Marriage is a difficult business to get out of once youare in it, especially in this country. "

Beale did not interrupt the older man. 

"Right, and now if you've finished I'll tell you my scheme, " he said, "as I see it there's only a ghost of a chance of our saving this girlfrom marriage. I've done my best and we--McNorton and I--have taken allthe facts before a judge this morning. We got a special interview withthe idea of securing a warrant for van Heerden's arrest. But there is noevidence to convict him on any single charge. We cannot connect him withthe disappearance of Miss Cresswell, and although I pointed out that vanHeerden admits that he knows where the girl is, the judge said, fairly Ithought, that there was no law which compelled a man to divulge theaddress of his fiancée to one who was a possible rival. The girl is ofan age when she can do as she wishes, and as I understand the matter youhave no legal status as a guardian. "

"None, " said James Kitson, "that is our weak point. I am merely thecustodian of her money. Officially I am supposed to be ignorant of thefact that Oliva Cresswell is Oliva Prédeaux, the heiress. "

"Therefore our hands are tied, " concluded Beale quietly. "Don't you seethat my plan is the only one--but I haven't told you what it is. There'sa man, a criminal, this Parson Homo who can help; I am satisfied that hedoes not know where the girl is--but he'll help for a consideration. Asa matter of fact, he was pulled again. I am seeing him this afternoon. "

Mr. Kitson frowned. 

"The gunman--how can he help you?"

"I will tell you. This man, as I say, is known to the police as ParsonHomo. Apparently he is an unfrocked priest, one who has gone under. Hestill preserves the resemblance to a gentleman"--he spoke slowly anddeliberately; "in decent clothes he would look like a parson. I proposethat he shall marry me to Miss Cresswell. The marriage will be a fake, but neither the girl nor van Heerden will know this. If my surmise isright, when van Heerden finds she is married he will take no furthersteps--except, perhaps, " he smiled, "to make her a widow. Sooner orlater we are bound to get him under lock and key, and then we can tellMiss Cresswell the truth. "

"In other words, you intend breaking the law and committing a seriousoffence, " said Kitson, shaking his head. "I can't be a party tothat--besides, she may not marry you. "

"I see that danger--van Heerden is a mighty clever fellow. He may bemarried before I trace them. "

"You say that Homo doesn't know about the girl, what does he know?"

"He has heard of van Heerden. He has heard probably from the girl HildaGlaum that van Heerden is getting married--the underworld do not gettheir news out of special editions--he probably knows too that vanHeerden is engaged in some swindle which is outside the parson's line ofbusiness. "

"Will he help you?"

"Sure, " Beale said with quiet confidence, "the man is broke anddesperate. The police watch him like a cat, and would get him sooner orlater. McNorton told me that much. I have offered him passage toAustralia and £500, and he is ready to jump at it. "

"You have explained the scheme?"

"I had to, " confessed Beale, "there was no time to be lost. To mysurprise he didn't like it. It appears that even a double-dyed crook hasscruples, and even when I told him the whole of my plan he still didn'tlike it, but eventually agreed. He has gone to Whitechapel to get thenecessary kit. I am putting him up in my flat. Of course, it may not benecessary, " he went on, "but somehow I think it will be. "

Kitson spread out his hands in despair. 

"I shall have to consent, " he said, "the whole thing was a mistake fromthe beginning. I trust you, Stanford, " he went on, looking the other inthe eye, "you have no feeling beyond an ordinary professional interestin this young lady?"

Beale dropped his eyes. 

"If I said that, Mr. Kitson, I should be telling a lie, " he saidquietly. "I have a very deep interest in Miss Cresswell, but that is notgoing to make any difference to me and she will never know. "

He left soon after this and went back to his rooms. At four o'clock hereceived a visitor. Parson Homo, cleanly shaved and attired in awell-fitting black coat and white choker, seemed more real to thedetective than the Parson Homo he had met on the previous night. 

"You look the part all right, " said Beale. 

"I suppose I do, " said the other shortly; "what am I to do next?"

"You stay here. I have made up a bed for you in my study, " said Beale. 

"I would like to know a little more of this before I go any further, "Homo said, "there are many reasons why I want information. "

"I have told you the story, " said Beale patiently, "and I am going tosay right here that I do not intend telling you any more. You carry thisthing through and I'll pay you what I agreed. Nobody will be injured byyour deception, that I promise you. "

"That doesn't worry me so much, " said the other coolly, "as----"

There came a knock at the door, an agitated hurried knock, and Bealeimmediately answered it. It was McNorton, and from force of habit ParsonHomo drew back into the shadows. 

"All right, Parson, " said McNorton, "I knew you were here. What do youmake of this?"

He turned to Beale and laid on the table a piece of paper which had beenbadly crumpled and which he now smoothed out. It was the top half of atelegraph form, the lower half had been torn away. 

"'To Belocity, London, '" Beale read aloud. 

"That's you, " interrupted McNorton, and the other nodded. 

"'To Belocity, London, '" he read slowly. "'Am imprisoned at Deans----'"

At this point the remainder of the message had been torn off. 

CHAPTER XV

THE GOOD HERR STARDT

"Where is the rest?" said Beale. 

"That's the lot, " replied McNorton grimly. "It's the only informationyou will get from this source for twenty-four hours. "

"But I don't understand, it is undoubtedly Miss Cresswell'shandwriting. "

"And 'Belocity' is as undoubtedly your telegraphic address. This paper, "he went on, "was taken from a drunken tramp--'hobo' you call 'em, don'tyou?"

"Where?"

"At Kingston-on-Thames, " said McNorton--"the man was picked up in thestreet, fighting drunk, and taken to the police station, where hedeveloped delirium tremens. Apparently he has been on the jag all theweek, and to-day's booze finished him off. The local inspector insearching him found this piece of paper in his pocket and connected itwith the disappearance of Miss Cresswell, the matter being fresh in hismind, as only this morning we had circulated a new descriptionthroughout the home counties. He got me on the 'phone and sent aconstable up to town with the paper this afternoon. "

"H'm, " said Beale, biting his lips thoughtfully, "she evidently gave theman the telegram, telling him to dispatch it. She probably gave himmoney, too, which was the explanation of his final drunk. "

"I don't think that is the case, " said McNorton, "he had one lucidmoment at the station when he was cross-examined as to where he got themoney to get drunk, and he affirmed that he found it wrapped up in apiece of paper. That sounds true to me. She either dropped it from a caror threw it from a house. "

"Is the man very ill?"

"Pretty bad, " said the other, "you will get nothing out of him beforethe morning. The doctors had to dope him to get him quiet, and he willbe some time before he is right. "

He looked up at the other occupant of the room. 

"Well, Parson, you are helping Mr. Beale, I understand?"

"Yes, " said the other easily. 

"Returning to your old profession, I see, " said McNorton. 

Parson Homo drew himself up a little stiffly. 

"If you have anything against me you can pull me for it, " he saidinsolently: "that's your business. As to the profession I followedbefore I started on that career of crime which brought me into contactwith the crude representatives of what is amusingly called 'the law, ' isentirely my affair. "

"Don't get your wool off, Parson, " said the other good-humouredly. "Youhave lost your sense of humour. "

"That's where you are wrong, " said Homo coolly: "I have merely lost mysense of decency. "

McNorton turned to the other. 

"What are you going to do?" he asked. 

"'I am imprisoned at Deans, '" repeated Beale. "What 'Deans' have you inthis country?"

"There are a dozen of them, " replied the police chief: "there'sDeansgate in Manchester, Deanston in Perth, Deansboro', DeansAbbey--I've been looking them up, there is a whole crowd of them. "

"Are there any 'Deans' near Kingston?"

"None, " replied the other. 

"Then it is obviously the name of a house, " said Beale. "I have noticedthat in England you are in the habit of naming rather than numberingyour houses, especially in the suburbs. " He looked across to ParsonHomo, "Can you help?"

The man shook his head. 

"If I were a vulgar burglar I might assist you, " he said, "but my branchof the profession does not take me to the suburbs. "

"We will get a Kingston Directory and go through it, " said McNorton; "wehave one on the file at Scotland Yard. If----"

Beale suddenly raised his hand to enjoin silence: he had heard afamiliar step in the corridor outside. 

"That's van Heerden, " he said in a low voice, "he has been out all themorning. "

"Has he been shadowed?" asked McNorton in the same tone. 

"My man lost him, " he said. 

He tiptoed along the passage and stood listening behind the door. Presently he heard the doctor's door close and came back. 

"I have had the best sleuth in America trailing him, " he said, "and hehas slipped him every time. "

"Anyway, " said McNorton, "this telegram disposes of the idea that shehas gone to Liverpool. It also settles the question as to whether shewent of her own free will. If his name were on that telegram, " he saidthoughtfully, "I would take a risk and pull him in. "

"I will give you something bigger to pull him for, " Beale said, "once Ihave placed Miss Cresswell in safety. "

"The Green Rust?" smiled the police chief. 

"The Green Rust, " said Beale, but he did not smile, "that's vanHeerden's big game. The abduction of Miss Cresswell is merely a means toan end. He wants her money and may want it very badly. The more urgentis his need the sooner that marriage takes place. "

"But there is no clergyman in England who would marry them"--it was Homowho interrupted. "My dear friend, that sort of thing is not done exceptin story books. If the woman refuses her consent the marriage cannotpossibly occur. As I understand, the lady is not likely to be cowed. "

"That is what I am afraid of, " said Beale, "she is all pluck----"

He stopped, for he had heard the doctor's door close. In three strideshe had crossed the hallway and was in the corridor, confronting hissuave neighbour. Dr. Van Heerden, carefully attired, was pulling on hisgloves and smiled into the stern face of his rival. 

"Well, " he asked pleasantly, "any news of Miss Cresswell?"

"If I had any news of Miss Cresswell you would not be here, " said Beale. 

"But how interesting, " drawled the doctor. "Where should I be?"

"You would be under lock and key, my friend, " said Beale. 

The doctor threw back his head and laughed softly. 

"What a lover!" he said, "and how reluctant to accept his dismissal! Itmay ease your mind to know that Miss Cresswell, whom I hope very soon tocall Mrs. Van Heerden, is perfectly happy, and is very annoyed at yourpersistence. I had a telegram from her this morning, begging me to cometo Liverpool at the earliest opportunity. "

"That's a lie, " said Beale quietly, "but one lie more or less, Isuppose, doesn't count. "

"A thoroughly immoral view to take, " said the doctor with much severity, "but I see there is nothing to be gained by arguing with you, and I canonly make one request. "

Beale said nothing but stood waiting. 

"It is this, " said the doctor, choosing his words with great care: "thatyou call off the gentleman who has been dogging my footsteps to-day. Itwas amusing at first but now it is becoming annoying. Some of mypatients have complained of this man watching their houses. "

"You've not seen a patient to-day, van Heerden, " said Beale, "and, anyway, I guess you had better get used to being shadowed. It isn't yourfirst experience. "

The doctor looked at him under lowered lids and smiled again. 

"I could save your man a great deal of trouble, " he said, "and myselfconsiderable exertion by giving him a list of the places where I intendcalling. "

"He will find that out for himself, " said Beale. 

"I wish him greater success than he has had, " replied the other, andpassed on, descending the stairs slowly. 

Beale went back to his flat, passed to his bedroom and looked down intothe street. He made a signal to a man at the corner and received analmost imperceptible answer. Then he returned to the two men. 

"This fellow is too clever for us, I am afraid, and London with itstubes, its underground stations and taxi-cabs is a pretty difficultproposition. "

"I suppose your man lost him in the tube, " said McNorton. 

"There are two ways down, the elevator and the stairs, and it is mightydifficult to follow a man unless you know which way he is going. "

"But you were interrupted at an interesting moment. What are you goingto tell us about the Green Rust?"

"I can only tell you this, " said Beale, "that the Green Rust is thegreatest conspiracy against the civilized world that has ever beenhatched. "

He looked sharply at Homo. 

"Don't look at me, " said the Parson, "I know nothing about it, unless----" He stopped and frowned. "The Green Rust, " he repeated, "isthat old man Heyler's secret?"

"He's in it, " said Beale shortly. 

"Is it a swindle of some kind?" asked the Parson curiously. "It neverstruck me that Heyler was that kind of man. "

"There is no swindle in it so far as Heyler's concerned, " said Beale, "it is something bigger than a swindle. "

A telephone bell rang and he took up the receiver and listened, onlyinterjecting a query or two. Then he hung up the instrument. 

"It is as I thought, " he said: "the doctor's slipped again. Had a carwaiting for him in Oxford Street and when he saw there were no taxi-cabsabout, jumped in and was driven eastward. "

"Did you get the number of the car?" asked McNorton. 

Beale smiled. 

"That's not much use, " he said, "he's probably got two or threenumber-plates. "

He looked at his watch. 

"I'll go along to Kingston, " he said. 

"I shan't be able to come with you, " said McNorton, "I have a meetingwith the commissioner at five. "

"Before you go, " remarked Beale, "you might put your signature to thisdeclaration of my _bona fides_. "

He laid on the table a blue foolscap blank. 

"What's this?" asked the surprised McNorton, "an application for aspecial licence--are you going to be married?"

"I hope so, " said the other cautiously. 

"You don't seem very cheerful about it. I presume you want me to testifyto the urgency of the case. I am probably perjuring myself. " He signedhis name with a flourish. "When are you getting the licence and what'sthe hurry?"

"I am getting the licence to-morrow, " said Beale. 

"And the lady's name is----?"

"I thought you had noticed it, " smiled the other, deftly blotting andfolding the form. 

"Not Miss Cresswell?" demanded the police chief in surprise. 

"Miss Cresswell it is. "

"But I thought----"

"There are circumstances which may be brought to your official notice, McNorton, " said the detective, "for the present it is necessary to keepmy plan a secret. "

"Has it anything to do with the Green Rust?" asked the other jokingly. 

"A great deal to do with the Green Rust. "

"Well, I'll get along, " said McNorton. "I will telephone the Kingstonpolice to give you all the assistance possible, but I am afraid you willlearn nothing from the tramp till the morning, and perhaps not then. "

He took his leave soon after. 

"Now, Homo, it is up to you and me, " said Beale. "You will have to keepclose to me after to-morrow. Make yourself at home here until I comeback. "

"One moment, " said Homo, as Beale rose and gathered up his hat andgloves to depart. "Before you go I want you to understand clearly that Iam taking on this job because it offers me a chance that I haven't hadsince I fell from grace, if you will excuse the _cliché_. "

"That I understand, " said Beale. 

"I may be doing you a very bad turn. "

"I'll take that risk, " said Beale. 

"On your own head be it, " said Homo, his hard face creased in afleeting smile. 

Beale's car was waiting, but his departure was unexpectedly delayed. Ashe passed down the stairs into the vestibule he saw a stranger standingnear the door reading the enamelled name-plates affixed to the wall. Something in his appearance arrested Beale. The man was well dressed inthe sense that his clothes were new and well cut, but the pattern of thecloth, no less than the startling yellowness of the boots and thatunmistakable sign-manual of the foreigner, the shape and colour of thecravat, stamped him as being neither American nor British. 

"Can I be of any assistance?" asked Beale. "Are you looking forsomebody?"

The visitor turned a pink face to him. 

"You are very good, " he said with the faint trace of an accent. "Iunderstand that Doctor van Heerden lives here?"

"Yes, he lives here, " said Beale, "but I am afraid he is not at home. "

He thought it might be a patient or a summons to a patient. 

"Not at home?" The man's face fell. "But how unfortunate! Could you tellme where I can find him, my business is immediate and I have come a longway. "

From Germany, guessed Beale. The mail train was due at Charing Crosshalf an hour before. 

"I am a friend of Doctor van Heerden and possibly I can assist you. Isthe business very important? Does it concern, " he hesitated, "the GreenRust?"

He spoke the last sentence in German and the man started and looked athim with mingled suspicion and uncertainty. 

"It is a matter of the greatest importance, " he repeated, "it is ofvital importance. "

He spoke in German. 

"About the Green Rust?" asked Beale, in the same language. 

"I do not know anything of the Green Rust, " said the man hurriedly. "Iam merely the bearer of a communication which is of the greatestimportance. " He repeated the words--"the greatest importance. "

"If you give me the letter, " said Beale, "I will see that it is sent onto him, " and he held out his hand with the assurance of one who sharedthe dearest secrets of the doctor. The stranger's hand wandered to hisbreast pocket, but came back empty. 

"No, it must be given--I must see the doctor himself, " he said. "He doesnot expect me and I will wait. "

Beale thought quickly. 

"Well, perhaps you will come upstairs to my flat and wait, " he saidgenially, and led the way, and the man, still showing evidence ofuneasiness, was ushered into his room, where the sight of the Rev. Parson Homo tended to reassure him. 

Would he have tea? He would not have tea. Would he take coffee? He wouldnot take coffee. A glass of wine perhaps? No, he did not drink wine norbeer, nor would he take any refreshment whatever. 

"My man, " thought the desperate Beale, "I either chloroform you or hityou on the head with the poker, but I am going to see that letter. "

As if divining his thought, but placing thereon a wrong construction, the man said:

"I should avail myself of your kindness to deliver my letter to Doctorvan Heerden, but of what service would it be since it is only a letterintroducing me to the good doctor?"

"Oh, is that all?" said Beale, disappointed, and somehow he knew the manspoke the truth. 

"That is all, " he said, "except of course my message, which is verbal. My name is Stardt, you may have heard the doctor speak of me. We havehad some correspondence. "

"Yes, yes, I remember, " lied Beale. 

"The message is for him alone, of course, as you will understand, and ifI deliver it to you, " smiled Herr Stardt, "you should not understand it, because it is one word. "

"One word?" said Beale blankly. "A code--hang!"

CHAPTER XVI

THE PAWN TICKET

Oliva Cresswell awoke to consciousness as she was being carried up thestairs of the house. She may have recovered sooner, for she retained aconfused impression of being laid down amidst waving grasses and ofhearing somebody grunt that she was heavier than he thought. 

Also she remembered as dimly the presence of Dr. Van Heerden standingover her, and he was wearing a long grey dust-coat. 

As her captor kicked open the door of her room she scrambled out of hisarms and leant against the bed-rail for support. 

"I'm all right, " she said breathlessly, "it was foolish to faint, but--but you frightened me. "

The man grinned, and seemed about to speak, but a sharp voice from thelanding called him, and he went out, slamming the door behind him. Shecrossed to the bath-room, bathed her face in cold water and felt better, though she was still a little giddy. 

Then she sat down to review the situation, and in that review twofigures came alternately into prominence--van Heerden and Beale. 

She was an eminently sane girl. She had had the beginnings of what mighthave been an unusually fine education, had it not been interrupted bythe death of her foster-mother. She had, too, the advantage which thefinished young lady does not possess, of having grafted to the wisdom ofthe schools the sure understanding of men and things which personalcontact with struggling humanity can alone give to us. 

The great problems of life had been sprung upon her with all theirhideous realism, and through all she had retained her poise and herclear vision. Many of the phenomena represented by man's attitude towoman she could understand, but that a man who admittedly did not loveher and had no other apparent desire than to rid himself of the incubusof a wife as soon as he was wed, should wish to marry her wasincomprehensible. That he had already published the banns of hermarriage left her gasping at his audacity. Strange how her thoughtsleapt all the events of the morning: the wild rush to escape, thestruggle with the hideously masked man, and all that went before orfollowed, and went back to the night before. 

Somehow she knew that van Heerden had told her the truth, and that therewas behind this act of his a deeper significance than she could grasp. She remembered what he had said about Beale, and flushed. 

"You're silly, Matilda, " she said to herself, employing the term ofaddress which she reserved for moments of self-depreciation, "here is ayoung man you have only met half a dozen times, who is probably a verynice married policeman with a growing family and you are going hot andcold at the suggestion that you're in love with him. " She shook her headreproachfully. 

And yet upon Beale all her thoughts were centred, and however they mightwander it was to Beale they returned. She could analyse that buoyancywhich had asserted itself, that confidence which had suddenly become amental armour, which repelled every terrifying thought, to this faithshe had in a man, who in a few weeks before she had looked upon as anincorrigible drunkard. 

She had time for thought, and really, though this she did notacknowledge, she desperately needed the occupation of that thought. Whatwas Beale's business? Why did he employ her to copy out this list ofAmerican and Canadian statistics? Why did he want to know all thesehotels, their proprietors, the chief of the police and the like? Shewished she had her papers and books so that she might go on extractingthat interminable list. 

What would van Heerden do now? Would her attempted escape change hisplans? How would he overcome the difficulty of marrying a girl who wascertain to denounce him in the presence of so independent a witness as aclergyman? She would die before she married him, she told herself. 

She could not rest, and walked about the room examining the framedprints and looking at the books, and occasionally walking to the glassabove the dressing-chest to see if any sign was left of the red mark onher cheek where van Heerden's hand had fallen. This exercise gave her acurious satisfaction, and when she saw that the mark had subsided andwas blending more to the colour of her skin she felt disappointed. Startled, she analysed this curious mental attitude and again came toBeale. She wanted Beale to see the place. She wanted Beale's sympathy. She wanted Beale's rage--she was sure he would rage. 

She laughed to herself and for want of other and better amusement walkedto the drawers in the dressing-bureau and examined their contents. Theywere empty and unlocked save one, which refused to respond to her tug. She remembered she had a small bunch of keys in her bag. 

"I am going to be impertinent. Forgive the liberty, " she said, as shefelt the lock give to the first attempt. 

She pulled the drawer open. It contained a few articles of feminineattire and a thick black leather portfolio. She lifted this out, laid iton the table and opened it. It was filled with foolscap. Written on thecover was the word "Argentine" and somehow the writing was familiar toher. It was a bold hand, obviously feminine. 

"Where have I seen that before?" she asked, and knit her forehead. 

She turned the first leaf and read:

"Alsigar Hotel, Fournos, Proprietor, Miguel Porcorini. Index 2. "

Her mouth opened in astonishment and she ran down the list. She took outanother folder. It was marked "Canada, " and she turned the leavesrapidly. She recognized this work. It was the same work that Beale hadgiven to her, a list of the hotels, their proprietors and means ofconveyance, but there was no reference to the police. And then it dawnedupon her. An unusually long description produced certain characteristicsof writing which she recognized. 

"Hilda Glaum!" she said. "I wonder what this means!"

She examined the contents of the drawer again and some of them puzzledher. Not the little stack of handkerchiefs, the folded collars and thelike. If Hilda Glaum was in the habit of visiting Deans Folly and usedthis room it was natural that these things should be here. If this wereher bureau the little carton of nibs and the spare note book were to beexpected. It was the steel box which set her wondering. This shediscovered in the far corner of the drawer. If she could have imaginedanything so fantastic she might have believed that the box had beenspecially made to hold the thing it contained and preserve it from thedangers of fire. The lid, which closed with a spring catch, released bythe pressure of a tiny button, was perfectly fitted so that the box wasin all probability air-tight. 

She opened it without difficulty. The sides were lined with what seemedto be at first sight thick cardboard but which proved on closerinspection to be asbestos. She opened it with a sense of eageranticipation, but her face fell. Save for a tiny square blue envelope atthe bottom, the box was empty!

She lifted it in her hand to shake out the envelope and it was then thatthe idea occurred to her that the box had been made for the envelope, which refused to budge until she lifted one end with a hairpin. 

It was unsealed, and she slipped in her finger and pulled out--a pawnticket!

She had an inclination to laugh which she checked. She examined theticket curiously. It announced the fact that Messrs. Rosenblaum Bros. , of Commercial Road, London, had advanced ten shillings on a "Gents'Silver Hunter Watch, " and the pledge had been made in the name of vanHeerden!

She gazed at it bewildered. He was not a man who needed ten shillings orten dollars or ten pounds. Why should he pledge a watch and why havingpledged it should he keep the ticket with such care?

Oliva hesitated a moment, then slipped the ticket from its cover, putback the envelope at the bottom of the box and closed the lid. She founda hiding-place for the little square pasteboard before she returned thebox and portfolio to the drawer and locked it. 

There was a tap at the door and hastily she replaced the key in her bag. 

"Come in, " she said. 

She recognized the man who stood in the doorway as he who had carriedher back to the room. 

There was a strangeness in his bearing which made her uneasy, a certainsubdued hilarity which suggested drunkenness. 

"Don't make a noise, " he whispered with a stifled chuckle, "if Gregoryhears he'll raise fire. "

She saw that the key was in the lock on the outside of the door and thisshe watched. But he made no attempt to withdraw it and closed the doorbehind him softly. 

"My name is Bridgers, " he whispered, "van Heerden has told you aboutme--Horace Bridgers, do you----?"

He took a little tortoiseshell box from the pocket of his frayedwaistcoat and opened it with a little kick of his middle finger. It washalf-full of white powder that glittered in a stray ray of sunlight. "Try a sniff, " he begged eagerly, "and all your troubles willgo--phutt!"

"Thank you, no"--she shook her head, looking at him with a perplexedsmile--"I don't know what it is. "

"It's the white terror, " he chuckled again, "better than the green--notso horribly musty as the green, eh?"

"I'm not in the mood for terrors of any kind, " she said, with ahalf-smile. She wondered why he had come, and had a momentary hope thathe was ignorant of van Heerden's character. 

"All right"--he stuffed the box back into his waistcoatpocket--"_you're_ the loser, you'll never find heaven on earth!"

She waited. 

All the time he was speaking, it seemed to her that he was on the _quivive_ for some interruption from below. He would stop in his speech toturn a listening ear to the door. Moreover, she was relieved to see hemade no attempt to advance any farther into the room. That he was underthe influence of some drug she guessed. His eyes glittered withunnatural brilliance, his hands, discoloured and uncleanly, movednervously and were never still. 

"I'm Bridgers, " he said again. "I'm van Heerden's best man--rather acome down for the best analytical chemist that the school ever turnedout, eh? Doing odd jobs for a dirty Deutscher!" He walked to the door, opened it and listened, then tiptoed across the room to her. 

"You know, " he whispered, "you're van Heerden's girl--what is the game?"

"What is----?" she stammered. 

"What is the game? What is it all about? I've tried to pump Gregory andMilsom, but they're mysterious. Curse all mysteries, my dear. What isthe game? Why are they sending men to America, Canada, Australia andIndia? Come along and be a pal! Tell me! I've seen the office, I knowall about it. Thousands of sealed envelopes filled with steamshiptickets and money. Thousands of telegraph forms already addressed. Youdon't fool me!" He hissed the last words almost in her face. "Why is heemploying the crocks and the throw-outs of science? Perrilli, Maxon, Boyd Heyler--and me? If the game's square why doesn't he take the newmen from the schools?"

She shook her head, being, by now, less interested in such revelationsas he might make, than in her own personal comfort. For his attitude wasgrown menacing ... Then the great idea came to her. Evidently this manknew nothing of the circumstances under which she had come to the house. To him she was a wilful but willing assistant of the doctor, who forsome reason or other it had been necessary to place under restraint. 

"I will tell you everything if you will take me back to my home, " shesaid. "I cannot give you proofs here. "

She saw suspicion gather in his eyes. Then he laughed. 

"That won't wash, " he sneered--"you know it all. I can't leave here, " hesaid; "besides, you told me last time that there was nothing. I used towatch you working away at night, " he went on to the girl's amazement. "I've sat looking at you for hours, writing and writing and writing. "

She understood now. She and Hilda Glaum were of about the same build, and she was mistaken for Hilda by this bemused man who had, in allprobability, never seen the other girl face to face. 

"What made you run away?" he asked suddenly; but with a sudden resolveshe brought him back to the subject he had started to discuss. 

"What is the use of my telling you?" she asked. "You know as much as I. "

"Only bits, " he replied eagerly, "but I don't know van Heerden's game. Iknow why he's marrying this other girl, everybody knows that. When isthe wedding?"

"What other girl?" she asked. 

"Cresswell or Prédeaux, whatever she calls herself, " said Bridgerscarelessly. "She was a store girl, wasn't she?"

"But"--she tried to speak calmly--"why do you think he wants to marryher?"

He laughed softly. 

"Don't be silly, " he said, "you can't fool me. Everybody knows she'sworth a million. "

"Worth a million?" she gasped. 

"Worth a million. " He smacked his lips and fumbled for the little box inhis waistcoat pocket. "Try a sniff--you'll know what it feels like to beold man Millinborn's heiress. "

There was a sound in the hall below and he turned with an exaggeratedstart (she thought it theatrical but could not know of the janglednerves of the drug-soddened man which magnified all sound to anintensity which was almost painful). 

He opened the door and slid out--and did not close the door behind him. 

Swiftly she followed, and as she reached the landing saw his headdisappear down the stairs. She was in a blind panic; a thousand formlessterrors gripped her and turned her resolute soul to water. She couldhave screamed her relief when she saw that the sliding door washalf-open--the man had not stopped to close it--and she passed throughand down the first flight. He had vanished before she reached thehalf-way landing and the hall below was empty. It was a wide hall, stone-flagged, with a glass door between her and the open portal. 

She flew down the stairs, pulled open the door and ran straight into vanHeerden's arms. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE JEW OF CRACOW

If there were committed in London the crime of the century--a crime sotremendous that the names of the chief actors in this grisly drama wereon the lips of every man, woman and talkative child in Europe--you mightwalk into a certain department of Scotland Yard with the assurance thatyou would not meet within the confining walls of that bureau any policeofficer who was interested in the slightest, or who, indeed, had evenheard of the occurrence save by accident. This department is known asthe Parley Voos or P. V. Department, and concerns itself only insuspicious events beyond the territorial waters of Great Britain andIreland. Its body is on the Thames Embankment, but its soul is at theCentral Office, or at the Sûreté or even at the Yamen of the policeminister of Pekin. 

It is sublimely ignorant of the masters of crime who dwell beneath theshadows of the Yard, but it could tell you, without stopping to look upreference, not only the names of the known gunmen of New York, but thecomposition of almost every secret society in China. 

A Pole had a quarrel with a Jew in the streets of Cracow, and theyquarrelled over the only matter which is worthy of quarrel in that partof Poland. The sum in dispute was the comparatively paltry one of 260Kronen, but when the Jew was taken in a dying condition to the hospitalhe made a statement which was so curious that the Chief of Police inCracow sent it on to Vienna and Vienna sent it to Berne and Bernescratched its chin thoughtfully and sent it forward to Paris, where itwas distributed to Rio de Janeiro, New York, and London. 

The Assistant Chief of the P. V. Department came out of his room anddrifted aimlessly into the uncomfortable bureau of Mr. McNorton. 

"There's a curious yarn through from Cracow, " he said, "which mightinterest your friend Beale. "

"What is it?" asked McNorton, who invariably found the stories of theP. V. Department fascinating but profitless. 

"A man was murdered, " said the P. V. Man lightly, as though that were theleast important feature of the story, "but before he pegged out he madea will or an assignment of his property to his son, in the course ofwhich he said that none of his stocks--he was a corn factor--were to besold under one thousand Kronen a bushel. That's about £30. "

"Corn at £30 a bushel?" said McNorton. "Was he delirious?"

"Not at all, " said the other. "He was a very well-known man in Cracow, one Zibowski, who during the late war was principal buying agent for theGerman Government. The Chief of the Police at Cracow apparently askedhim if he wasn't suffering from illusions, and the man then made astatement that the German Government had an option on all the grain inGalicia, Hungary and the Ukraine at a lower price. Zibowski held out forbetter terms. It is believed that he was working with a member of theGerman Government who made a fortune in the war out of army contracts. In fact, he as good as let this out just before he died, when he spokein his delirium of a wonderful invention which was being worked onbehalf of the German Government, an invention called the Green Rust. "

McNorton whistled. 

"Is that all?" he said. 

"That's all, " said the P. V. Man. "I seem to remember that Beale had madeone or two mysterious references to the Rust. Where is he now?"

"He left town last night, " replied McNorton. 

"Can you get in touch with him?"

The other shook his head. 

"I suppose you are sending on a copy of this communication to theCabinet, " he said--"it may be rather serious. Whatever the scheme is, itis being worked in London, and van Heerden is the chief operator. "

He took down his hat and went out in search of Kitson, whom he found inthe lobby of the hotel. James Kitson came toward him eagerly. 

"Have you news of Beale?"

"He was at Kingston this morning, " said McNorton, "with Parson Homo, buthe had left. I was on the 'phone to the inspector at Kingston, who didnot know very much and could give me no very definite news as to whetherBeale had made his discovery. He interviewed the tramp early thismorning, but apparently extracted very little that was helpful. As amatter of fact, I came to you to ask if he had got in touch with you. "

Kitson shook his head. 

"I want to see him about his Green Rust scare--Beale has gonesingle-handed into this matter, " said the superintendent, shaking hishead, "and he has played the lone game a little too long. "

"Is it very serious?"

"It may be an international matter, " replied McNorton gravely, "all thatwe know at present is this. A big plot is on foot to tamper with thefood supplies of the world and the chief plotter is van Heerden. Bealeknows more about the matter than any of us, but he only gives usoccasional glimpses of the real situation. I have been digging out vanHeerden's record without, however, finding anything very incriminating. Up to a point he seems to have been a model citizen, though hisassociates were not always of the best. He has been seen in the companyof at least three people with a bad history. Milsom, a doctor, convictedof murder in the 'nineties; Bridgers, an American chemist with twoconvictions for illicit trading in drugs; Gregory--who seems to be hisfactotum and general assistant, convicted in Manchester for saccharinesmuggling; and a girl called Glaum, who is an alien, charged during thewar for failing to register. "

"But against van Heerden?"

"Nothing. He has travelled a great deal in America and on the Continent. He was in Spain a few years ago and was suspected of being associatedwith the German Embassy. His association with the Millinborn murder youknow. "

"Yes, I know that, " said James Kitson bitterly. 

"Beale will have to tell us all he knows, " McNorton went on, "andprobably we can tell him something he doesn't know; namely, that vanHeerden conducts a pretty expensive correspondence by cable with allparts of the world. Something has happened in Cracow which gives a valueto all Beale's suspicions. "

Briefly he related the gist of the story which had reached him thatmorning. 

"It is incredible, " said Kitson when the chief had finished. "It wouldbe humanly impossible for the world to buy at that price. And there isno reason for it. It happens that I am interested in a millingcorporation and I know that the world's crops are good--in fact, theharvest will be well above the average. I should say that the Cracow Jewwas talking in delirium. "

But McNorton smiled indulgently. 

"I hope you're right, " he said. "I hope the whole thing is a mare's nestand for once in my life I trust that the police clues are as wrong ashell. But, anyway, van Heerden is cabling mighty freely--and I wantBeale!"

But Beale was unreachable. A visit to his apartment produced no results. The "foreign gentleman" who on the previous day had called on vanHeerden had been seen there that morning, but he, too, had vanished, andnone of McNorton's watchers had been able to pick him up. 

McNorton shifted the direction of his search and dropped into thepalatial establishment of Punsonby's. He strolled past the grill-hiddendesk which had once held Oliva Cresswell, and saw out of the tail of hiseye a stranger in her place and by her side the darkly taciturn HildaGlaum. 

Mr. White, that pompous man, greeted him strangely. As the police chiefcame into the private office Mr. White half-rose, turned deadly pale andbecame of a sudden bereft of speech. McNorton recognized the symptomsfrom long acquaintance with the characteristics of detected criminals, and wondered how deeply this pompous man was committed to whateverscheme was hatching. 

"Ah--ah--Mr. McNorton!" stammered White, shaking like a leaf, "won't yousit down, please? To what--to what, " he swallowed twice before he couldget the words out, "to what am I indebted?"

"Just called in to look you up, " said McNorton genially. "Have you beenlosing any more--registered letters lately?"

Mr. White subsided again into his chair. 

"Yes, yes--no, I mean, " he said, "no--ah--thank you. It was kind of youto call, inspector----"

"Superintendent, " corrected the other good-humouredly. 

"A thousand pardons, superintendent, " said Mr. White hastily, "no, sir, nothing so unfortunate. "

He shot a look half-fearful, half-resentful at the police officer. 

"And how is your friend Doctor van Heerden?"

Mr. White twisted uncomfortably in his chair. Again his look ofnervousness and apprehension. 

"Mr. --ah--van Heerden is not a friend of mine, " he said, "a businessacquaintance, " he sighed heavily, "just a business acquaintance. "

The White he had known was not the White of to-day. The man lookedolder, his face was more heavily lined and his eyes were dark withweariness. 

"I suppose he's a pretty shrewd fellow, " he remarked carelessly. "Youare interested in some of his concerns, aren't you?"

"Only one, only one, " replied White sharply, "and I wish to Heaven----"

He stopped himself. 

"And you wish you weren't, eh?"

Again the older man wriggled in his chair. 

"Doctor van Heerden is very clever, " he said; "he has great schemes, inone of which I am--ah--financially interested, That is all--I have putmoney into his--ah--syndicate, without, of course, knowing the nature ofthe work which is being carried out. That I would impress upon you. "

"You are a trusting investor, " said the good-humoured McNorton. 

"I am a child in matters of finance, " admitted Mr. White, but addedquickly, "except, of course, in so far as the finance of Punsonby's, which is one of the soundest business concerns in London, Mr. McNorton. We pay our dividends regularly and our balance sheets are a model forthe industrial world. "

"So I have heard, " said McNorton dryly. "I am interested in syndicates, too. By the way, what is Doctor van Heerden's scheme?"

Mr. White shrugged his shoulders. 

"I haven't the slightest idea, " he confessed with a melancholy smile. "Isuppose it is very foolish of me, but I have such faith in the doctor'sgenius that when he came to me and said: 'My dear White, I want you toinvest a few thousand in one of my concerns, ' I said: 'My dear doctor, here is my cheque, don't bother me about the details but send in mydividends regularly. ' Ha! ha!"

His laugh was hollow, and would not have deceived a child of ten. 

"So you invested £40, 000----" began McNorton. 

"Forty thousand!" gasped Mr. White, "how did you know?"

He went a trifle paler. 

"These things get about, " said McNorton, "as I was going to say, youinvested £40, 000 without troubling to discover what sort of work thesyndicate was undertaking. I am not speaking now as a police officer, Mr. White, " he went on, and White did not disguise his relief, "but asan old acquaintance of yours. "

"Say friend, " said the fervent Mr. White. "I have always regarded you, Mr. McNorton, as a friend of mine. Let me see, how long have we knownone another? I think the first time we met was when Punsonby's wasburgled in '93. "

"It's a long time, " said McNorton; "but don't let us get off the subjectof your investment, which interests me as a friend. You gave Doctor vanHeerden all this money without even troubling to discover whether hisenterprise was a legal one. I am not suggesting it was illegal, " hesaid, as White opened his mouth to protest, "but it seems strange thatyou did not trouble to inquire. "

"Oh, of course, I inquired, naturally I inquired, Mr. McNorton, " saidWhite eagerly, "it was for some chemical process and I know nothingabout chemistry. I don't mind admitting to you, " he lowered his voice, though there was no necessity, "that I regret my investment very much. We business men have many calls. We cannot allow our money to be tied upfor too long a time, and it happens--ah--that just at this moment Ishould be very glad, very glad indeed, to liquidate that investment. "

McNorton nodded. He knew a great deal more about White's financialembarrassments than that gentleman gave him credit for. He knew, forexample, that the immaculate managing director of Punsonby's was in thehands of moneylenders, and that those moneylenders were squeezing him. He suspected that all was not well with Punsonby's. There had beencurious rumours in the City amongst the bill discounters that Punsonby's"paper" left much to be desired. 

"Do you know the nationality of van Heerden?" he asked. 

"Dutch, " replied Mr. White promptly. 

"Are you sure of this?"

"I would stake my life on it, " answered the heroic Mr. White. 

"As I came through to your office I saw a young lady at the cashier'sdesk--Miss Glaum, I think her name is. Is she Dutch, too?"

"Miss Glaum--ah--well Miss Glaum. " White hesitated. "A very nice, industrious girl, and a friend of Doctor van Heerden's. As a matter offact, I engaged her at his recommendation. You see, I was under anobligation to the doctor. He had--ah--attended me in my illness. "

That this was untrue McNorton knew. White was one of those financialshuttlecocks which shrewd moneylenders toss from one to the other. Whitehad been introduced by van Heerden to capital in a moment of hecticdespair and had responded when his financial horizon was clearer bypledging his credit for the furtherance of van Heerden's scheme. 

"Of course you know that as a shareholder in van Heerden's syndicate youcannot escape responsibility for the purposes to which your money isput, " he said, as he rose to go. "I hope you get your money back. "

"Do you think there is any doubt?" demanded White, in consternation. 

"There is always a doubt about getting money back from syndicates, " saidMcNorton cryptically. 

"Please don't go yet. " Mr. White passed round the end of his desk andintercepted the detective with unexpected agility, taking, so to speak, the door out of his hands and closing it. "I am alarmed, Mr. McNorton, "he said, as he led the other back to his chair, "I won't disguise it. Iam seriously alarmed by what you have said. It is not the thought oflosing the money, oh dear, no. Punsonby's would not be ruined by--ah--apaltry £40, 000. It is, if I may be allowed to say so, the sinistersuggestion in your speech, inspector--superintendent I mean. Is itpossible"--he stood squarely in front of McNorton, his hands on hiships, his eyeglass dangling from his fastidious fingers and his headpulled back as though he wished to avoid contact with the possibility, "is it possible that in my ignorance I have been assisting to finance ascheme which is--ah--illegal, immoral, improper and contrary--ah--to thebest interests of the common weal?"

He shook his head as though he were unable to believe his own words. 

"Everything is possible in finance, " said McNorton with a smile. "I amnot saying that Doctor van Heerden's syndicate is an iniquitous one, Ihave not even seen a copy of his articles of association. Doubtless youcould oblige me in that respect. "

"I haven't got such a thing, " denied Mr. White vigorously, "thesyndicate was not registered. It was, so to speak, a private concern. "

"But the exploitation of Green Rust?" suggested the superintendent, andthe man's face lost the last vestige of colour it possessed. 

"The Green Rust?" he faltered. "I have heard the phrase. I knownothing----"

"You know nothing, but suspect the worst, " said McNorton. "Now I amgoing to speak plainly to you. The reason you know nothing about thissyndicate of van Heerden's is because you had a suspicion that it wasbeing formed for an illegal purpose--please don't interrupt me--you knownothing because you did not want to know. I doubt even whether youdeceived yourself. You saw a chance of making big money, Mr. White, andbig money has always had an attraction for you. There isn't a fool'sscheme that was ever hatched in a back alley bar that you haven'tdropped money over. And you saw a chance here, more tangible than anythat had been presented to you. "

"I swear to you----" began White. 

"The time has not come for you to swear anything, " said McNortonsternly, "there is only one place where a man need take his oath, andthat is on the witness-stand. I will tell you this frankly, that we areas much in the dark as you pretend to be. There is only one man whoknows or guesses the secret of the Green Rust, and that man is Beale. "

"Beale!"

"You have met the gentleman, I believe? I hope you don't have to meethim again. The Green Rust may mean little. It may mean no more than thatyou will lose your money, and I should imagine that is the least whichwill happen to you. On the other hand, Mr. White, I do not disguise fromyou the fact that it may also mean your death at the hands of the law. "

White made a gurgling noise in his throat and held on to the desk forsupport. 

"I have only the haziest information as to what it is all about, butsomehow"--McNorton knit his brows in a frown and was speaking half tohimself--"I seem to feel that it is a bad business--a damnably badbusiness. "

He took up his hat from the table and walked to the door. 

"I don't know whether to say au revoir or good-bye, " he said withtwitching lips. 

"Good-bye--ah--is a very good old-fashioned word, " said Mr. White, in anheroic attempt to imitate the other's good humour. 

CHAPTER XVIII

BRIDGERS BREAKS LOOSE

Dr. Van Heerden sat by the side of the big four-poster bed, where thegirl lay, and his cold blue eyes held a spark of amusement. 

"You look very foolish, " he said. 

Oliva Cresswell turned her head sharply so as to remove the man from herline of vision. 

More than this she could not do, for her hands and feet were strapped, and on the pillow, near her head, was a big bath-towel saturated withwater which had been employed in stifling her healthy screams whichmarked her return to understanding. 

"You look very foolish, " said the doctor, chewing at the end of hiscigar, "and you look no more foolish than you have been. Bridgers letyou out, eh? Nice man, Mr. Bridgers; what had he been telling you?"

She turned her head again and favoured him with a stare. Then she lookedat the angry red mark on her wrists where the straps chafed. 

"How Hun-like!" she said; but this time he smiled. 

"You will not make me lose my temper again, Little-wife-to-be, " hemocked her; "you may call me Hun or Heinz or Fritz or any of thebarbarous and vulgar names which the outside world employ to vilify mycountrymen, but nothing you say will distress or annoy me. To-morrow youand I will be man and wife. "

"This is not Germany, " she said scornfully. "You cannot make a womanmarry you against her will, this is----"

"The land of the free, " he interrupted suavely. "Yes--I know thoselands, on both sides of the Atlantic. But even there curious thingshappen. And you're going to marry me--you will say 'Yes' to the sleekEnglish clergyman when he asks you whether you will take this man to beyour married husband, to love and cherish and all that sort of thing, you'll say 'Yes. '"

"I shall say 'No!'" she said steadily. 

"You will say 'Yes, '" he smiled. "I had hoped to be able to givesufficient time to you so that I might persuade you to act sensibly. Icould have employed arguments which I think would have convinced youthat there are worse things than marriage with me. "

"I cannot think of any, " she replied coldly. 

"Then you are singularly dense, " said the doctor. "I have already toldyou the conditions under which that marriage will take place. Theremight be no marriage, you know, and a different end to this adventure, "he said, significantly, and she shivered. 

He said nothing more for five minutes, simply sitting biting at thecigar between his teeth and looking at her blankly, as though histhoughts were far away and she was the least of the problems whichconfronted him. 

"I know it is absurd to ask you, " he said suddenly, "but I presume youhave not devoted any of your studies to the question of capitalpunishment. I see you haven't; but there is one interesting fact aboutthe execution of criminals which is not generally known to the public, and it is that in many countries, my own for example, before a man isled to execution he is doped with a drug which I will call 'Bromocine. 'Does that interest you?"

She made no reply, and he laughed quietly. 

"It should interest you very much, " he said. "The effect of Bromocine, "he went on, speaking with the quiet precision of one who was lecturingon the subject to an interested audience, "is peculiar. It reduces thesubject to a condition of extreme lassitude, so that really nothingmatters or seems to matter. Whilst perfectly conscious the subject goesobediently to his death, behaves normally and does just what he istold--in fact, it destroys the will. "

"Why do you tell me this?" she asked, a sudden fear gripping her heart. 

He half-turned in his chair, reached out his hand and took a littleblack case from the table near the window. This he laid on the bed andopened, and she watched him, fascinated. He took a tiny bottlecontaining a colourless liquid, and with great care laid it on thecoverlet. Then he extracted a small hypodermic syringe and aneedle-pointed nozzle. He uncorked the bottle, inserted the syringe andfilled it, then he screwed on the needle, pressed the plunger until afine jet leapt in the air, then he laid it carefully back in the case. 

"You say you will not marry me and I presume that you would make a scenewhen I bring in the good English parson to perform the ceremony. I hadhoped, " he said apologetically, "to have given you a wedding with allthe pomp and circumstance which women, as I understand, love. Failingthat, I hoped for a quiet wedding in the little church out yonder. " Hejerked his head toward the window. "But now I am afraid that I must askhis reverence to carry out the ceremony in this house. "

He rose, leant over her and deftly pulled back her sleeve. 

"If you scream I shall smother you with the towel, " he said. "This won'thurt you very much. As I was going to say, you will be married herebecause you are in a delicate state of health and you will say 'Yes. '"

She winced as the needle punctured the skin. 

"It won't hurt you for very long, " he said calmly. "You will say 'Yes, 'I repeat, because I shall tell you to say 'Yes. '"

Suddenly the sharp pricking pain in her arm ceased. She was consciousof a sensation as though her arm was being blown up like a bicycle tyre, but it was not unpleasant. He withdrew the needle and kept his fingerpressed upon the little red wound where it had gone in. 

"I shall do this to you again to-night, " he said, "and you will not feelit at all, and to-morrow morning, and you will not care very much whathappens. I hope it will not be necessary to give you a dose to-morrowafternoon. "

"I shall not always be under the influence of this drug, " she saidbetween her teeth, "and there will be a time of reckoning for you, Dr. Van Heerden. "

"By which time, " he said calmly, "I shall have committed a crime sowonderful and so enormous that the mere offence of 'administering anoxious drug'--that is the terminology which describes the offence--willbe of no importance and hardly worth the consideration of the Crownofficers. Now I think I can unfasten you. " He loosened and removed thestraps at her wrists and about her feet and put them in his pocket. 

"You had better get up and walk about, " he said, "or you will be stiff. I am really being very kind to you if you only knew it. I am too big tobe vindictive. And, by the way, I had an interesting talk with yourfriend, Mr. Beale, this afternoon, a persistent young man who has beenhaving me shadowed all day. " He laughed quietly. "If I hadn't to go backto the surgery for the Bromocine I should have missed our veryinteresting conversation. That young man is very much in love withyou"--he looked amusedly at the growing red in her face. "He is verymuch in love with you, " he repeated. "What a pity! What a thousandpities!"

"How soon will this drug begin to act?" she asked. 

"Are you frightened?"

"No, but I should welcome anything which made me oblivious to yourpresence--you are not exactly a pleasant companion, " she said, with areturn to the old tone he knew so well. 

"Content yourself, little person, " he said with simulated affection. "You will soon be rid of me. "

"Why do you want to marry me?"

"I can tell you that now, " he said: "Because you are a very rich womanand I want your money, half of which comes to me on my marriage. "

"Then the man spoke the truth!" She sat up suddenly, but the effort madeher head swim. 

He caught her by the shoulders and laid her gently down. 

"What man--not that babbling idiot, Bridgers?" He said something, butinstantly recovered his self-possession. "Keep quiet, " he said withprofessional sternness. "Yes, you are the heiress of an interestinggentleman named John Millinborn. "

"John Millinborn!" she gasped. "The man who was murdered!"

"The man who was killed, " he corrected. "'Murder' is a stupid, vulgarword. Yes, my dear, you are his heiress. He was your uncle, and he leftyou something over six million dollars. That is to say he left us thatcolossal sum. "

"But I don't understand. What does it mean?"

"Your name is Prédeaux. Your father was the ruffian----"

"I know, I know, " she cried. "The man in the hotel. The man who died. Myfather!"

"Interesting, isn't it?" he said calmly, "like something out of a book. Yes, my dear, that was your parent, a dissolute ruffian whom you will dowell to forget. I heard John Millinborn tell his lawyer that your motherdied of a broken heart, penniless, as a result of your father's crueltyand unscrupulousness, and I should imagine that that was the truth. "

"My father!" she murmured. 

She lay, her face as white as the pillow, her eyes closed. 

"John Millinborn left a fortune for you--and I think that you might aswell know the truth now--the money was left in trust. You were not toknow that you were an heiress until you were married. He was afraid ofsome fortune-hunter ruining your young life as Prédeaux ruined yourmother's. That was thoughtful of him. Now I don't intend ruining yourlife, I intend leaving you with half your uncle's fortune and thecapacity for enjoying all that life can hold for a high-spirited youngwoman. "

"I'll not do it, I'll not do it, I'll not do it, " she muttered. 

He rose from the chair and bent over her. 

"My young friend, you are going to sleep, " he said to himself, waited alittle longer and left the room, closing the door behind him. 

He descended to the hall and passed into the big dining-hall beneath thegirl's bedroom. The room had two occupants, a stout, hairless man whohad neither hair, eyebrows, nor vestige of beard, and a younger man. 

"Hello, Bridgers, " said van Heerden addressing the latter, "you've beentalking. "

"Well, who doesn't?" snarled the man. 

He pulled the tortoiseshell box from his pocket, opened the lid and tooka pinch from its contents, snuffling the powder luxuriously. 

"That stuff will kill you one of these days, " said van Heerden. 

"It will make him better-tempered, " growled the hairless man. "I don'tmind people who take cocaine as long as they are taking it. It's betweendopes that they get on my nerves. "

"Dr. Milsom speaks like a Christian and an artist, " said Bridgers, withsudden cheerfulness. "If I didn't dope, van Heerden, I should not beworking in your beastly factory, but would probably be one of theleading analytical chemists in America. But I'll go back to do mychore, " he said rising. "I suppose I get a little commission forrestoring your palpitating bride? Milsom tells me that it is she. Ithought it was the other dame--the Dutch girl. I guess I was a bitdopey. "

Van Heerden frowned. 

"You take too keen an interest in my affairs, " he said. 

"Aw! You're getting touchy. If I didn't get interested in something I'dgo mad, " chuckled Bridgers. 

He had reached that stage of cocaine intoxication when the world was avery pleasant place indeed and full of subject for jocularity. 

"This place is getting right on my nerves, " he went on, "couldn't I goto London? I'm stagnating here. Why, some of the stuff I cultivated theother day wouldn't react. Isn't that so, Milsom? I get so dull in thishole that all bugs look alike to me. "

Van Heerden glanced at the man who was addressed as Dr. Milsom and thelatter nodded. 

"Let him go back, " he said, "I'll look after him. How's the lady?" askedMilsom when they were alone. 

The other made a gesture and Dr. Milsom nodded. 

"It's good stuff, " he said. "I used to give it to lunatics in the daysof long ago. "

Van Heerden did not ask him what those days were. He never pryed tooclosely into the early lives of his associates, but Milsom's history waspublic property. Four years before he had completed a "life sentence" offifteen years for a crime which had startled the world in '99. 

"How are things generally?" he asked. 

Van Heerden shrugged his shoulders. 

"For the first time I am getting nervous, " he said. "It isn't so muchthe fear of Beale that rattles me, but the sordid question of money. Theexpenses are colossal and continuous. "

"Hasn't your--Government"--Milsom balked at the word--"haven't yourfriends abroad moved in the matter yet?"

Van Heerden shook his head. 

"I am very hopeful there, " he said. "I have been watching the papersvery closely, especially the Agrarian papers, and, unless I am mistaken, there is a decided movement in the direction of support. But I can'tdepend on that. The marriage must go through to-morrow. "

"White is getting nervous, too, " he went on. "He is pestering me aboutthe money I owe him, or rather the syndicate owes him. He's on the vergeof ruin. "

Milsom made a little grimace. 

"Then he'll squeal, " he said, "those kind of people always do. You'llhave to keep him quiet. You say the marriage is coming off to-morrow?"

"I have notified the parson, " said van Heerden. "I told him my fiancéeis too ill to attend the church and the ceremony must be performedhere. "

Milsom nodded. He had risen from the table and was looking out upon thepleasant garden at the rear of the house. 

"A man could do worse than put in three or four weeks here, " he said. "Look at that spread of green. "

He pointed to an expanse of waving grasses, starred with thevari-coloured blossoms of wild flowers. 

"I was never a lover of nature, " said van Heerden, carelessly. 

Milsom grunted. 

"You have never been in prison, " he said cryptically. "Is it time togive your lady another dose?"

"Not for two hours, " said van Heerden. "I will play you at piquet. "

The cards were shuffled and the hands dealt when there was a scamper offeet in the hall, the door burst open and a man ran in. He was wearing asoiled white smock and his face was distorted with terror. 

"M'sieur, m'sieur, " he cried, "that imbecile Bridgers!"

"What's wrong?" Van Heerden sprang to his feet. 

"I think he is mad. He is dancing about the grounds, singing, and he haswith him the preparation!"

Van Heerden rapped out an oath and leapt through the door, the doctor athis heels. They took the short cut and ran up the steps leading from thewell courtyard, and bursting through the bushes came within sight of theoffender. 

But he was not dancing now. He was standing with open mouth, staringstupidly about him. 

"I dropped it, I dropped it!" he stammered. 

There was no need for van Heerden to ask what he had dropped, for thegreen lawn which had excited Milsom's admiration was no longer to beseen. In its place was a black irregular patch of earth which looked asthough it had been blasted in the furnaces of hell, and the air wasfilled with the pungent mustiness of decay. 

CHAPTER XIX

OLIVA IS WILLING

It seemed that a grey curtain of mist hung before Oliva's eyes. It was acurtain spangled with tiny globes of dazzling light which grew fromnothing and faded to nothing. Whenever she fixed her eyes upon one ofthese it straightway became two and three and then an unaccountablequantity. 

She felt that she ought to see faces of people she knew, for one half ofher brain had cleared and was calmly diagnosing her condition, but doingso as though she were somebody else. She was emerging from a druggedsleep; she could regard herself in a curious impersonal fashion whichwas most interesting. And people who are drugged see things and people. Strange mirages of the mind arise and stranger illusions are suffered. Yet she saw nothing save this silvery grey curtain with its driftingspots of light and heard nothing except a voice saying, "Come along, come along, wake up. " A hundred, a thousand times this monotonous orderwas repeated, and then the grey curtain faded and she was lying on thebed, her head throbbing, her eyes hot and prickly, and two men werelooking down at her, one of them a big barefaced man with a coarse mouthand sunken eyes. 

"Was it my father really?" she asked drowsily. 

"I was afraid of that second dose you gave her last night, " said Milsom. "You are getting a condition of coma and that's the last thing youwant. "

"She'll be all right now, " replied van Heerden, but his face wastroubled. "The dose was severe--yet she seemed healthy enough to stand athree-minim injection. "

Milsom shook his head. 

"She'll be all right now, but she might as easily have died, " he said. "I shouldn't repeat the dose. "

"There's no need, " said van Heerden. 

"What time is it?" asked the girl, and sat up. She felt very weak andweary, but she experienced no giddiness. 

"It is twelve o'clock; you have been sleeping since seven last night. Let me see if you can stand. Get up. "

She obeyed meekly. She had no desire to do anything but what she wastold. Her mental condition was one of complete dependence, and had shebeen left to herself she would have been content to lie down again. 

Yet she felt for a moment a most intense desire to propound some sort ofplan which would give this man the money without going through amarriage ceremony. That desire lasted a minute and was succeeded by anadded weariness as though this effort at independent thought had added anew burden to her strength. She knew and was mildly amazed at theknowledge that she was under the influence of a drug which wasdestroying her will, yet she felt no particular urge to make a fight forfreedom of determination. "Freedom of determination. " She repeated thewords, having framed her thoughts with punctilious exactness, andremembered that that was a great war phrase which one was constantlydiscovering in the newspapers. All her thoughts were like this--they hadthe form of marshalled language, so that even her speculations werepunctuated. 

"Walk over to the window, " said the doctor, and she obeyed, though herknees gave way with every step she took. "Now come back--good, you'reall right. "

She looked at him, and did not flinch when he laid his two hands on hershoulders. 

"You are going to be married this afternoon--that's all right, isn'tit?"

"Yes, " she said, "that is all right. "

"And you'll say 'yes' when I tell you to say 'yes, ' won't you?"

"Yes, I'll say that, " she said. 

All the time she knew that this was monstrously absurd. All the time sheknew that she did not wish to marry this man. Fine sentences, pompouslyframed, slowly formed in her mind such as: "This outrage will not gounpunished, comma, and you will suffer for this, comma, Dr. Van Heerden, full stop. "

But the effort of creating the protest exhausted her so that she couldnot utter it. And she knew that the words were stilted and artificial, and the working-cells of her brain whispered that she was recalling andadapting something she had heard at the theatre. She wanted to do theeasiest thing, and it seemed absurdly easy to say "yes. "

"You will stay here until the parson comes, " said van Heerden, "and youwill not attempt to escape, will you?"

"No, I won't attempt to escape, " she said. 

"Lie down. "

She sat on the bed and swung her feet clear of the ground, settlingherself comfortably. 

"She'll do, " said van Heerden, satisfied. "Come downstairs, Milsom, Ihave something to say to you. "

So they left her, lying with her cheek on her hand, more absorbed in thepattern on the wall-paper than in the tremendous events whichthreatened. 

"Well, what's the trouble?" asked Milsom, seating himself in hisaccustomed place by the table. 

"This, " said van Heerden, and threw a letter across to him. "It came byone of my scouts this morning--I didn't go home last night. I cannotrisk being shadowed here. "

Milsom opened the letter slowly and read:

 "A man called upon you yesterday afternoon and has made several calls since. He was seen by Beale, who cross-examined him. Man calls himself Stardt, but is apparently not British. He is staying at Saraband Hotel, Berners Street. "

"Who is this?" asked Milsom. 

"I dare not hope----" replied the doctor, pacing the room nervously. 

"Suppose you dared, what form would your hope take?"

"I told you the other day, " said van Heerden, stopping before hiscompanion, "that I had asked my Government to assist me. Hitherto theyhave refused, that is why I am so desperately anxious to get thismarriage through. I must have money. The Paddington place costs a smallfortune--you go back there to-night, by the way----"

Milsom nodded. 

"Has the Government relented?" he asked. 

"I don't know. I told you that certain significant items in the EastPrussian newspapers seemed to hint that they were coming to myassistance. They have sent no word to me, but if they should agree theywould send their agreement by messenger. "

"And you think this may be the man?"

"It is likely. "

"What have you done?"

"I have sent Gregory up to see the man. If he is what I hope he may be, Gregory will bring him here--I have given him the password. "

"What difference will it make?" asked Milsom. "You are on to a bigfortune, anyway. "

"Fortune?" The eyes of Dr. Van Heerden sparkled and he seemed to expandat the splendour of the vision which was conjured to his eyes. 

"No fortune which mortal man has ever possessed will be comparable. Allthe riches of all the world will lie at my feet. Milliards uponmilliards----"

"In fact, a lot of money, " said the practical Dr. Milsom. "'Umph! Idon't quite see how you are going to do it. You haven't taken me verymuch into your confidence, van Heerden. "

"You know everything. "

Milsom chuckled. 

"I know that in the safe of my office you have a thousand sealedenvelopes addressed, as I gather, to all the scallywags of the world, and I know pretty well what you intend doing; but how do you benefit?And how do I benefit?"

Van Heerden had recovered his self-possession. 

"You have already benefited, " he said shortly, "more than you could havehoped. "

There was an awkward pause; then Milsom asked:

"What effect is it going to have upon this country?"

"It will ruin England, " said van Heerden fervently, and the oldcriminal's eyes narrowed. 

"'Umph!" he said again, and there was a note in his voice which made vanHeerden look at him quickly. 

"This country hasn't done very much for you, " he sneered. 

"And I haven't done much for this country--yet, " countered the other. 

The doctor laughed. 

"You're turning into a patriot in your old age, " he said. 

"Something like that, " said Milsom easily. "There used to be a fellow atPortland--you have probably run across him--a clever crook named Homo, who used to be a parson before he got into trouble. "

"I never met the gentleman, and talking of parsons, " he said, looking athis watch, "our own padre is late. But I interrupted you. "

"He was a man whose tongue I loathed, and he hated me poisonously, " saidMilsom, with a little grimace, "but he used to say that patriotism wasthe only form of religion which survived penal servitude. And I supposethat's the case. I hate the thought of putting this country in wrong. "

"You'll get over your scruples, " said the other easily. "You are puttingyourself in right, anyway. Think of the beautiful time you're going tohave, my friend. "

"I think of nothing else, " said Milsom, "but still----" He shook hishead. 

Van Heerden had taken up the paper he had brought down and was readingit, and Milsom noted that he was perusing the produce columns. 

"When do we make a start?"

"Next week, " said the doctor. "I want to finish up the Paddingtonfactory and get away. "

"Where will you go?"

"I shall go to the Continent, " replied van Heerden, folding up the paperand laying it on the table. "I can conduct operations from there withgreater ease. Gregory goes to Canada. Mitchell and Samps have alreadyorganized Australia, and our three men in India will have readyworkers. "

"What about the States?"

"That has an organization of its own, " Van Heerden said; "it is costingme a lot of money. All the men except you are at their stations waitingfor the word 'Go. ' You will take the Canadian supplies with you. "

"Do I take Bridgers?"

Van Heerden shook his head. 

"I can't trust that fool. Otherwise he would be an ideal assistant foryou. Your work is simple. Before you leave I will give you a sealedenvelope containing a list of all our Canadian agents. You will alsofind two code sentences, one of which means 'Commence operations, ' andthe other, 'Cancel all instructions and destroy apparatus. '"

"Will the latter be necessary?" asked Milsom. 

"It may be, though it is very unlikely. But I must provide against allcontingencies. I have made the organization as simple as possible. Ihave a chief agent in every country, and on receipt of my message by thechief of the organization, it will be repeated to the agents, who alsohave a copy of the code. "

"It seems too easy, " said Milsom. "What chance is there of detection?"

"None whatever, " said the doctor promptly. "Our only danger for themoment is this man Beale, but he knows nothing, and so long as we onlyhave him guessing there is no great harm done--and, anyway, he hasn'tmuch longer to guess. "

"It seems much too simple, " said Milsom, shaking his head. 

Van Heerden had heard a footfall in the hall, stepped quickly to thedoor and opened it. 

"Well, Gregory?" he said. 

"He is here, " replied the other, and waved his hand to a figure whostood behind him. "Also, the parson is coming down the road. "

"Good, let us have our friend in. "

The pink-faced foreigner with his stiff little moustache and his yellowboots stepped into the room, clicked his heels and bowed. 

"Have I the honour of addressing Doctor von Heerden?"

"Van Heerden, " corrected the doctor with a smile "that is my name. "

Both men spoke in German. 

"I have a letter for your excellency, " said the messenger. "I have beenseeking you for many days and I wish to report that unauthorized personshave attempted to take this from me. "

Van Heerden nodded, tore open the envelope and read the half a dozenlines. 

"The test-word is 'Breslau, '" he said in a low voice, and the messengerbeamed. 

"I have the honour to convey to you the word. " He whispered something invan Heerden's ear and Milsom, who did not understand German very welland had been trying to pick up a word or two, saw the look of exultationthat came to the doctor's face. 

He leapt back and threw out his arms, and his strong voice rang with thewords which the German hymnal has made famous:

"Gott sei Dank durch alle Welt, Gott sei Dank durch alle Welt!"

"What are you thanking God about?" asked Milsom. 

"It's come, it's come!" cried van Heerden, his eyes ablaze. "TheGovernment is with me; behind me, my beautiful country. Oh, Gott seiDank!"

"The parson, " warned Milsom. 

A young man stood looking through the open door. 

"The parson, yes, " said van Heerden, "there's no need for it, but we'llhave this wedding. Yes, we'll have it! Come in, sir. "

He was almost boyishly jovial. Milsom had never seen him like thatbefore. 

"Come in, sir. "

"I am sorry to hear your fiancée is ill, " said the curate. 

"Yes, yes, but that will not hinder the ceremony. I'll go myself andprepare her. "

Milsom had walked round the table to the window, and it was he whochecked the doctor as he was leaving the room. 

"Doctor, " he said, "come here. "

Van Heerden detected a strain of anxiety in the other's voice. 

"What is it?" he said. 

"Do you hear somebody speaking?"

They stood by the window and listened intently. 

"Come with me, " said the doctor, and he walked noiselessly and ascendedthe stairs, followed more slowly by his heavier companion. 

CHAPTER XX

THE MARRIAGE

A quarter of a mile from Deans Folly a motor-car was halted on the sideof a hill overlooking the valley in which van Heerden's house was set. 

"That's the house, " said Beale, consulting the map, "and that wall thatruns along the road is the wall the tramp described. "

"You seem to put a lot of faith in the statement of a man suffering fromdelirium tremens, " said Parson Homo dryly. 

"He was not suffering from delirium tremens this morning. You didn't seehim?"

Homo shook his head. 

"I was in London fixing the preliminaries of your nuptials, " he saidsarcastically. "It may be the house, " he admitted; "where is theentrance?"

"There's a road midway between here and the river and a private roadleading off, " said Beale; "the gate, I presume, is hidden somewhere inthose bushes. "

He raised a pair of field-glasses and focused them. 

"Yes, the gate's there, " he said. "Do you see that man?"

Homo took the glasses and looked. 

"Looks like a watcher, " he said, "and if it is your friend's place thegate will be locked and barred. Why don't you get a warrant?"

Beale shook his head. 

"He'd get wind of it and be gone. No, our way in is over the wall. The'hobo' said there's a garden door somewhere. "

They left the car and walked down the hill and presently came to acorner of the high wall which surrounded Deans Folly. 

Beale passed on ahead. 

"Here's the door, " he said. 

He tried it gingerly and it gave a little. 

"It's clogged, and you won't get it open, " said Homo; "it's the wall ornothing. "

Beale looked up and down the road. There was nobody in sight and he madea leap, caught the top of the wall and drew himself up. Luckily theusual _chevaux de frise_ was absent. Beneath him and a little to theright was a shed built against the wall, the door of which was closed. 

He signalled Homo to follow and dropped to the ground. In a minute bothmen were sheltering in the clump of bushes where on the previous dayOliva had waited before making a dart for the garden door. 

"There's been a fire here, " said Homo in a low voice, and pointed to abig ugly patch of black amidst the green. 

Beale surveyed it carefully, then wormed his way through the bushesuntil he was within reach of the ruined plot. He stretched out his handand pulled in a handful of the debris, examined it carefully and stuffedit into his pocket. 

"You are greatly interested in a grass fire, " said Homo curiously. 

"Yes, aren't I?" replied Beale. 

They spent the next hour reconnoitring the ground. Once the door of thewall-shed opened, two men came out and walked to the house, and they hadto lie motionless until after a seemingly interminable interval theyreturned again, stopping in the middle of the black patch to talk. Beale saw one pointing to the ruin and the other shook his head and theyboth returned to the shed and the door closed behind them. 

"There's somebody coming down the main drive, " whispered Homo. 

They were now near the house and from where they lay had a clear view offifty yards of the drive. 

"It's a brother brush!" said Homo, in a chuckling whisper. 

"A what?" asked Beale. 

"A parson. "

"A parson?"

He focused his glasses. Some one in clerical attire accompanied by theman whom Beale recognized as the guard of the gate, was walking quicklydown the drive. There was no time to be lost. But now for the first timedoubts assailed him. His great scheme seemed more fantastic and itsdifficulties more real. What could be easier than to spring out andintercept the clergyman, but would that save the girl? What force didthe house hold? He had to deal with men who would stop short at nothingto achieve their purpose and in particular one man who had not hesitatedat murder. 

He felt his heart thumping, not at the thought of danger, though dangerhe knew was all round, but from sheer panic that he himself was about toplay an unworthy part. Whatever fears or doubts he may have had suddenlyfall away from him and he rose to his knees, for not twenty yards awayat a window, her hands grasping the bars, her apathetic eyes lookinglistlessly toward where he crouched, was Oliva Cresswell. 

Regardless of danger, he broke cover and ran toward her. 

"Miss Cresswell, " he called. 

She looked at him across the concrete well without astonishment andwithout interest. 

"It is you, " she said, with extraordinary calm. 

He stood on the brink of the well hesitating. It was too far to leap andhe remembered that behind the lilac bush he had seen a builder's plank. This he dragged out and passed it across the chasm, leaning the otherend upon a ledge of brickwork which butted from the house. 

He stepped quickly across, gripped the bars and found a foothold on theledge, the girl standing watching him without any sign of interest. Heknew something was wrong. He could not even guess what that somethingwas. This was not the girl he knew, but an Oliva Cresswell from whom allvitality and life had been sapped. 

"You know me?" he said. "I am Mr. Beale. "

"I know you are Mr. Beale, " she replied evenly. 

"I have come to save you, " he said rapidly. "Will you trust me? I wantyou to trust me, " he said earnestly. "I want you to summon every atom offaith you have in human nature and invest it in me. Will you do this forme?"

"I will do this for you, " she said, like a child repeating a lesson. 

"I--I want you to marry me. " He realized as he said these words in whathis fear was founded. He knew now that it was her refusal even to gothrough the form of marriage which he dared not face. 

The truth leapt up to him and sent the blood pulsing through his head, that behind and beyond his professional care for her he loved her. Hewaited with bated breath, expecting her amazement, her indignation, herdistress. But she was serene and untroubled, did not so much as raiseher eyelids by the fraction of an inch as she answered:

"I will marry you. "

He tried to speak but could only mutter a hoarse, "Thank you. "

He turned his head. Homo stood at the end of the plank and he beckonedhim. 

Parson Homo came to the centre of the frail bridge, slipped a PrayerBook from his tail pocket and opened it. 

"Dearly beloved, we are come together here in the sight of God to jointogether this Man and this Woman in Holy Matrimony.... 

"I require and charge you both as ye will answer at the dreadful Day ofJudgment when the secret of all hearts shall be disclosed that if eitherof you know any impediment why ye may not be joined together inMatrimony ye do now confess it. "

Beale's lips were tight pressed. The girl was looking serenely upward toa white cloud that sailed across the western skies. 

Homo read quickly, his enunciation beautifully clear, and Beale foundhimself wondering when last this man had performed so sacred an office. He asked the inevitable question and Beale answered. Homo hesitated, then turned to the girl. 

"Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband to live together afterGod's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him andserve him, love, honour and keep him in sickness and in health; andforsaking all others keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shalllive?"

The girl did not immediately answer, and the pause was painful to thetwo men, but for different reasons. Then she suddenly withdrew her gazefrom the sky and looked Homo straight in the face. 

"I will, " she said. 

The next question in the service he dispensed with. He placed theirhands together, and together repeating his words, they plighted theirtroth. Homo leant forward and again joined their hands and a note ofunexpected solemnity vibrated in his voice when he spoke. 

"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. "

Beale drew a deep breath then:

"Very pretty indeed, " said a voice. 

The detective swung across the window to bring the speaker into a lineof fire. 

"Put down your gun, admirable Mr. Beale. " Van Heerden stood in thecentre of the room and the bulky figure of Milsom filled the doorway. 

"Very pretty indeed, and most picturesque, " said van Heerden. "I didn'tlike to interrupt the ceremony. Perhaps you will now come into thehouse, Mr. Beale, and I will explain a few things to you. You need nottrouble about your--wife. She will not be harmed. "

Beale, revolver still in hand, made his way to the door and wasadmitted. 

"You had better come along, Homo, " he said, "we may have to bluff thisout. "

Van Heerden was waiting for him in the hall and invited him no farther. 

"You are perfectly at liberty to take away your wife, " said van Heerden;"she will probably explain to you that I have treated her with everyconsideration. Here she is. "

Oliva was descending the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. 

"I might have been very angry with you, " van Heerden went on, with thatinsolent drawl of his; "happily I do not find it any longer necessary tomarry Miss Cresswell. I was just explaining to this gentleman"--hepointed to the pallid young curate in the background--"when your voicesreached me. Nevertheless, I think it only right to tell you that yourmarriage is not a legal one, though I presume you are provided with aspecial licence. "

"Why is it illegal?" asked Beale. 

He wondered if Parson Homo had been recognized. 

"In the first place because it was not conducted in the presence ofwitnesses, " said van Heerden. 

It was Homo who laughed. 

"I am afraid that would make it illegal but for the fact that youwitnessed the ceremony by your own confession, and so presumably didyour fat friend behind you. "

Mr. Milsom scowled. 

"You were always a bitter dog to me, Parson, " he said, "but I can giveyou a reason why it's illegal, " he said triumphantly. "That man isParson Homo, a well-known crook who was kicked out of the Church fifteenyears ago. I worked alongside him in Portland. "

Homo smiled crookedly. 

"You are right up to a certain point, Milsom, " he said, "but you arewrong in one essential. By a curious oversight I was never unfrocked, and I am still legally a priest of the Church of England. "

"Heavens!" gasped Beale, "then this marriage is legal!"

"It's as legal as it can possibly be, " said Parson Homo complacently. 

CHAPTER XXI

BEALE SEES WHITE

"In a sense, " said Lawyer Kitson, "it is a tragedy. In a sense it is acomedy. The most fatal comedy of errors that could be imagined. "

Stanford Beale sat on a low chair, his head in his hands, the picture ofdejection. 

"I don't mind your kicks, " he said, without looking up; "you can't sayanything worse about me than I am saying about myself. Oh, I've been afool, an arrogant mad fool. "

Kitson, his hands clasped behind his back under his tail coat, hisgold-rimmed pince-nez perched on his nose, looked down at the young man. 

"I am not going to tell you that I was against the idea from thebeginning, because that is unnecessary. I ought to have put my foot downand stopped it. I heard you were pretty clever with a gun, Stanford. Whydidn't you sail in and rescue the girl as soon as you found where shewas?"

"I don't think there would have been a ghost of a chance, " said theother, looking up. "I am not finding excuses, but I am telling you whatI know. There were four or five men in the house and they were allpretty tough citizens--I doubt if I would have made it that way. "

"You think he would have married her?"

"He admitted as much, " said Stanford Beale, "the parson was alreadythere when I butted in. "

"What steps are you taking to deal with this man van Heerden?"

Beale laughed helplessly. 

"I cannot take any until Miss Cresswell recovers. "

"Mrs. Beale, " murmured Kitson, and the other went red. 

"I guess we'll call her Miss Cresswell, if you don't mind, " he saidsharply, "see here, Mr. Kitson, you needn't make things worse than theyare. I can do nothing until she recovers and can give us a statement asto what happened. McNorton will execute the warrant just as soon as wecan formulate a charge. In fact, he is waiting downstairs in the hope ofseeing----" he paused, "Miss Cresswell. What does the doctor say?"

"She's sleeping now. "

"It's maddening, maddening, " groaned Beale, "and yet if it weren't sohorrible I could laugh. Yesterday I was waiting for a 'hobo' to come outof delirium tremens. To-day I am waiting for Miss Cresswell to recoverfrom some devilish drug. I've made a failure of it, Mr. Kitson. "

"I'm afraid you have, " said the other dryly; "what do you intend doing?"

"But does it occur to you, " asked Kitson slowly, "that this lady is notaware that she has married you and that we've got to break the news toher? That's the part I don't like. "

"And you can bet it doesn't fill me with rollicking high spirits, "snapped Beale; "it's a most awful situation. "

"What are you going to do?" asked the other again. 

"What are you going to do?" replied the exasperated Beale, "after all, you're her lawyer. "

"And you're her husband, " said Kitson grimly, "which reminds me. " Hewalked to his desk and took up a slip of paper. "I drew this out againstyour coming. This is a certified cheque for £400, 000, that is nearly twomillion dollars, which I am authorized to hand to Oliva's husband on theday of her wedding. "

Beale took it from the other's fingers, read it carefully and tore itinto little pieces, after which conversation flagged. After awhile Bealeasked:

"What do I have to do to get a divorce?"

"Well, " said the lawyer, "by the English law if you leave your wife andgo away, and refuse to return to her she can apply to a judge of theHigh Court, who will order you to return within fourteen days. "

"I'd come back in fourteen seconds if she wanted me, " said Bealefervently. 

"You're hopeless, " said Kitson, "you asked how you could get a divorce. I presume you want one. "

"Of course I do. I want to undo the whole of this horrible tangle. It'sabsurd and undignified. Can nothing be done without Miss Cresswellknowing?"

"Nothing can be done without your wife's knowledge, " said Kitson. 

He seemed to take a fiendish pleasure in reminding the unhappy young manof his misfortune. 

"I am not blaming you, " he said more soberly, "I blame myself. When Itook this trust from poor John Millinborn I never realized all that itmeant or all the responsibility it entailed. How could I imagine thatthe detective I employed to protect the girl from fortune hunters wouldmarry her? I am not complaining, " he said hastily, seeing the wrath risein Beale's face, "it is very unfortunate, and you are as much the victimof circumstances as I. But unhappily we have not been the real victims. "

"I suppose, " said Beale, looking up at the ceiling, "if I were one ofthose grand little mediæval knights or one of those gallant gentlemenone reads about I should blow my brains out. "

"That would be a solution, " said Mr. Kitson, "but we should still haveto explain to your wife that she was a widow. "

"Then what am I to do?"

"Have a cigar, " said Kitson. 

He took two from his vest pocket and handed one to his companion, andhis shrewd old eyes twinkled. 

"It's years and years since I read a romantic story, " he said, "and Ihaven't followed the trend of modern literature very closely, but Ithink that your job is to sail in and make the lady love you. "

Beale jumped to his feet. 

"Do you mean that? Pshaw! It's absurd! It's ridiculous! She would neverlove me. "

"I don't see why anybody should, least of all your wife, " said Kitson, "but it would certainly simplify matters. "

"And then?"

"Marry her all over again, " said Kitson, sending a big ring of smokeinto the air, "there's no law against it. You can marry as many times asyou like, providing you marry the same woman. "

"But, suppose--suppose she loves somebody else?" asked Beale hoarsely. 

"Why then it will be tough on you, " said Kitson, "but tougher on her. Your business is to see that she doesn't love somebody else. "

"But how?"

A look of infinite weariness passed across Kitson's face. He removed hisglasses and put them carefully into their case. 

"Really, as a detective, " he said, "you may be a prize exhibit, but asan ordinary human being you wouldn't even get a consolation prize. Youhave got me into a mess and you have got to get me out. John Millinbornwas concerned only with one thing--the happiness of his niece. If youcan make your wife, Mrs. Stanford Beale" (Beale groaned), "if you canmake your good lady happy, " said the remorseless lawyer, "my trust isfulfilled. I believe you are a white man, Beale, " he said with a changein his tone, "and that her money means nothing to you. I may not be ableto give a young man advice as to the best method of courting his wife, but I know something about human nature, and if you are not straight, Ihave made one of my biggest mistakes. My advice to you is to leave heralone for a day or two until she's quite recovered. You have plenty tooccupy your mind. Go out and fix van Heerden, but not for his treatmentof the girl--she mustn't figure in a case of that kind, for all thefacts will come out. You think you have another charge against him;well, prove it. That man killed John Millinborn and I believe you canput him behind bars. As the guardian angel of Oliva Cresswell you haveshown certain lamentable deficiencies"--the smile in his eyes wasinfectious, and Stanford Beale smiled in sympathy. "In that capacity Ihave no further use for your services and you are fired, but you canconsider yourself re-engaged on the spot to settle with van Heerden. Iwill pay all the expenses of the chase--but get him. "

He put out his hand and Stanford gripped it. 

"You're a great man, sir, " he breathed. 

The old man chuckled. 

"And you may even be a great detective, " he said. "In five minutes yourMr. Lassimus White will be here. You suggested I should send forhim--who is he, by the way?"

"The managing director of Punsonby's. A friend of van Heerden's and ashareholder in his Great Adventure. "

"But he knows nothing?"

There was a tap at the door and a page-boy came into the sitting-roomwith a card. 

"Show the gentleman up, " said Kitson; "it is our friend, " he explained. 

"And he may know a great deal, " said Beale. 

Mr. White stalked into the room dangling his glasses with the one handand holding his shiny silk hat with the other. He invariably carried hishat as though it were a rifle he were shouldering. 

He bowed ceremoniously and closed the door behind him. 

"Mr. --ah--Kitson?" he said, and advanced a big hand. "I received yournote and am, as you will observe, punctual. I may say that my favouritemotto is 'Punctuality is the politeness of princes. "

"You know Mr. Beale?"

Mr. White bowed stiffly. 

"I have--ah--met Mr. Beale. "

"In my unregenerate days, " said Beale cheerfully, "but I am quite sobernow. "

"I am delighted to learn this, " said Mr. White. "I am extremely glad tolearn this. "

"Mr. Kitson asked you to come, Mr. White, but really it is I who want tosee you, " said Beale. "To be perfectly frank, I learnt that you were insome slight difficulty. "

"Difficulty?" Mr. White bristled. "Me, sir, in difficulty? The head ofthe firm of Punsonby's, whose credit stands, sir, as a model of soundindustrial finance? Oh no, sir. "

Beale was taken aback. He had depended upon information which came fromunimpeachable sources to secure the co-operation of this pompouswindbag. 

"I'm sorry, " he said. "I understood that you had called a meeting ofcreditors and had offered to sell certain shares in a syndicate which Ihad hoped to take off your hands. "

Mr. White inclined his head graciously. 

"It is true, sir, " he said, "that I asked a few--ah--wholesale firms tomeet me and to talk over things. It is also true that I--ah--had shareswhich had ceased to interest me, but those shares are sold. "

"Sold! Has van Heerden bought them in?" asked Beale eagerly; and Mr. White nodded. 

"Doctor van Heerden, a remarkable man, a truly remarkable man. " He shookhis head as if he could not bring himself and never would bring himselfto understand how remarkable a man the doctor was. "Doctor van Heerdenhas repurchased my shares and they have made me a very handsome profit. "

"When was this?" asked Beale. 

"I really cannot allow myself to be cross-examined, young man, " he saidseverely, "by your accent I perceive that you are of trans-Atlanticorigin, but I cannot allow you to hustle me--hustle I believe is theword. The firm of Punsonby's----"

"Forget 'em, " said Beale tersely. "Punsonby's has been on the verge ofcollapse for eight years. Let's get square, Mr. White. Punsonby's is aone man company and you're that man. Its balance sheets are faked, itsreserves are non-existent. Its sinking fund is _spurlos versenkt_. "

"Sir!"

"I tell you I know Punsonby's--I've had the best accountants in Londonworking out your position, and I know you live from hand to mouth andthat the margin between your business and bankruptcy is as near as themargin between you and prison. "

Mr. White was very pale. 

"But that isn't my business and I dare say that the money van Heerdenpaid you this morning will stave off your creditors. Anyway, I'm notrunning a Pure Business Campaign. I'm running a campaign against yourGerman friend van Heerden. "

"A German?" said the virtuous Mr. White in loud astonishment. "Surelynot--a Holland gentleman----"

"He's a German and you know it. You've been financing him in a scheme toruin the greater part of Europe and the United States, to say nothing ofCanada, South America, India and Australia. "

"I protest against such an inhuman charge, " said Mr. White solemnly, andhe rose. "I cannot stay here any longer----"

"If you go I'll lay information against you, " said Beale. "I'm in deadearnest, so you can go or stay. First of all, I want to know in whatform you received the money?"

"By cheque, " replied White in a flurry. 

"On what bank?"

"The London branch of the Swedland National Bank. "

"A secret branch of the Dresdner Bank, " said Beale. "That's promising. Has Doctor Van Heerden ever paid you money before?"

By now Mr. White was the most tractable of witnesses. All his oldassurance had vanished, and his answers were almost apologetic in tone. 

"Yes, Mr. Beale, small sums. "

"On what bank?"

"On my own bank. "

"Good again. Have you ever known that he had an account elsewhere--forexample, you advanced him a very considerable sum of money; was yourcheque cleared through the Swedland National Bank?"

"No, sir--through my own bank. "

Beale fingered his chin. 

"Money this morning and he took his loss in good part--that can onlymean one thing. " He nodded. "Mr. White, you have supplied me withvaluable information. "

"I trust I have said nothing which may--ah--incriminate one who hasinvariably treated me with the highest respect, " Mr. White hastened tosay. 

"Not more than he is incriminated, " smiled Stanford. "One more question. You know that van Heerden is engaged in some sort of business--thebusiness in which you invested your money. Where are his factories?"

But here Mr. White protested he could offer no information. He recalled, not without a sinking of heart, a similar cross-examination on theprevious day at the hands of McNorton. There were factories--van Heerdenhad hinted as much--but as to where they were located--well, confessedMr. White, he hadn't the slightest idea. 

"That's rubbish, " said Beale roughly, "you know. Where did youcommunicate with van Heerden? He wasn't always at his flat and you onlycame there twice. "

"I assure you----" began Mr. White, alarmed by the other's vehemence. 

"Assure nothing, " thundered Beale, "your policies won't sell--where didyou see him?"

"On my honour----"

"Let's keep jokes outside of the argument, " said Beale truculently, "where did you see him?"

"Believe me, I never saw him--if I had a message to send, mycashier--ah--Miss Glaum, an admirable young lady--carried it for me. "

"Hilda Glaum!"

Beale struck his palm. Why had he not thought of Hilda Glaum before?

"That's about all I want to ask you, Mr. White, " he said mildly; "you'rea lucky man. "

"Lucky, sir!" Mr. White recovered his hauteur as quickly as Beale'saggressiveness passed. "I fail to perceive my fortune. I fail to see, sir, where luck comes in. "

"You have your money back, " said Beale significantly, "if you hadn'tbeen pressed for money and had not pressed van Heerden you would havewhistled for it. "

"Do you suggest, " demanded White, in his best judicial manner, "do yousuggest in the presence of a witness with a due appreciation of theactionable character of your words that Doctor van Heerden is a commonswindler?"

"Not common, " replied Beale, "thank goodness!"

CHAPTER XXII

HILDA GLAUM LEADS THE WAY

Beale had a long consultation with McNorton at Scotland Yard, and on hisreturn to the hotel, had his dinner sent up to Kitson's private room anddined amidst a litter of open newspapers. They were representativejournals of the past week, and he scanned their columns carefully. Nowand again he would cut out a paragraph and in one case half a column. 

Kitson, who was dining with a friend in the restaurant of the hotel, came up toward nine o'clock and stood looking with amusement at thedetective's silent labours. 

"You're making a deplorable litter in my room, " he said, "but I supposethere is something very mysterious and terrible behind it all. Do youmind my reading your cuttings?"

"Go ahead, " said Beale, without raising his eyes from his newspaper. 

Kitson took up a slip and read aloud:

 "The reserves of the Land Bank of the Ukraine have been increased by ten million roubles. This increase has very considerably eased the situation in Southern Ukraine and in Galicia, where there has been considerable unrest amongst the peasants due to the high cost of textiles. "

"That is fascinating news, " said Kitson sardonically. "Are you running ascrap-book on high finance?"

"No, " said the other shortly, "the Land Bank is a Loan Bank. It financespeasant proprietors. "

"You a shareholder?" asked Mr. Kitson wonderingly. 

"No. "

Kitson picked up another cutting. It was a telegraphic dispatch datedfrom Berlin:

 "As evidence of the healthy industrial tone which prevails in Germany and the rapidity with which the Government is recovering from the effects of the war, I may instance the fact that an order has been placed with the Leipzieger Spoorwagen Gesselshaft for 60, 000 box cars. The order has been placed by the L. S. G. With thirty firms, and the first delivery is due in six weeks. "

"That's exciting, " said Kitson, "but why cut it out?"

The next cutting was also dated "Berlin" and announced the revival ofthe "War Purchase Council" of the old belligerent days as "a temporarymeasure. "

 "It is not intended, " said the dispatch, "to invest the committee with all its old functions, and the step has been taken in view of the bad potato crop to organize distribution. "

"What's the joke about that?" asked Kitson, now puzzled. 

"The joke is that there is no potato shortage--there never was such agood harvest, " said Beale. "I keep tag of these things and I know. The_Western Mail_ had an article from its Berlin correspondent last weeksaying that potatoes were so plentiful that they were a drug on themarket. "

"H'm!"

"Did you read about the Zeppelin sheds?" asked Beale. "You will find itamongst the others. All the old Zepp. Hangars throughout Germany are tobe put in a state of repair and turned into skating-rinks for thephysical development of young Germany. Wonderful concrete floors are tobe laid down, all the dilapidations are to be made good, and the bandswill play daily, wet or fine. "

"What does it all mean?" asked the bewildered lawyer. 

"That The Day--the real Day is near at hand, " said Beale soberly. 

"War?"

"Against the world, but without the flash of a bayonet or the boom of acannon. A war fought by men sitting in their little offices and pullingthe strings that will choke you and me, Mr. Kitson. To-night I am goingafter van Heerden. I may catch him and yet fail to arrest his evilwork--that's a funny word, 'evil, ' for everyday people to use, butthere's no other like it. To-morrow, whether I catch him or not, I willtell you the story of the plot I accidentally discovered. The BritishGovernment thinks that I have got on the track of a big thing--so doesWashington, and I'm having all the help I want. "

"It's a queer world, " said Kitson. 

"It may be queerer, " responded Beale, then boldly: "How is my wife?"

"Your--well, I like your nerve!" gasped Kitson. 

"I thought you preferred it that way--how is Miss Cresswell?"

"The nurse says she is doing famously. She is sleeping now; but she wokeup for food and is nearly normal. She did not ask for you, " he addedpointedly. 

Beale flushed and laughed. 

"My last attempt to be merry, " he said. "I suppose that to-morrow shewill be well. "

"But not receiving visitors, " Kitson was careful to warn him. "You willkeep your mind off Oliva and keep your eye fixed on van Heerden if youare wise. No man can serve two masters. "

Stanford Beale looked at his watch. 

"It is the hour, " he said oracularly, and got up. 

"I'll leave this untidiness for your man to clear, " said Kitson. "Wheredo you go now?"

"To see Hilda Glaum--if the fates are kind, " said Beale. "I'm going toput up a bluff, believing that in her panic she will lead me into thelion's den with the idea of van Heerden making one mouthful of me. I'vegot to take that risk. If she is what I think she is, she'll lay a trapfor me--I'll fall for it, but I'm going to get next to van Heerdento-night. "

Kitson accompanied him to the door of the hotel. 

"Take no unnecessary risks, " he said at parting, "don't forget thatyou're a married man. "

"That's one of the things I want to forget if you'll let me, " said theexasperated young man. 

Outside the hotel he hailed a passing taxi and was soon speeding throughPiccadilly westward. He turned by Hyde Park Corner, skirted the groundsof Buckingham Palace and plunged into the maze of Pimlico. He pulled upbefore a dreary-looking house in a blank and dreary street, and tellingthe cabman to wait, mounted the steps and rang the bell. 

A diminutive maid opened the door. 

"Is Miss Glaum in?" he demanded. 

"Yes, sir. Will you step into the drawing-room. All the other boardersare out. What name shall I say?"

"Tell her a gentleman from Krooman Mansions, " he answereddiplomatically. 

He walked into the tawdry parlour and put down his hat and stick, andwaited. Presently the door opened and the girl came in. She stoppedopen-mouthed with surprise at the sight of him, and her surprisedeepened to suspicion. 

"I thought----" she began, and checked herself. 

"You thought I was Doctor van Heerden? Well, I am not. "

"You're the man I saw at Heyler's, " she said, glowering at him. 

"Yes, my name is Beale. "

"Oh, I've heard about you. You'll get nothing by prying here, " shecried. 

"I shall get a great deal by prying here, I think, " he said calmly. "Sitdown, Miss Hilda Glaum, and let us understand one another. You are afriend of Doctor van Heerden's?"

"I shall answer no questions, " she snapped. 

"Perhaps you will answer this question, " he said, "why did Doctor vanHeerden secure an appointment for you at Punsonby's, and why, when youwere there, did you steal three registered envelopes which you conveyedto the doctor?"

Her face went red and white. 

"That's a lie!" she gasped. 

"You might tell a judge and jury that and then they wouldn't believeyou, " he smiled. "Come, Miss Glaum, let us be absolutely frank with oneanother. I am telling you that I don't intend bringing your action tothe notice of the police, and you can give me a little information whichwill be very useful to me. "

"It's a lie, " she repeated, visibly agitated, "I did not steal anything. If Miss Cresswell says so----"

"Miss Cresswell is quite ignorant of your treachery, " said the otherquietly; "but as you are determined to deny that much, perhaps you willtell me this, what business brings you to Doctor van Heerden's flat inthe small hours of the morning?"

"Do you insinuate----?"

"I insinuate nothing. And least of all do I insinuate that you have anylove affair with the doctor, who does not strike me as that kind ofperson. "

Her eyes narrowed and for a moment it seemed that her natural vanitywould overcome her discretion. 

"Who says I go to Doctor van Heerden's?"

"I say so, because I have seen you. Surely you don't forget that I liveopposite the amiable doctor?"

"I am not going to discuss my business or his, " she said, "and I don'tcare what you threaten me with or what you do. "

"I will do something more than threaten you, " he said ominously, "youwill not fool me, Miss Glaum, and the sooner you realize the fact thebetter. I am going all the way with you if you give me any trouble, andif you don't answer my questions. I might tell you that unless thisinterview is a very satisfactory one to me I shall not only arrestDoctor van Heerden to-night but I shall take you as an accomplice. "

"You can't, you can't. " She almost screamed the words. 

All the sullen restraint fell away from her and she was electric in theviolence of her protest. 

"Arrest him! That wonderful man! Arrest me? You dare not! You dare not!"

"I shall dare do lots of things unless you tell me what I want to know. "

"What do you want to know?" she demanded defiantly. 

"I want to know the most likely address at which your friend the doctorcan be found--the fact is, Miss Glaum, the game is up--we know all aboutthe Green Rust. "

She stepped back, her hand raised to her mouth. 

"The--the Green Rust!" she gasped. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I have every reason to believe that Doctor van Heerden isengaged in a conspiracy against this State. He has disappeared, but isstill in London. I want to take him quietly--without fuss. "

Her eyes were fixed on his. He saw doubt, rage, a hint of fear andfinally a steady light of resolution shining. When she spoke her voicewas calm. 

"Very good. I will take you to the place, " she said. 

She went out of the room and came back five minutes later with her hatand coat on. 

"It's a long way, " she began. 

"I have a taxi at the door. "

"We cannot go all the way by taxi. Tell the man to drive to BakerStreet, " she said. 

She spoke no word during the journey, nor was Beale inclined forconversation. At Baker Street Station they stopped and the cab wasdismissed. Together they walked in silence, turning from the main road, passing the Central Station and plunging into a labyrinth of streetswhich was foreign territory to the American. 

It seemed that he had passed in one step from one of the best-classquarters of the town to one of the worst. One minute he was passingthrough a sedate square, lined with the houses of the well-to-do, another minute he was in a slum. 

"The place is at the end of this street, " she said. 

They came to what seemed to be a stable-yard. There was a blank wallwith one door and a pair of gates. The girl took a key from her bag, opened the small door and stepped in, and Beale followed. 

They were in a yard littered with casks. On two sides of the yard ranlow-roofed buildings which had apparently been used as stables. Shelocked the door behind her, walked across the yard to the corner andopened another door. 

"There are fourteen steps down, " she said, "have you a light of anykind?"

He took his electric torch from his pocket. 

"Give it to me, " she said, "I will lead the way. "

"What is this place?" he asked, after she had locked the door. 

"It used to be a wine merchant's, " she said shortly, "we have thecellars. "

"We?" he repeated. 

She made no reply. At the bottom of the steps was a short passage andanother door which was opened, and apparently the same key fitted themall, or else as Beale suspected she carried a pass key. 

They walked through, and again she closed the door behind them. 

"Another?" he said, as her light flashed upon a steel door a dozen pacesahead. 

"It is the last one, " she said, and went on. 

Suddenly the light was extinguished. 

"Your lamp's gone wrong, " he heard her say, "but I can find the lock. "

He heard a click, but did not see the door open and did not realizewhat had happened until he heard a click again. The light was suddenlyflashed on him, level with his eyes. 

"You can't see me, " said a mocking voice, "I'm looking at you throughthe little spy-hole. Did you see the spy-hole, clever Mr. Beale? And Iam on the other side of the door. " He heard her laugh. "Are you going toarrest the doctor to-night?" she mocked. "Are you going to discover thesecret of the Green Rust--ah! That is what you want, isn't it?"

"My dear little friend, " said Beale smoothly, "you will be very sensibleand open that door. You don't suppose that I came here alone. I wasshadowed all the way. "

"You lie, " she said coolly, "why did I dismiss the cab and make youwalk? Oh, clever Mr. Beale!"

He chuckled, though he was in no chuckling mood. 

"What a sense of humour!" he said admiringly, "now just listen to me!"

He made one stride to the door, his revolver had flicked out of hiship-pocket, when he heard the snap of a shutter, and the barrel that hethrust between the bars met steel. Then came the grind of bolts and hepocketed his gun. 

"So that's that, " he said. 

Then he walked back to the other door, struck a match and examined it. It was sheathed with iron. He tapped the walls with his stick, but foundnothing to encourage him. The floor was solidly flagged, the low roof ofthe passage was vaulted and cased with stone. 

He stopped in his search suddenly and listened. Above his head he hearda light patter of feet, and smiled. It was his boast that he neverforgot a voice or a footfall. 

"That's my little friend on her way back, running like the deuce, totell the doctor, " he said. "I have something under an hour before theshooting starts!"

CHAPTER XXIII

AT THE DOCTOR'S FLAT

Dr. Van Heerden did not hurry his departure from his Staines house. Hespent the morning following Oliva's marriage in town, transactingcertain important business and making no attempt to conceal his comingsand goings, though he knew that he was shadowed. Yet he was well awarethat every hour that passed brought danger nearer. He judged (andrightly) that his peril was not to be found in the consequences to hisdetention of Oliva Cress well. 

"I may have a week's grace, " he said to Milsom, "and in the space of aweek I can do all that I want. "

He spent the evening superintending the dismantling of apparatus in theshed, and it was past ten o'clock on Tuesday before he finished. 

It was not until he was seated by Milsom's side in the big limousine andthe car was running smoothly through Kingston that he made any furtherreference to the previous afternoon. 

"Is Beale content?" he asked. 

"Eh?"

Milsom, dozing in the corner of the car, awoke with a start. 

"Is Beale content with his prize--and his predicament?" asked vanHeerden. 

"Well, I guess he should be. That little job brings him a million. Heshouldn't worry about anything further. "

But van Heerden shook his head. 

"I don't think you have things quite right, Milsom, " he said. "Beale isa better man than I thought, and knows my mind a little too well. He wasastounded when Homo claimed to be a priest--I never saw a man morestunned in my life. He intended the marriage as a bluff to keep me awayfrom the girl. He analysed the situation exactly, for he knew I wasafter her money, and that she as a woman had no attraction for me. Hebelieved--and there he was justified--that if I could not marry her Ihad no interest in detaining her, and engaged Homo to follow him aroundwith a special licence. He timed everything too well for my comfort. "

Milsom shifted round and peered anxiously at his companion. 

"How do you mean?" he asked. "It was only by a fluke that he made it intime. "

"That isn't what I mean. It is the fact that he knew that every secondwas vital, that he guessed I was keen on a quick marriage and that toforestall me he carried his (as he thought) pseudo-clergyman with him sothat he need not lose a minute: these are the disturbing factors. "

"I don't see it, " said Milsom, "the fellow's a crook, all these Yankeedetectives are grafters. He saw a chance of a big rake off and took it, fifty-fifty of a million fortune is fine commission!"

"You're wrong. I'd like to think as you do. Man! Can't you see that hisevery action proves that he knows all about the Green Rust?"

"Eh?"

Milsom sat up. 

"How--what makes you say that?"

"It's clear enough. He has already some idea of the scheme. He has beenpumping old Heyler; he even secured a sample of the stuff--it was afaulty cultivation, but it might have been enough for him. He surmisedthat I had a special use for old Millinborn's money and why I was in ahurry to get it. "

The silence which followed lasted several minutes. 

"Does anybody except Beale know? If you settled him... ?"

"We should have to finish him to-night" said van Heerden, "that is whatI have been thinking about all day. "

Another silence. 

"Well, why not?" asked Milsom, "it is all one to me. The stake is wortha little extra risk. "

"It must be done before he finds the Paddington place; that is thedanger which haunts me. " Van Heerden was uneasy, and he had lost thenote of calm assurance which ordinarily characterized his speech. "Thereis sufficient evidence there to spoil everything. "

"There is that, " breathed Milsom, "it was madness to go on. You have allthe stuff you want, you could have closed down the factory a week ago. "

"I must have a margin of safety--besides, how could I do anything else?I was nearly broke and any sign of closing down would have brought myhungry workers to Krooman Mansions. "

"That's true, " agreed the other, "I've had to stall 'em off, but Ididn't know that it was because you were broke. It seemed to me just anatural reluctance to part with good money. "

Further conversation was arrested by the sudden stoppage of the car. VanHeerden peered through the window ahead and caught a glimpse of a redlamp. 

"It is all right, " he said, "this must be Putney Common, and I toldGregory to meet me with any news. "

A man came into the rays of the head-lamp and passed to the door. 

"Well, " asked the doctor, "is there any trouble?"

"I saw the green lamp on the bonnet, " said Gregory (Milsom no longerwondered how the man had recognized the car from the score of otherswhich pass over the common), "there is no news of importance. "

"Where is Beale?"

"At the old man's hotel. He has been there all day. "

"Has he made any further visits to the police?"

"He was at Scotland Yard this afternoon. "

"And the young lady?"

"One of the waiters at the hotel, a friend of mine, told me that she ismuch better. She has had two doctors. "

"And still lives?" said the cynical Milsom. "That makes four doctors shehas seen in two days. "

Van Heerden leant out of the car window and lowered his voice. 

"The Fräulein Glaum, you saw her?"

"Yes, I told her that she must not come to your laboratory again untilyou sent for her. She asked when you leave. "

"That she must not know, Gregory--please remember. "

He withdrew his head, tapped at the window and the car moved on. 

"There's another problem for you, van Heerden, " said Milsom with achuckle. 

"What?" demanded the other sharply. 

"Hilda Glaum. I've only seen the girl twice or so, but she adores you. What are you going to do with her?"

Van Heerden lit a cigarette, and in the play of the flame Milsom saw himsmiling. 

"She comes on after me, " he said, "by which I mean that I have a placefor her in my country, but not----"

"Not the sort of place she expects, " finished Milsom bluntly. "You mayhave trouble there. "

"Bah!"

"That's foolish, " said Milsom, "the convict establishments of Englandare filled with men who said 'Bah' when they were warned against jealouswomen. If, " he went on, "if you could eliminate jealousy from the humanoutfit, you'd have half the prison warders of England unemployed. "

"Hilda is a good girl, " said the other complacently, "she is also a goodGerman girl, and in Germany women know their place in the system. Shewill be satisfied with what I give her. "

"There aren't any women like that, " said Milsom with decision, and thesubject dropped. 

The car stopped near the Marble Arch to put down Milsom, and van Heerdencontinued his journey alone, reaching his apartments a little beforemidnight. As he stepped out of the car a man strolled across the street. It was Beale's watcher. Van Heerden looked round with a smile, realizingthe significance of this nonchalant figure, and passed through the lobbyand up the stairs. 

He had left his lights full on for the benefit of watchers, and thehall-lamp glowed convincingly through the fanlight. Beale's flat was indarkness, and a slip of paper fastened to the door gave his address. 

The doctor let himself into his own rooms, closed the door, switchedout the light and stepped into his bureau. 

"Hello, " he said angrily, "what are you doing here?--I told you not tocome. "

The girl who was sitting at the table and who now rose to meet him wasbreathless, and he read trouble in her face. He could have read pridethere, too, that she had so well served the man whom she idolized as agod. 

"I've got him, I've got him, Julius!"

"Got him! Got whom?" he asked, with a frown. 

"Beale!" she said eagerly, "the great Beale!"

She gurgled with hysterical laughter. 

"He came to me, he was going to arrest me to-night, but I got him. "

"Sit down, " he said firmly, "and try to be coherent, Hilda. Who came toyou?"

"Beale. He came to my boarding-house and wanted to know where you hadtaken Oliva Cresswell. Have you taken her?" she asked earnestly. 

"Go on, " he said. 

"He came to me full of arrogance and threats. He was going to have mearrested, Julius, because of those letters which I gave you. But Ididn't worry about myself, Julius. It was all for you that I thought. The thought that you, my dear, great man, should be put in one of thesehorrible English prisons--oh, Julius!"

She rose, her eyes filled with tears, but he stood over her, laid hishands on her shoulders and pressed her back. 

"Now, now. You must tell me everything. This is very serious. Whathappened then?"

"He wanted me to take him to one of the places. "

"One of what places?" he asked quickly. 

"I don't know. He only said that he knew that you had other houses--Idon't even know that he said that, but that was the impression that hegave me, that he knew you were to be found somewhere. "

"Go on, " said the doctor. 

"And so I thought and I thought, " said the girl, her hands clasped infront of her, her eyes looking up into his, "and I prayed God wouldgive me some idea to help you. And then the scheme came to me, Julius. Isaid I would lead him to you. "

"You said you would lead him to me?" he said steadily, "and where didyou lead him?"

"To the factory in Paddington, " she said. 

"There!" he stared at her. 

"Wait, wait, wait!" she said, "oh, please don't blame me! I took himinto the passage with the doors. I borrowed his light, and after we hadpassed and locked the second door I slipped through the third andslammed it in his face. "

"Then----"

"He is there! Caught! Oh, Julius, did I do well? Please don't be angrywith me! I was so afraid for you!"

"How long have you been here?" he asked. 

"Not ten minutes, perhaps five minutes, I don't know. I have noknowledge of time. I came straight back to see you. "

He stood by the table, gnawing his finger, his head bowed inconcentrated thought. 

"There, of all places!" he muttered; "there, of all places!"

"Oh, Julius, I did my best, " she said tearfully. 

He looked down at her with a little sneer. 

"Of course you did your best. You're a woman and you haven't brains. "

"I thought----"

"You thought!" he sneered. "Who told you you could think? You fool!Don't you know it was a bluff, that he could no more arrest me than Icould arrest him? Don't you realize--did he know you were in the habitof coming here?"

She nodded. 

"I thought so, " said van Heerden with a bitter laugh. "He knows you arein love with me and he played upon your fears. You poor little fool!Don't cry or I shall do something unpleasant. There, there. Helpyourself to some wine, you'll find it in the tantalus. "

He strode up and down the room. 

"There's nothing to be done but to settle accounts with Mr. Beale, " hesaid grimly. "Do you think he was watched?"

"Oh no, no, Julius"--she checked her sobs--"I was so careful. "

She gave him a description of the journey and the precautions she hadtaken. 

"Well, perhaps you're not such a fool after all. "

He unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a long-barrelled Browningpistol, withdrew the magazine from the butt, examined and replaced it, and slipped back the cover. 

"Yes, I think I must settle accounts with this gentleman, but I don'twant to use this, " he added thoughtfully, as he pushed up thesafety-catch and dropped the weapon in his pocket; "we might be able togas him. Anyway, you can do no more good or harm, " he said cynically. 

She was speechless, her hands, clasped tightly at her breast, covered adamp ball of handkerchief, and her tear-stained face was upturned tohis. 

"Now, dry your face. " He stooped and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Perhaps what you have done is the best after all. Who knows? Anyway, "he said, speaking his thoughts aloud, "Beale knows about the Green Rustand it can't be very long before I have to go to earth, but only for alittle time, my Hilda. " He smiled, showing his white teeth, but it wasnot a pleasant smile, "only for a little time, and then, " he threw uphis arms, "we shall be rich beyond the dreams of Frankfurt. "

"You will succeed, I know you will succeed, Julius, " she breathed, "if Icould only help you! If you would only tell me what you are doing! Whatis the Green Rust? Is it some wonderful new explosive?"

"Dry your face and go home, " he said shortly, "you will find a detectiveoutside the door watching you, but I do not think he will follow you. "

He dismissed the girl and followed her after an interval of time, striding boldly past the shadow and gaining the cab-stand in ShaftesburyAvenue without, so far as he could see, being followed. But he dismissedthe cab in the neighbourhood of Baker Street and continued his journeyon foot. He opened the little door leading into the yard but did notfollow the same direction as the girl had led Stanford Beale. It wasthrough another door that he entered the vault, which at one time hadbeen the innocent repository of bubbling life and was now the factorywhere men worked diligently for the destruction of their fellows. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE GREEN RUST FACTORY

Stanford Beale spent a thoughtful three minutes in the darkness of thecellar passage to which Hilda Glaum had led him and then he began acareful search of his pockets. He carried a little silver cigar-lighter, which had fortunately been charged with petrol that afternoon, and thisafforded him a beam of adequate means to take note of his surroundings. 

The space between the two locked doors was ten feet, the width of thepassage three, the height about seven feet. The roof, as he had alreadynoted, was vaulted. Now he saw that along the centre ran a strip ofbeading. There had evidently been an electric light installation here, probably before the new owners took possession, for at intervals was asocket for an electric bulb. The new occupants had covered these and therest of the wall with whitewash, and yet the beading and the electricfittings looked comparatively new. One wall, that on his left as he hadcome in, revealed nothing under his close inspection, but on the rightwall, midway between the two doors, there had been a notice painted inwhite letters on a black background, and this showed faintly through thethick coating of distemper which had been applied. He damped ahandkerchief with his tongue and rubbed away some of the whitewashwhere the letters were least legible and read:

 AID LTER. ------ ULANCE & T AID. 

This was evidently half an inscription which had been cut off exactly inthe middle. To the left there was no sign of lettering. He puzzled theletters for a few moments before he came to an understanding. 

"Air-raid shelter. Ambulance and first aid!" he read. 

So that explained the new electric fittings. It was one of thoseunderground cellars which had been ferreted out by the Municipality orthe Government for the shelter of the people in the neighbourhood duringair-raids in the Great War. Evidently there was extensive accommodationhere, since this was also an ambulance post. Faintly discernible beneaththe letters was a painted white hand which pointed downward. What hadhappened to the other half of the inscription? Obviously it had beenpainted on the door leading into the first-aid room and as obviouslythat door had been removed and had been bricked up. In the light of thisdiscovery he made a more careful inspection of the wall to the left. Forthe space of four feet the brickwork was new. He tapped it. It soundedhollow. Pressing his back against the opposite wall to give him leveragehe put his foot against the new brickwork and pushed. 

He knew that the class of workmanship which was put into this kind ofjob was not of the best, that only one layer of brick was applied, andit was a mechanical fact that pressure applied to the centre of new workwould produce a collapse. 

At the first push he felt the wall sag. Releasing his pressure it cameback. This time he put both feet against the wall and bracing hisshoulders he put every ounce of strength in his body into a mightyheave. The next second he was lying on his back. The greater part of thewall had collapsed. He was curious enough to examine the work he haddemolished. It had evidently been done by amateurs, and the whitewashwhich had been thickly applied to the passage was explained. 

A current of fresh air came to meet him as he stepped gingerly acrossthe debris. A flight of six stone steps led down to a small roomcontaining a sink and a water supply, two camp beds which had evidentlybeen part of the ambulance equipment and which the new owners had notthought necessary to remove, and a broken chair. The room was stilllittered with the paraphernalia of first-aid. He found odd ends ofbandages, empty medicine bottles and a broken glass measure on the shelfabove the sink. 

What interested him more was a door which he had not dared to hope hewould find. It was bolted on his side, and when he had slid this back hediscovered to his relief that it was not locked. He opened it carefully, first extinguishing his light. Beyond the door was darkness and hesnapped back the light again. The room led to another, likewise empty. There were a number of shelves, a few old wine-bins, a score of emptybottles, but nothing else. At the far corner was yet another door, alsobolted on the inside. Evidently van Heerden did not intend this part ofthe vault to be used. 

He looked at the lock and found it was broken. He must be approachingthe main workroom in this new factory, and it was necessary to proceedwith caution. He took out his revolver, spun the cylinder and thrust itunder his waistcoat, the butt ready to his hand. The drawing of thebolts was a long business. He could not afford to risk detection at thishour, and could only move them by a fraction of an inch at a time. Presently his work was done and he pulled the door cautiously. 

Instantly there appeared between door and jamb a bright green line oflight. He dare not move it any farther, for he heard now the shuffle offeet, and occasionally the sound of hollow voices, muffled andindistinguishable. In that light the opening of the door would be seen, perhaps by a dozen pair of eyes. For all he knew every man in that roommight be facing his way. He had expected to hear the noise of machinery, but beyond the strangled voices, occasionally the click of glass againstglass and the shuff-shuff-shuff of slippered feet crossing the floor, heheard nothing. 

He pulled the door another quarter of an inch and glued his eye to thecrack. At this angle he could only see one of the walls of the big vaultand the end of a long vapour-lamp which stood in one of the cornices andwhich supplied the ghastly light. But presently he saw something whichfilled him with hope. Against the wall was a high shadow which even theoverhead lamp did not wholly neutralize. It was an irregular shadow suchas a stack of boxes might make, and it occurred to him that perhapsbeyond his range of vision there was a barricade of empty cases whichhid the door from the rest of the room. 

He spent nearly three-quarters of an hour taking a bearing based uponthe problematical position of the lights, the height and density of thebox screen and then boldly and rapidly opened the door, stepped throughand closed it behind him. His calculations had been accurate. He foundhimself in a room, the extent of which he could only conjecture. What, however, interested him mostly was the accuracy of his calculation thatthe door was hidden. An "L"-shaped stack of crates was piled within twofeet of the ceiling, and formed a little lobby to anybody entering thevault the way Beale had come. They were stacked neatly and methodically, and with the exception of two larger packing-cases which formed the"corner stone" the barrier was made of a large number of small boxesabout ten inches square. 

There was a small step-ladder, evidently used by the person whosebusiness it was to keep this stack in order. Beale lifted itnoiselessly, planted it against the corner and mounted cautiously. 

He saw a large, broad chamber, its groined roof supported by six squatstone pillars. Light came not only from mercurial lamps affixed to theceiling, but from others suspended above the three rows of bencheswhich ran the length of the room. 

Mercurial lamps do not give a green light, as he knew, but a violetlight, and the green effect was produced by shades of something whichBeale thought was yellow silk, but which he afterwards discovered wastinted mica. 

At intervals along the benches sat white-clad figures, their faceshidden behind rubber masks, their hands covered with gloves. In front ofeach man was a small microscope under a glass shade, a pair of balancesand a rack filled with shallow porcelain trays. Evidently the work onwhich they were engaged did not endanger their eyesight, for theeye-pieces in the masks were innocent of protective covering, acircumstance which added to the hideous animal-like appearance of themen. They all looked alike in their uniform garb, but one figure aloneBeale recognized. There was no mistaking the stumpy form and the bighead of the Herr Professor, whose appearance in Oliva Cresswell's roomhad so terrified that young lady. 

He had expected to see him, for he knew that this old German, poverty-stricken and ill-favoured, had been roped in by van Heerden, andBeale, who pitied the old man, had been engaged for a fortnight intrying to worm from the ex-professor of chemistry at the University ofHeidelberg the location of van Heerden's secret laboratory. His effortshad been unsuccessful. There was a streak of loyalty in the old man, which had excited an irritable admiration in the detective but hadproduced nothing more. 

Beale's eyes followed the benches and took in every detail. Some of themen were evidently engaged in tests, and remained all the time withtheir eyes glued to their microscopes. Others were looking into theirporcelain trays and stirring the contents with glass rods, now and againtransferring something to a glass slide which was placed on themicroscope and earnestly examined. 

Beale was conscious of a faint musty odour permeating the air, anindescribable earthy smell with a tang to it which made the delicatemembrane of the nostrils smart and ache. He tied his handkerchief overhis nose and mouth before he took another peep. Only part of the roomwas visible from his post of observation. What was going on immediatelybeneath the far side of the screen he could only conjecture. But he sawenough to convince him that this was the principal factory, from whencevan Heerden was distilling the poison with which he planned humanity'sdeath. 

Some of the workers were filling and sealing small test-tubes with thecontents of dishes. These tubes were extraordinarily delicate ofstructure, and Beale saw at least three crumble and shiver in the handsof the fillers. 

Every bench held a hundred or so of these tubes and a covered gas-jetfor heating the wax. The work went on methodically, with very littleconversation between the masked figures (he saw that the masks coveredthe heads of the chemists so that not a vestige of hair showed), andonly occasionally did one of them leave his seat and disappear through adoor at the far end of the room, which apparently led to a canteen. 

Evidently the fumes against which they were protected were not virulent, for some of the men stripped their masks as soon as they left theirbenches. 

For half an hour he watched, and in the course of that time saw theprocess of filling the small boxes which formed his barrier andhiding-place with the sealed tubes. He observed the care with which thefragile tubes were placed in their beds of cotton wool, and had aglimpse of the lined interior of one of the boxes. He was on the pointof lifting down a box to make a more thorough examination when he hearda quavering voice beneath him. 

"What you do here--eh?"

Under the step-ladder was one of the workers who had slipped noiselesslyround the corner of the pile and now stood, grotesque and menacing, hisuncovered eyes glowering at the intruder, the black barrel of hisBrowning pistol covering the detective's heart. 

"Don't shoot, colonel, " said Beale softly. "I'll come down. "

CHAPTER XXV

THE LAST MAN AT THE BENCH

After all, it was for the best--van Heerden could almost see the hand ofProvidence in this deliverance of his enemy into his power. There mustbe a settlement with Beale, that play-acting drunkard, who had sodeceived him at first. 

Dr. Van Heerden could admire the ingenuity of his enemy and could killhim. He was a man whose mental poise permitted the paradox of detachedattachments. At first he had regarded Stanford Beale as a smart policeofficer, the sort of man whom Pinkerton and Burns turn out by the score. Shrewd, assertive, indefatigable, such men piece together the scatteredmosaics of humdrum crimes, and by their mechanical patience produce forthe satisfaction of courts sufficient of the piece to reveal the design. They figure in divorce suits, in financial swindles and occasionally inmore serious cases. 

Van Heerden knew instinctively their limitations and had too hastilyplaced Beale in a lower category than he deserved. Van Heerden came tohis workroom by way of the buffet which he had established for the useof his employees. As he shut the steel door behind him he saw Milsomstanding at the rough wooden sideboard which served as bar and table forthe workers. 

"This is an unexpected pleasure, " said Milsom, and then quickly, as heread the other's face: "Anything wrong?"

"If the fact that the cleverest policeman in America or England is atpresent on the premises can be so described, then everything is wrong, "said van Heerden, and helped himself to a drink. 

"Here--in the laboratory?" demanded Milsom, fear in his eyes. "What doyou mean?"

"I'll tell you, " said the other, and gave the story as he had heard itfrom Hilda Glaum. 

"He's in the old passage, eh?" said Milsom, thoughtfully, "well there'sno reason why he should get out--alive. "

"He won't, " said the other. 

"Was he followed--you saw nobody outside?"

"We have nothing to fear on that score. He's working on his own. "

Milsom grunted. 

"What are we going to do with him?"

"Gas him, " said van Heerden, "he is certain to have a gun. "

Milsom nodded. 

"Wait until the men have gone. I let them go at three--a few at a time, and it wants half an hour to that. He can wait. He's safe where he is. Why didn't Hilda tell me? I never even saw her. "

"She went straight up from the old passage--through the men's door--shedidn't trust you probably. "

Milsom smiled wryly. Though he controlled these works and knew half thedoctor's secrets, he suspected that the quantity of van Heerden's trustwas not greatly in excess of his girl's. 

"We'll wait, " he said again, "there's no hurry and, anyway, I want tosee you about old man Heyler. "

"Von Heyler? I thought you were rid of him?" said van Heerden insurprise, "that is the old fool that Beale has been after. He has beentrying to suck him dry, and has had two interviews with him. I told youto send him to Deans Folly. Bridgers would have taken care of him. "

"Bridgers can look after nothing, " said Milsom. 

His eyes roved along the benches and stopped at a worker at the fartherend of the room. 

"He's quiet to-night, " he said, "that fellow is too full of himself formy liking. Earlier in the evening before I arrived he pulled a gun onSchultz. He's too full of gunplay that fellow--excuse the idiom, but Iwas in the same tailor's shop at Portland Gaol as Ned Garrand, theYankee bank-smasher. "

Van Heerden made a gesture of impatience. 

"About old Heyler, " Milsom went on, "I know you think he's dangerous, so I've kept him here. There's a room where he can sleep, and he cantake all the exercise he wants at night. But the old fool isrestless--he's been asking me what is the object of his work. "

"He's difficult. Twice he has nearly betrayed me. As I told you in thecar, I gave him some experimental work to do and he brought the resultto me--that was the sample which fell into Beale's hands. "

"Mr. Beale is certainly a danger, " said Milsom thoughtfully. 

Van Heerden made a move toward the laboratory, but Milsom's big handdetained him. 

"One minute, van Heerden, " he said, "whilst you're here you'd betterdecide--when do we start dismantling? I've got to find some excuse tosend these fellows away. "

Van Heerden thought. 

"In two days, " he said, "that will give you time to clear. You can sendthe men--well, send them to Scotland, some out-of-the-way place wherenews doesn't travel. Tell them we're opening a new factory, and put themup at the local hotel. "

Milsom inclined his head. 

"That sounds easy, " he said, "I could take charge of them until the timecame to skip. One can get a boat at Greenock. "

"I shall miss you, " said van Heerden frankly, "you were necessary to me, Milsom. You're the driving force I wanted, and the only man of my classand calibre I can ever expect to meet, one who would go into thisbusiness with me. "

They had reached the big vault and van Heerden stood regarding the sceneof mental activity with something approaching complacency. 

"There is a billion in process of creation, " he said. 

"I could never think in more than six figures, " said Milsom, "and it isonly under your cheering influence that I can stretch to seven. I amgoing to live in the Argentine, van Heerden. A house on a hill----"

The other shivered, but Milsom went on. 

"A gorgeous palace of a house, alive with servants. A string band, aperfectly equipped laboratory where I can indulge my passion forresearch, a high-powered auto, wine of the rarest--ah!"

Van Heerden looked at his companion curiously. 

"That appeals to you, does it? For me, the control of finance. Endlessschemes of fortune; endless smashings of rivals, railways, ships, greatindustries juggled and shuffled--that is the life I plan. "

"Fine!" said the other laconically. 

They walked to a bench and the worker looked up and took off his mask. 

He was an old man, and grinned toothlessly at van Heerden. 

"Good evening, Signor Doctor, " he said in Italian. "Science is long andlife is short, signor. "

He chuckled and, resuming his mask, returned to his work, ignoring thetwo men as though they had no existence. 

"A little mad, old Castelli, " said Milsom, "that's his one littlepiece--what crooked thing has he done?"

"None that I know, " said the other carelessly; "he lost his wife and twodaughters in the Messina earthquake. I picked him up cheap. He's auseful chemist. "

They walked from bench to bench, but van Heerden's eyes continuouslystrayed to the door, behind which he pictured a caged Stanford Beale, awaiting his doom. The men were beginning to depart now. One by one theycovered their instruments and their trays, slipped off their masks andoveralls and disappeared through the door, upon which van Heerden's gazewas so often fixed. Their exit, however, would not take them nearBeale's prison. A few paces along the corridor was another passageleading to the yard above, and it was by this way that Hilda Glaum hadsped to the doctor's room. 

Presently all were gone save one industrious worker, who sat peeringthrough the eye-piece of his microscope, immovable. 

"That's our friend Bridgers, " said Milsom, "he's all lit up with thealkaloid of _Enythroxylon Coca_---- Well, Bridgers, nearly finished?"

"Huh!" grunted the man without turning. 

Milsom shrugged his shoulders. 

"We must let him finish what he's doing. He is quite oblivious to thepresence of anybody when he has these fits of industry. By the way, thepassing of our dear enemy"--he jerked his head to the passagedoor--"will make no change in your plans?"

"How?"

"You have no great anxiety to marry the widow?"

"None, " said the doctor. 

"And she isn't a widow yet. "

It was not Milsom who spoke, but the man at the bench, the industriousworker whose eye was still at the microscope. 

"Keep your comments to yourself, " said van Heerden angrily, "finish yourwork and get out. "

"I've finished. "

The worker rose slowly and loosening the tapes of his mask pulled itoff. 

"My name is Beale, " he said calmly, "I think we've met before. Don'tmove, Milsom, unless you want to save living-expenses--I'm a fairlyquick shot when I'm annoyed. "

Stanford Beale pushed back the microscope and seated himself on the edgeof the bench. 

"You addressed me as Bridgers, " he said, "you will find Mr. Bridgers ina room behind that stack of boxes. The fact is he surprised me spyingand was all for shooting me up, but I induced him to come into myprivate office, so to speak, and the rest was easy--he dopes, doesn'the? He hadn't the strength of a rat. However, that is all beside thepoint; Dr. Van Heerden, what have you to say against my arresting youout of hand on a conspiracy charge?"

Van Heerden smiled contemptuously. 

"There are many things I can say, " he said. "In the first place, youhave no authority to arrest anybody. You're not a police officer butonly an American amateur. "

"American, yes; but amateur, no, " said Beale gently. "As to theauthority, why I guess I can arrest you first and get the authorityafter. "

"On what charge?" demanded Milsom, "there is nothing secret about thisplace, except Doctor van Heerden's association with it--a professionalman is debarred from mixing in commercial affairs. Is it a crime to runa----"

He looked to van Heerden. 

"A germicide factory, " said van Heerden promptly. 

"Suppose I know the character of this laboratory?" asked Beale quietly. 

"Carry that kind of story to the police and see what steps they willtake, " said van Heerden scornfully. "My dear Mr. Beale, as I have toldyou once before, you have been reading too much exciting detectivefiction. "

"Very likely, " he said, "but anyhow the little story that enthralls mejust now is called the Green Terror, and I'm looking to you to supply afew of the missing pages. And I think you'll do it. "

The doctor was lighting a cigarette, and he looked at the other over theflaring match with a gleam of malicious amusement in his eyes. 

"Your romantic fancies would exasperate me, but for your evidentsincerity. Having stolen my bride you seem anxious to steal myreputation, " he said mockingly. 

"That, " said Beale, slipping off the bench and standing, hands on hips, before the doctor, "would take a bit of finding. I tell you, vanHeerden, that I'm going to call your bluff. I shall place this factoryin the hands of the police, and I am going to call in the greatestscientists in England, France and America, to prove the charge I shallmake against you on the strength of this!"

He held up between his forefinger and thumb a crystal tube, filled toits seal with something that looked like green sawdust. 

"The world, the sceptical world, shall know the hell you are preparingfor them. " Stanford Beale's voice trembled with passion and his face wasdark with the thought of a crime so monstrous that even the outrageoustreatment of a woman who was more to him than all the world was for themoment obliterated from his mind in the contemplation of the dangerwhich threatened humanity. 

"You say that the police and even the government of this country willdismiss my charge as being too fantastic for belief. You shall have thesatisfaction of knowing that you are right. They think I am mad--but Iwill convince them! In this tube lies the destruction of all yourfondest dreams, van Heerden. To realize those dreams you have murderedtwo men. For these you killed John Millinborn and the man Prédeaux. Butyou shall not----"

"_Bang!_"

The explosion roared thunderously in the confined space of the vault. Beale felt the wind of the bullet and turned, pistol upraised. 

CHAPTER XXVI

THE SECRET OF THE GREEN RUST

A dishevelled figure stood by the boxes, revolver in hand--it wasBridgers, the man he had left strapped and bound in the"ambulance-room, " and Beale cursed the folly which had induced him toleave the revolver behind. 

"I'll fix you--you brute!" screamed Bridgers, "get away from him--ah!"

Beale's hand flew up, a pencil of flame quivered and again the vaulttrembled to the deafening report. 

But Bridgers had dropped to cover. Again he shot, this time withunexpected effect. The bullet struck the fuse-box on the opposite walland all the lights went out. 

Beale was still holding the glass tube, and this Milsom had seen. Quickas thought he hurled himself upon the detective, his big, powerful handsgripped the other's wrist and wrenched it round. 

Beale set his teeth and manoeuvred for a lock grip, but he was badlyplaced, pressed as he was against the edge of the bench. He felt vanHeerden's fingers clawing at his hand and the tube was torn away. 

Then somebody pulled the revolver from the other hand and there was ascamper of feet. He groped his way through the blackness and ran intothe pile of boxes. A bullet whizzed past him from the half-crazyBridgers, but that was a risk he had to take. He heard the squeak of anopening door and stumbled blindly in its direction. Presently he foundit. He had watched the other men go out and discovered the steps--twominutes later he was in the street. 

There was no sign of either of the two men. He found a policeman afterhe had walked half a mile, but that intelligent officer could not leavehis beat and advised him to go to the police station. It was anexcellent suggestion, for although the sergeant on duty was whollyunresponsive there was a telephone, and at the end of the telephone inhis little Haymarket flat, a Superintendent McNorton, the mention ofwhose very name galvanized the police office to activity. 

"I have found the factory I've been looking for, McNorton, " said Beale. "I'll explain the whole thing to you in the morning. What I want now isa search made of the premises. "

"We can't do that without a magistrate's warrant, " said McNorton'svoice, "but what we can do is to guard the premises until the warrant isobtained. Ask the station sergeant to speak on the 'phone--by the way, how is Miss Cresswell, better, I hope?"

"Much better, " said the young man shortly. 

It was unbelievable that she could ever fill his heart with the achewhich came at the mention of her name. 

He made way for the station sergeant and later accompanied four men backto the laboratory. They found all the doors closed. Beale scaled thewall but failed to find a way in. He rejoined the sergeant on the otherside of the wall. 

"What is the name of this street?" he asked. 

"Playbury Street, sir--this used to be Henderson's Wine Vaults in myyounger days. "

Beale jotted down the address and finding a taxi drove back to thepolice station, wearied and sick at heart. 

He arrived in time to be a witness to a curious scene. In the centre ofthe charge-room and facing the sergeant's desk was a man of middle age, shabbily dressed, but bearing the indefinable air of one who had seenbetter days. The grey hair was carefully brushed from the familiar faceand gave him that venerable appearance which pale eyes and a pair ofthin straight lips (curled now in an amused smile) did their best todiscount. 

By his side stood his captor, a station detective, a bored and apatheticman. 

"It seems, " the prisoner was saying, as Stanford Beale came noiselesslyinto the room, "it seems that under this detestable system of policeespionage, a fellow may not even take a walk in the cool of themorning. "

His voice was that of an educated man, his drawling address spoke of hisconfidence. 

"Now look here, Parson, " said the station sergeant, in that friendlytone which the police adopt when dealing with their pet criminals, "youknow as well as I do that under the Prevention of Crimes Act you, an oldlag, are liable to be arrested if you are seen in any suspiciouscircumstances--you oughtn't to be wandering about the streets in themiddle of the night, and if you do, why you mustn't kick because you'repinched--anything found on him, Smith?"

"No, sergeant--he was just mouching round, so I pulled him in. "

"Where are you living now, Parson?"

The man with extravagant care searched his pockets. 

"I have inadvertently left my card-case with my coiner's outfit, " hesaid gravely, "but a wire addressed to the Doss House, Mine Street, Paddington, will find me--but I don't think I should try. At this momentI enjoy the protection of the law. In four days' time I shall be on theocean--why, Mr. Beale?"

Mr. Beale smiled. 

"Hullo, Parson--I thought you had sailed to-day. "

"The first-class berths are all taken and I will not travel to Australiawith the common herd. "

He turned to the astonished sergeant. 

"Can I go--Mr. Beale will vouch for me?"

As he left the charge-room he beckoned the detective, and when they weretogether in the street Beale found that all the Parson's flippancy haddeparted. 

"I'm sorry I got you into that scrape, " he said seriously. "I ought tohave been unfrocked, but I was sentenced for my first crime under anassumed name. I was not attached to any church at the time and myidentity has never been discovered. Mr. Beale, " he went on with aquizzical smile, "I have yet to commit my ideal crime--the murder of abishop who allows a curate to marry a wife on sixty pounds a year. " Hisface darkened, and Beale found himself wondering at the contents of thetragic years behind the man. Where was the wife... ?

"But my private grievances against the world will not interest you, "Parson Homo resumed, "I only called you out to--well, to ask yourpardon. "

"It was my own fault, Homo, " said Beale quietly, and held out his hand. "Good luck--there may be a life for you in the new land. "

He stood till the figure passed out of sight, then turned wearily towardhis own rooms. He went to his room and lay down on his bed fullydressed. He was aroused from a troubled sleep by the jangle of the'phone. It was McNorton. 

"Come down to Scotland House and see the Assistant-Commissioner, " hesaid, "he is very anxious to hear more about this factory. He tells methat you have already given him an outline of the plot. "

"Yes--I'll give you details--I'll be with you in half an hour. "

He had a bath and changed his clothes, and breakfastless, for the womanwho waited on him and kept his flat and who evidently thought hisabsence was likely to be a long one, had not arrived. He drove to thegrim grey building on the Thames Embankment. 

Assistant-Commissioner O'Donnel, a white-haired police veteran, waswaiting for him, and McNorton was in the office. 

"You look fagged, " said the commissioner, "take that chair--and youlook hungry, too. Have you breakfasted?"

Beale shook his head with a smile. 

"Get him something, McNorton--ring that bell. Don't protest, my goodfellow--I've had exactly the same kind of nights as you've had, and Iknow that it is grub that counts more than sleep. "

He gave an order to an attendant and not until twenty minutes later, when Beale had finished a surprisingly good meal in the superintendent'sroom, did the commissioner allow the story to be told. 

"Now I'm ready, " he said. 

"I'll begin at the beginning, " said Stanford Beale. "I was a member ofthe United States Secret Service until after the war when, at therequest of Mr. Kitson, who is known to you, I came to Europe to devoteall my time to watching Miss Cresswell and Doctor van Heerden. All thatyou know. 

"One day when searching the doctor's rooms in his absence, my objectbeing to discover some evidence in relation to the Millinborn murder, Ifound this. "

He took a newspaper cutting from his pocket-book and laid it on thetable. 

"It is from _El Impartial_, a Spanish newspaper, and I will translate itfor you. 

 "'Thanks to the discretion and eminent genius of Dr. Alphonso Romanos, the Chief Medical Officer of Vigo, the farmers of the district have been spared a catastrophe much lamentable' (I am translating literally). 'On Monday last, Señor Don Marin Fernardey, of La Linea, discovered one of his fields of corn had died in the night and was already in a condition of rot. In alarm, he notified the Chief of Medicines at Vigo, and Dr. Alphonso Romanos, with that zeal and alacrity which has marked his acts, was quickly on the spot, accompanied by a foreign scientist. Happily the learned and gentle doctor is a bacteriologist superb. An examination of the dead corn, which already emitted unpleasant odours, revealed the presence of a new disease, the verde orin (green rust). By his orders the field was burnt. Fortunately, the area was small and dissociated from the other fields of Señor Fernardey by wide _zanzas_. With the exception of two small pieces of the infected corn, carried away by Dr. Romanos and the foreign medical-cavalier, the pest was incinerated. '"

"The Foreign Medical-Cavalier, " said Beale, "was Doctor van Heerden. Thedate was 1915, when the doctor was taking his summer holiday, and I havehad no difficulty in tracing him. I sent one of my men to Vigo tointerview Doctor Romanos, who remembers the circumstances perfectly. Hehimself had thought it wisest to destroy the germ after carefully notingtheir characteristics, and he expressed the anxious hope that his whilomfriend, van Heerden, had done the same. Van Heerden, of course, didnothing of the sort. He has been assiduously cultivating the germs inhis laboratory. So far as I can ascertain from Professor Heyler, an oldGerman who was in van Heerden's service and who seems a fairly honestman, the doctor nearly lost the culture, and it was only by sending outsmall quantities to various seedy scientists and getting them toexperiment in the cultivation of the germ under various conditions thathe found the medium in which they best flourish. It is, I believe, fermented rye-flour, but I am not quite sure. "

"To what purpose do you suggest van Heerden will put his cultivations?"asked the commissioner. 

"I am coming to that. In the course of my inquiries and searchings Ifound that he was collecting very accurate data concerning the greatwheatfields of the world. From the particulars he was preparing I formedthe idea that he intended, and intends, sending an army of agents allover the world who, at a given signal, will release the germs in thegrowing wheat. "

"But surely a few germs sprinkled on a great wheatfield such as you findin America would do no more than local damage?"

Beale shook his head. 

"Mr. O'Donnel, " he said soberly, "if I broke a tube of that stuff inthe corner of a ten-thousand-acre field the whole field would be rottenin twenty-four hours! It spreads from stalk to stalk with a rapiditythat is amazing. One germ multiplies itself in a living cornfield abillion times in twelve hours. It would not only be possible, butcertain that twenty of van Heerden's agents in America could destroy theharvests of the United States in a week. "

"But why should he do this--he is a German, you say--and Germans do notengage in frightfulness unless they see a dividend at the end of it. "

"There is a dividend--a dividend of millions at the end of it, " saidBeale, graver, "that much I know. I cannot tell you any more yet. But Ican say this: that up till yesterday van Heerden was carrying on thework without the aid of his Government. That is no longer the case. There is now a big syndicate in existence to finance him, and theprincipal shareholder is the German Government. He has already spentthousands, money he has borrowed and money he has stolen. As a side-lineand sheerly to secure her money he carried off John Millinborn's heiresswith the object of forcing her into a marriage. "

The commissioner chewed the end of his cigar. 

"This is a State matter and one on which I must consult the Home Office. You tell me that the Foreign Office believe your story--of course I do, too, " he added quickly, "though it sounds wildly improbable. Wait here. "

He took up his hat and went out. 

"It is going to be a difficult business to convict van Heerden, " saidthe superintendent when his chief had gone, "you see, in the Englishcourts, motive must be proved to convict before a jury, and there seemsno motive except revenge. A jury would take a lot of convincing that aman spent thousands of pounds to avenge a wrong done to his country. "

Beale had no answer to this. At the back of his mind he had a dim ideaof the sheer money value of the scheme, but he needed other evidencethan he possessed. The commissioner returned soon after. 

"I have been on the 'phone to the Under-Secretary, and we will takeaction against van Heerden on the evidence the factory offers. I'll putyou in charge of the case, McNorton, you have the search-warrantalready? Good!"

He shook hands with Beale. 

"You will make a European name over this, Mr. Beale, " he said. 

"I hope Europe will have nothing more to talk about, " said Beale. 

They passed back to McNorton's office. 

"I'll come right along, " said the superintendent. He was taking his hatfrom a peg when he saw a closed envelope lying on his desk. 

"From the local police station, " he said. "How long has this been here?"

His clerk shook his head. 

"I can't tell you, sir--it has been there since I came in. "

"H'm--I must have overlooked it. Perhaps it is news from your factory. "

He tore it open, scanned the contents and swore. 

"There goes your evidence, Beale, " he said. 

"What is it?" asked Beale quickly. 

"The factory was burned to the ground in the early hours of themorning, " he said. "The fire started in the old wine vault and the wholebuilding has collapsed. "

The detective stared out of the window. 

"Can we arrest van Heerden on the evidence of Professor Heyler?"

For answer McNorton handed him the letter. It ran:

 "From Inspector-in-charge, S. Paddington, to Supt. McNorton. Factory in Playbury St. Under P. O. (Police Observation) completely destroyed by fire, which broke out in basement at 5. 20 this morning. One body found, believed to be a man named Heyler. "

CHAPTER XXVII

A SCHEME TO STARVE THE WORLD

There is a menace about Monday morning which few have escaped. It is amenace which in one guise or another clouds hundreds of millions ofpillows, gives to the golden sunlight which filters through a billionpanes the very hues and character of jaundice. It is the menace offactory and workshop, harsh prisons which shut men and women from thegreen fields and the pleasant by-ways; the menace of newresponsibilities to be faced and new difficulties to be overcome. Intothe space of Monday morning drain the dregs of last week's commitmentsto gather into stagnant pools upon the desks and benches of toiling andscheming humanity. It is the end of the holiday, the foot of the newhill whose crest is Saturday night and whose most pleasant outlook isthe Sunday to come. 

Men go to their work reluctant and resentful and reach out for thesupport which the lunch-hour brings. One o'clock in London is about sixo'clock in Chicago. Therefore the significance of shoals of cablegramswhich lay on the desks of certain brokers was not wholly apparent untillate in the evening, and was not thoroughly understood until late onTuesday morning, when to other and greater shoals of cables came theterse price-lists from the Board of Trade in Chicago, and on top of allthe wirelessed Press accounts for the sensational jump in wheat. 

"Wheat soaring, " said one headline. "Frantic scenes in the Pit, " saidanother. "Wheat reaches famine price, " blared a third. 

Beale passing through to Whitehall heard the shrill call of the newsboysand caught the word "wheat. " He snatched a paper from the hands of a boyand read. 

Every corn-market in the Northern Hemisphere was in a condition ofchaos. Prices were jumping to a figure beyond any which the moststringent days of the war had produced. 

He slipped into a telephone booth, gave a Treasury number and McNortonanswered. 

"Have you seen the papers?" he asked. 

"No, but I've heard. You mean about the wheat boom?"

"Yes--the game has started. "

"Where are you--wait for me, I'll join you. "

Three minutes later McNorton appeared from the Whitehall end of ScotlandYard. Beale hailed a cab and they drove to the hotel together. 

"Warrants have been issued for van Heerden and Milsom and the girlGlaum, " he said. "I expect we shall find the nest empty, but I have sentmen to all the railway stations--do you think we've moved too late?"

"Everything depends on the system that van Heerden has adopted, " repliedBeale, "he is the sort of man who would keep everything in his ownhands. If he has done that, and we catch him, we may prevent a worldcatastrophe. "

At the hotel they found Kitson waiting in the vestibule. 

"Well?" he asked, "I gather that you've lost van Heerden, but if thenewspapers mean anything, his hand is down on the table. Everybody iscrazy here, " he said, as he led the way to the elevator, "I've just beenspeaking to the Under-Minister for Agriculture--all Europe is scared. Now what is the story?" he asked, when they were in his room. 

He listened attentively and did not interrupt until Stanford Beale hadfinished. 

"That's big enough, " he said. "I owe you an apology--much as I wasinterested in Miss Cresswell, I realize that her fate was as nothingbeside the greater issue. "

"What does it mean?" asked McNorton. 

"The Wheat Panic? God knows. It may mean bread at a guinea a pound--itis too early to judge. "

The door was opened unceremoniously and a man strode in. McNorton wasthe first to recognize the intruder and rose to his feet. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, " said Lord Sevington--it was the ForeignSecretary of Great Britain himself. "Well, Beale, the fantastic storyyou told me seems in a fair way to being realized. "

"This is Mr. Kitson, " introduced Stanford, and the grey-haired statesmanbowed. 

"I sent for you, but decided I couldn't wait--so I came myself. Ah, McNorton, what are the chances of catching van Heerden?"

"No man has ever escaped from this country once his identity wasestablished, " said the police chief hopefully. 

"If we had taken Beale's advice we should have the gentleman under lockand key, " said the Foreign Minister, shaking his head. "You probablyknow that Mr. Beale has been in communication with the Foreign Officefor some time?" he said, addressing Kitson. 

"I did not know, " admitted the lawyer. 

"We thought it was one of those brilliant stories which the Americannewspaper reporter loves, " smiled the minister. 

"I don't quite get the commercial end of it, " said Kitson. "How does vanHeerden benefit by destroying the crops of the world?"

"He doesn't benefit, because the crops won't be destroyed, " said theminister. "The South Russian crops are all right, the German crops areintact--but are practically all mortgaged to the German Government. "

"The Government?"

"This morning the German Government have made two announcements. Thefirst is the commandeering of all the standing crops, and at the sametime the taking over of all options on the sale of wheat. Greatgranaries are being established all over Germany. The old Zeppelinsheds----"

"Great heavens!" cried Kitson, and stared at Stanford Beale. "That wasthe reason they took over the sheds?"

"A pretty good reason, too, " said Beale, "storage is everything in acrisis like this. What is the second announcement, sir?"

"They prohibit the export of grain, " said Lord Sevington, "the whole ofGermany is to be rationed for a year, bread is to be supplied by theGovernment free of all cost to the people; in this way Germany handlesthe surpluses for us to buy. "

"What will she charge?"

"What she wishes. If van Heerden's scheme goes through, if throughoutthe world the crops are destroyed and only that which lies underGermany's hand is spared, what must we pay? Every penny we have takenfrom Germany; every cent of her war costs must be returned to her inexchange for wheat. "

"Impossible!"

"Why impossible? There is no limit to the price of rarities. What israrer than gold is more costly than gold. You who are in the room arethe only people in the world who know the secret of the Green Rust, andI can speak frankly to you. I tell you that we must either buy fromGermany or make war on Germany, and the latter course is impossible, andif it were possible would give us no certainty of relief. We shall haveto pay, Britain, France, America, Italy--we shall have to pay. We shallpay in gold, we may have to pay in battleships and material. Our stocksof corn have been allowed to fall and to-day we have less than a month'ssupply in England. Every producing country in the world will stopexporting instantly, and they, too, with the harvest nearly due, will benear the end of their stocks. Now tell me, Mr. Beale, in your judgment, is it possible to save the crops by local action?"

Beale shook his head. 

"I doubt it, " he said; "it would mean the mobilisation of millions ofmen, the surrounding of all corn-tracts--and even then I doubt if yourprotection would be efficacious. You could send the stuff into thefields by a hundred methods. The only thing to do is to catch vanHeerden and stifle the scheme at its fountain-head. "

The Chief of the Foreign Ministry strode up and down the room, his handsthrust into his pockets, his head upon his breast. 

"It means our holding out for twelve months, " he said. "Can we do it?"

"It means more than that, sir, " said Beale quietly. 

Lord Sevington stopped and faced him. 

"More than that? What do you mean?"

"It may mean a cornless world for a generation, " said Beale. "I haveconsulted the best authorities, and they agree that the soil will beinfected for ten years. "

The four men looked at one another helplessly. 

"Why, " said Sevington, in awe, "the whole social and industrial fabricof the world would crumble into dust. America would be ruined for ahundred years, there would be deaths by the million. It means the veryend of civilization!"

Beale glanced from one to the other of the little group. 

Sevington, with his hard old face set in harsh lines, a stony sphinx ofa man showing no other sign of his emotions than a mop of ruffled hair. 

Kitson, an old man and almost as hard of feature, yet of the two morehuman, stood with pursed lip, his eyes fixed on the floor, as if he werestudying the geometrical pattern of the parquet for future reference. 

McNorton, big, red-faced and expressionless, save that his mouth droppedand that his arms were tightly folded as if he were hugging himself in asheer ecstasy of pain. From the street outside came the roar and rumbleof London's traffic, the dull murmur of countless voices and the shrillhigh-pitched whine of a newsboy. 

Men and women were buying newspapers and seeing no more in the scareheadlines than a newspaper sensation. 

To-morrow they might read further and grow a little uncomfortable, butfor the moment they were only mildly interested, and the majority wouldturn to the back page for the list of "arrivals" at Lingfield. 

"It is unbelievable, " said Kitson. "I have exactly the same feeling Ihad on August 1, 1914--that sensation of unreality. "

His voice seemed to arouse the Foreign Minister from the meditation intowhich he had fallen, and he started. 

"Beale, " he said, "you have unlimited authority to act--Mr. McNorton, you will go back to Scotland Yard and ask the Chief Commissioner toattend at the office of the Privy Seal. Mr. Beale will keep in touchwith me all the time. "

Without any formal leave-taking he made his exit, followed bySuperintendent McNorton. 

"That's a badly rattled man, " said Kitson shrewdly, "the Government mayfall on this news. What will you do?"

"Get van Heerden, " said the other. 

"It is the job of your life, " said Kitson quietly, and Beale knew withina quarter of an hour that the lawyer did not exaggerate. 

Van Heerden had disappeared with dramatic suddenness. Detectives whovisited his flat discovered that his personal belongings had beenremoved in the early hours of the morning. He had left with two trunks(which were afterwards found in a cloak-room of a London railwayterminus) and a companion who was identified as Milsom. Whether the carhad gone east or north, south or west, nobody knew. 

In the early editions of the evening newspapers, side by side with theaccount of the panic scenes on 'Change was the notice:

 "The Air Ministry announce the suspension of Order 63 of Trans-Marine Flight Regulations. No aeroplane will be allowed to cross the coastline by day or night without first descending at a coast control station. Aerial patrols have orders to force down any machine which does not obey the 'Descend' signal. This signal is now displayed at all coast stations. "

Every railway station in England, every port of embarkation, werewatched by police. The one photograph of van Heerden in existence, thousands of copies of an excellent snapshot taken by one of Beale'sassistants, were distributed by aeroplane to every district centre. Attwo o'clock Hilda Glaum was arrested and conveyed to Bow Street. Sheshowed neither surprise nor resentment and offered no information as tovan Heerden's whereabouts. 

Throughout the afternoon there were the usual crops of false arrest anddetention of perfectly innocent people, and at five o'clock it wasannounced that all telegraphic communication with the Continent and withthe Western Hemisphere was suspended until further notice. 

Beale came back from Barking, whither he had gone to interview acholeric commercial traveller who bore some facial resemblance to vanHeerden, and had been arrested in consequence, and discovered thatsomething like a Council of War was being held in Kitson's private room. 

McNorton and two of his assistants were present. There was anUnder-Secretary from the Foreign Office, a great scientist whoseservices had been called upon, and a man whom he recognized as a memberof the Committee of the Corn Exchange. He shook his head in answer toMcNorton's inquiring glance, and would have taken his seat at the table, but Kitson, who had risen on his entrance, beckoned him to the window. 

"We can do without you for a little while, Beale, " he said, lowering hisvoice. "There's somebody there, " he jerked his head to a door which ledto another room of his suite, "who requires an explanation, and I thinkyour time will be so fully occupied in the next few days that you hadbetter seize this opportunity whilst you have it. "

"Miss Cresswell!" said Beale, in despair. 

The old man nodded slowly. 

"What does she know?"

"That is for you to discover, " said Kitson gently, and pushed him towardthe door. 

With a quaking heart he turned the knob and stepped guiltily into thepresence of the girl who in the eyes of the law was his wife. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE COMING OF DR. MILSOM

She rose to meet him, and he stood spellbound, still holding the handleof the door. It seemed that she had taken on new qualities, a new and anethereal grace. At the very thought even of his technical possession ofthis smiling girl who came forward to greet him, his heart thumped soloudly that he felt she must hear it. She was pale, and there were darkshadows under her eyes, but the hand that gripped his was firm and warmand living. 

"I have to thank you for much, Mr. Beale, " she said. "Mr. Kitson hastold me that I owe my rescue to you. "

"Did he?" he asked awkwardly, and wondered what else Kitson had toldher. 

"I am trying to be very sensible, and I want you to help me, because youare the most sensible man I know. "

She went back to the lounge-chair where she had been sitting, andpointed to another. 

"It was horribly melodramatic, wasn't it? but I suppose the life of adetective is full of melodrama. "

"Oh, brimming over, " he said. "If you keep very quiet I will give you arésumé of my most interesting cases, " he said, making a pathetic attemptto be flippant, and the girl detected something of his insincerity. 

"You have had a trying day, " she said, with quick sympathy, "have youarrested Doctor van Heerden?"

He shook his head. 

"I am glad, " she said. 

"Glad?"

She nodded. 

"Before he is arrested, " she spoke with some hesitation, "I want onelittle matter cleared up. I asked Mr. Kitson, but he put me off and saidyou would tell me everything. "

"What is it?" he asked steadily. 

She got up and went to her bag which stood upon a side-table, opened itand took out something which she laid on the palm of her hand. She cameback with hand extended, and Beale looked at the glittering object onher palm and was speechless. 

"Do you see that?" she asked. 

He nodded, having no words for the moment, for "that" was a thin goldring. 

"It is a wedding ring, " she said, "and I found it on my finger when Irecovered. "

"Oh!" said Beale blankly. 

"Was I married?" she asked. 

He made two or three ineffectual attempts to speak and ended by nodding. 

"I feared so, " she said quietly, "you see I recollect nothing of whathappened. The last thing I remembered was Doctor van Heerden sittingbeside me and putting something into my arm. It hurt a little, but notvery much, and I remember I spoke to him. I think it was about you, " alittle colour came to her face, "or perhaps he was speaking about you, Iam not sure, " she said hurriedly; "I know that you came into it somehow, and that is all I can recall. "

"Nothing else?" he asked dismally. 

"Nothing, " she said. 

"Try, try, try to remember, " he urged her. 

He realized he was being a pitiable coward and that he wanted to shiftthe responsibility for the revelation upon her. She smiled, and shookher head. 

"I am sorry but I can't remember anything. Now you are going to tellme. "

He discovered that he was sitting on the edge of the chair and that hewas more nervous than he had ever been in his life. 

"So I am going to tell you, " he said, in a hollow voice, "of course I'lltell you. It is rather difficult, you understand. "

She looked at him kindly. 

"I know it must be difficult for a man like you to speak of your ownachievements. But for once you are going to be immodest, " she laughed. 

"Well, you see, " he began, "I knew van Heerden wanted to marry you. Iknew that all along. I guessed he wanted to marry you for your money, because in the circumstances there was nothing else he could want tomarry you for, " he added. "I mean, " he corrected himself hastily, "thatmoney was the most attractive thing to him. "

"This doesn't sound very flattering, " she smiled. 

"I know I am being crude, but you will forgive me when you learn what Ihave to say, " he said huskily. "Van Heerden wanted to marry you----"

"And he married me, " she said, "and I am going to break that marriage assoon as I possibly can. "

"I know, I hope so, " said Stanford Beale. "I believe it is difficult, but I will do all I possibly can. Believe me, Miss Cresswell----"

"I am not Miss Cresswell any longer, " she said with a wry little face, "but please don't call me by my real name. "

"I won't, " he said fervently. 

"You knew he wanted to marry me for my money and not for my beauty or myaccomplishments, " she said, "and so you followed me down to DeansFolly. "

"Yes, yes, but I must explain. I know it will sound horrible to you andyou may have the lowest opinion of me, but I have got to tell you. "

He saw the look of alarm gather in her eyes and plunged into his story. 

"I thought that if you were already married van Heerden would besatisfied and take no further steps against you. "

"But I wasn't already married, " she said, puzzled. 

"Wait, wait, please, " he begged, "keep that in your mind, that I wassatisfied van Heerden wanted you for your money, and that if you werealready married or even if you weren't and he thought you were I couldsave you from dangers, the extent of which even I do not know. And therewas a man named Homo, a crook. He had been a parson and had all themanner and style of his profession. So I got a special licence in my ownname. "

"You?" she said breathlessly. "A marriage licence? To marry me?"

He nodded. 

"And I took Homo with me in my search for you. I knew that I should havea very small margin of time, and I thought if Homo performed theceremony and I could confront van Heerden with the accomplisheddeed----"

She sprang to her feet with a laugh. 

"Oh, I see, I see, " she said. "Oh, how splendid! And you went throughthis mock ceremony! Where was I?"

"You were at the window, " he said miserably. 

"But how lovely! And you were outside and your parson with the funnyname--but that's delicious! So I wasn't married at all and this is yourring. " She picked it up with a mocking light in her eyes, and held itout to him, but he shook his head. 

"You were married, " he said, in a voice which was hardly audible. 

"Married? How?"

"Homo was not a fake! He was a real clergyman! And the marriage waslegal!"

They looked at one another without speaking. On the girl's part therewas nothing but pure amazement; but Stanford Beale read horror, loathing, consternation and unforgiving wrath, and waited, as thecriminal waits for his sentence, upon her next words. 

"So I am really married--to you, " she said wonderingly. 

"You will never forgive me, I know. " He did not look at her now. "My ownexcuse is that I did what I did because I--wanted to save you. I mighthave sailed in with a gun and shot them up. I might have waited mychance and broken into the house. I might have taken a risk andsurrounded the place with police, but that would have meant delay. Ididn't do the normal things or take the normal view--I couldn't withyou. "

He did not see the momentary tenderness in her eyes, because he was notlooking at her, and went on:

"That's the whole of the grisly story. Mr. Kitson will advise you as towhat steps you may take to free yourself. It was a most horribleblunder, and it was all the more tragic because you were the victim, you of all the persons in the world!"

She had put the ring down, and now she took it up again and examined itcuriously. 

"It is rather--quaint, isn't it?" she asked. 

"Oh, very. "

He thought he heard a sob and looked up. She was laughing, at firstsilently, then, as the humour of the thing seized her, her laugh rangclear and he caught its infection. 

"It's funny, " she said at last, wiping her eyes, "there is a humorousside to it. Poor Mr. Beale!"

"I deserve a little pity, " he said ruefully. 

"Why?" she asked quickly. "Have you committed bigamy?"

"Not noticeably so, " he answered, with a smile. 

"Well, what are you going to do about it? It's rather serious when onethinks of it--seriously. So I am Mrs. Stanford Beale--poor Mr. Beale, and poor Mrs. Beale-to-be. I do hope, " she said, and this time herseriousness was genuine, "that I have not upset any of your plans--toomuch. Oh, " she sat down suddenly, staring at him, "it would be awful, "she said in a hushed voice, "and I would never forgive myself. Isthere--forgive my asking the question, but I suppose, " with a flashingsmile, "as your wife I am entitled to your confidence--is there somebodyyou are going to marry?"

"I have neither committed bigamy nor do I contemplate it, " said Beale, who was gradually recovering his grip of the situation, "if you mean amI engaged to somebody--in fact, to a girl, " he said recklessly, "theanswer is in the negative. There will be no broken hearts on my side ofthe family. I have no desire to probe your wounded heart----"

"Don't be flippant, " she stopped him sternly; "it is a very terriblesituation, Mr. Beale, and I hardly dare to think of it. "

"I realize how terrible it is, " he said, suddenly bold, "and as I tellyou, I will do everything I can to correct my blunder. "

"Does Mr. Kitson know?" she asked. 

He nodded. 

"What did Mr. Kitson say? Surely he gave you some advice. "

"He said----" began Stanford, and went red. 

The girl did not pursue the subject. 

"Come, let us talk about the matter like rational beings, " she saidcheerfully. "I have got over my first inclination to swoon. You mustcurb your very natural desire to be haughty. "

"I cannot tell you what we can do yet. I don't want to discuss theunpleasant details of a divorce, " he said, "and perhaps you will let mehave a few days before we decide on any line of action. Van Heerden isstill at large, and until he is under lock and key and this immensedanger which threatens the world is removed, I can hardly thinkstraight. "

"Mr. Kitson has told me about van Heerden, " she said quietly. "Isn't itrather a matter for the English police to deal with? As I have reason toknow, " she shivered slightly, "Doctor van Heerden is a man without anyfear or scruple. "

"My scruples hardly keep me awake at night, " he said, "and I guess I'mnot going to let up on van Heerden. I look upon it as my particularjob. "

"Isn't it"--she hesitated--"isn't it rather dangerous?"

"For me?" he laughed, "no, I don't think so. And even if it were in themost tragic sense of the word dangerous, why, that would save you agreat deal of unpleasantness. "

"I think you are being horrid, " she said. 

"I am sorry, " he responded quickly, "I was fishing for a little pity, and it was rather cheap and theatrical. No, I do not think there is verymuch danger. Van Heerden is going to keep under cover, and he is aftersomething bigger than my young life. "

"Is Milsom with him?"

"He is the weak link in van Heerden's scheme, " Beale said. "Somehow vanHeerden doesn't strike me as a good team leader, and what little I haveseen of Milsom leads me to the belief that he is hardly the man tofollow the doctor's lead blindly. Besides, it is always easier to catchtwo men than one, " he laughed. "That is an old detective's axiom and itworks out. "

She put out her hand. 

"It's a tangled business, isn't it?" she said. "I mean us. Don't let itadd to your other worries. Forget our unfortunate relationship until wecan smooth things out. "

He shook her hand in silence. 

"And now I am coming out to hear all that you clever people suggest, "she said. "Please don't look alarmed. I have been talking all theafternoon and have been narrating my sad experience--such as Iremember--to the most important people. Cabinet Ministers and policecommissioners and doctors and things. "

"One moment, " he said. 

He took from his pocket a stout book. 

"I was wondering what that was, " she laughed. "You haven't been buyingme reading-matter?"

He nodded, and held the volume so that she could read the title. 

"'A Friend in Need, ' by S. Beale. I didn't know you wrote!" she said insurprise. 

"I am literary and even worse, " he said flippantly. "I see you have ashelf of books here. If you will allow me I will put it with theothers. "

"But mayn't I see it?"

He shook his head. 

"I just want to tell you all you have said about van Heerden is true. Heis a most dangerous man. He may yet be dangerous to you. I don't wantyou to touch that little book unless you are in really serious trouble. Will you promise me?"

She opened her eyes wide. 

"But, Mr. Beale----?"

"Will you promise me?" he said again. 

"Of course I'll promise you, but I don't quite understand. "

"You will understand, " he said. 

He opened the door for her and she passed out ahead of him. Kitson cameto meet them. 

"I suppose there is no news?" asked Stanford. 

"None, " said the other, "except high political news. There has been anexchange of notes between the Triple Alliance and the German Government. All communication with the Ukraine is cut off, and three ships have beensunk in the Bosphorus so cleverly that our grain ships in the Black Seaare isolated. "

"That's bad, " said Beale. 

He walked to the table. It was littered with maps and charts and printedtabulations. McNorton got up and joined them. 

"I have just had a 'phone message through from the Yard, " he said. "Carter, my assistant, says that he's certain van Heerden has not leftLondon. "

"Has the girl spoken?"

"Glaum? No, she's as dumb as an oyster. I doubt if you would get her tospeak even if you put her through the third degree, and we don't allowthat. "

"So I am told, " said Beale dryly. 

There was a knock at the door. 

"Unlock it somebody, " said Kitson. "I turned the key. "

The nearest person was the member of the Corn Exchange Committee, and heclicked back the lock and the door opened to admit a waiter. 

"There's a man here----" he said; but before he could say more he waspushed aside and a dusty, dishevelled figure stepped into the room andglanced round. 

"My name is Milsom, " he said. "I have come to give King's Evidence!"

CHAPTER XXIX

THE LOST CODE

"I'm Milsom, " said the man in the doorway again. 

His clothes were grimed and dusty, his collar limp and soiled. Therewere two days' growth of red-grey stubble on his big jaw, and he borehimself like a man who was faint from lack of sleep. 

He walked unsteadily to the table and fell into a chair. 

"Where is van Heerden?" asked Beale, but Milsom shook his head. 

"I left him two hours ago, after a long and unprofitable talk onpatriotism, " he said, and laughed shortly. "At that time he was makinghis way back to his house in Southwark. "

"Then he is in London--here in London!"

Milsom nodded. 

"You won't find him, " he said brusquely. "I tell you I've left him aftera talk about certain patriotic misgivings on my part--look!"

He lifted his right hand, which hitherto he had kept concealed by hisside, and Oliva shut her eyes and felt deathly sick. 

"Right index digit and part of the phalanges shot away, " said Milsomphilosophically. "That was my trigger-finger--but he shot first. Give mea drink!"

They brought him a bottle of wine, and he drank it from a long tumblerin two great breathless gulps. 

"You've closed the coast to him, " he said, "you shut down your wires andcables, you're watching the roads, but he'll get his message through, if----"

"Then he hasn't cabled?" said Beale eagerly. "Milsom, this means libertyfor you--liberty and comfort. Tell us the truth, man, help us hold offthis horror that van Heerden is loosing on the world and there's noreward too great for you. "

Milsom's eyes narrowed. 

"It wasn't the hope of reward or hope of pardon that made me break withvan Heerden, " he said in his slow way. "You'd laugh yourself sick if Itold you. It was--it was the knowledge that this country would be downand out; that the people who spoke my tongue and thought more or less asI thought should be under the foot of the Beast--fevered sentimentality!You don't believe that?"

"I believe it. "

It was Oliva who spoke, and it appeared that this was the first timethat Milsom had noticed her presence, for his eyes opened wider. 

"You--oh, you believe it, do you?" and he nodded. 

"But why is van Heerden waiting?" asked McNorton. "What is he waitingfor?"

The big man rolled his head helplessly from side to side, and the hardcackle of his laughter was very trying to men whose nerves were raw andon edge. 

"That's the fatal lunacy of it! I think it must be a nationalcharacteristic. You saw it in the war again and again--a wonderful planbrought to naught by some piece of over-cleverness on the part of thesuper-man. "

A wild hope leapt to Beale's heart. 

"Then it has failed! The rust has not answered----?"

But Milsom shook his head wearily. 

"The rust is all that he thinks--and then some, " he said. "No, it isn'tthat. It is in the work of organization where the hitch has occurred. You know something of the story. Van Heerden has agents in every countryin the world. He has spent nearly a hundred thousand pounds inperfecting his working plans, and I'm willing to admit that they arewellnigh perfect. Such slight mistakes as sending men to South Africaand Australia where the crops are six months later than the European andAmerican harvests may be forgiven, because the German thinkslongitudinally, and north and south are the two points of the compasswhich he never bothers his head about. If the Germans had been aseafaring people they'd have discovered America before Columbus, butthey would never have found the North Pole or rounded the Cape in amillion years. "

He paused, and they saw the flicker of a smile in his weary eyes. 

"The whole scheme is under van Heerden's hand. At the word 'Go'thousands of his agents begin their work of destruction--but the wordmust come from him. He has so centralized his scheme that if he diedsuddenly without that word being uttered, the work of years would cometo naught. I guess he is suspicious of everybody, including his newGovernment. For the best part of a year he has been arranging andplanning. With the assistance of a girl, a compatriot of his, he hasreduced all things to order. In every country is a principal agent whopossesses a copy of a simple code. At the proper moment van Heerdenwould cable a word which meant 'Get busy' or 'Hold off until you hearfrom me, ' or 'Abandon scheme for this year and collect cultures. ' Ihappen to be word-perfect in the meanings of the code words because vanHeerden has so often drummed them into me. "

"What are the code words?"

"I'm coming to that, " nodded Milsom. "Van Heerden is the type ofscientist that never trusts his memory. You find that kind in all theschool--they usually spend their time making the most complete anddetailed notes, and their studies are packed with memoranda. Yet he hada wonderful memory for the commonplace things--for example, in the plainEnglish of his three messages he was word perfect. He could tell youoff-hand the names and addresses of all his agents. But when it came toscientific data his mind was a blank until he consulted his authorities. It seemed that once he made a note his mind was incapable of retainingthe information he had committed to paper. That, as I say, is aphenomenon which is not infrequently met with amongst men of science. "

"And he had committed the code to paper?" asked Kitson. 

"I am coming to that. After the fire at the Paddington works, vanHeerden said the time had come to make a get away. He was going to theContinent, I was to sail for Canada. 'Before you go, ' he said, 'I willgive you the code--but I am afraid that I cannot do that until afterten o'clock. '"

McNorton was scribbling notes in shorthand and carefully circled thehour. 

"We went back to his flat and had breakfast together--it was then aboutfive o'clock. He packed a few things and I particularly noticed that helooked very carefully at the interior of a little grip which he hadbrought the previous night from Staines. He was so furtive, carrying thebag to the light of the window, that I supposed he was consulting hiscode, and I wondered why he should defer giving me the information untilten o'clock. Anyway, I could swear he took something from the bag andslipped it into his pocket. We left the flat soon after and drove to arailway station where the baggage was left. Van Heerden had given mebank-notes for a thousand pounds in case we should be separated, and Iwent on to the house in South London. You needn't ask me where it isbecause van Heerden is not there. "

He gulped again at the wine. 

"At eleven o'clock van Heerden came back, " resumed Milsom, "and if evera man was panic-stricken it was he--the long and the short of it is thatthe code was mislaid. "

"Mislaid!" Beale was staggered. 

Here was farce interpolated into tragedy--the most grotesque, the mostunbelievable farce. 

"Mislaid, " said Milsom. "He did not say as much, but I gathered from thefew disjointed words he flung at me that the code was not irredeemablylost; in fact, I have reason to believe that he knows where it is. Itwas after that that van Heerden started in to do some tall cursing ofme, my country, my decadent race and the like. Things have been strainedall the afternoon. To-night they reached a climax. He wanted me to helphim in a burglary--and burglary is not my forte. "

"What did he want to burgle?" asked McNorton, with professionalinterest. 

"Ah! There you have me! It was the question I asked and he refused toanswer. I was to put myself in his hands and there was to be someshooting if, as he thought likely, a caretaker was left on the premisesto be entered. I told him flat--we were sitting on Wandsworth Common atthe time--that he could leave me out, and that is where we becamemutually offensive. "

He looked at his maimed hand. 

"I dressed it roughly at a chemist's. The iodine open dressing isn'tbeautiful, but it is antiseptic. He shot to kill, too, there's no doubtabout that. A very perfect little gentleman!"

"He's in London?" said McNorton. "That simplifies matters. "

"To my mind it complicates rather than simplifies, " said Beale. "Londonis a vast proposition. Can you give us any idea as to the hour theburglary was planned for?"

"Eleven, " said Milsom promptly, "that is to say, in a little over anhour's time. "

"And you have no idea of the locality?"

"Somewhere in the East of London. We were to have met at Aldgate. "

"I don't understand it, " said McNorton. "Do you suggest that the code isin the hands of somebody who is not willing to part with it? And nowthat he no longer needs it for you, is there any reason why he shouldwait?"

"Every reason, " replied Milsom, and Stanford Beale nodded in agreement. "It was not only for me he wanted it. He as good as told me that unlesshe recovered it he would be unable to communicate with his men. "

"What do you think he'll do?"

"He'll get Bridgers to assist him. Bridgers is a pretty sore man, andthe doctor knows just where he can find him. "

As Oliva listened an idea slowly dawned in her mind that she mightsupply a solution to the mystery of the missing code. It was a wildlyimprobable theory she held, but even so slender a possibility was not tobe discarded. She slipped from the group and went back to her room. Forthe accommodation of his ward, James Kitson had taken the adjoiningsuite to his own and had secured a lady's maid from an agency for thegirl's service. She passed through the sitting-room to her own bedroom, and found the maid putting the room ready for the night. 

"Minnie, " she said, throwing a quick glance about the apartment, "wheredid you put the clothes I took off when I came?"

"Here, miss. "

The girl opened the wardrobe and Oliva made a hurried search. 

"Did you find--anything, a little ticket?"

The girl smiled. 

"Oh yes, miss. It was in your stocking. "

Oliva laughed. 

"I suppose you thought it was rather queer, finding that sort of thingin a girl's stocking, " she asked, but the maid was busily opening thedrawers of the dressing-table in search of something. 

"Here it is, miss. "

She held a small square ticket in her hand and held it with suchdisapproving primness that Oliva nearly laughed. 

"I found it in your stocking, miss, " she said again. 

"Quite right, " said Oliva coolly, "that's where I put it. I always carrymy pawn tickets in my stocking. "

The admirable Minnie sniffed. 

"I suppose you have never seen such a thing, " smiled Oliva, "and youhardly knew what it was. "

The lady's maid turned very red. She had unfortunately seen many suchcertificates of penury, but all that was part of her private life, andshe had been shocked beyond measure to be confronted with thistoo-familiar evidence of impecuniosity in the home of a lady whorepresented to her an assured income and comfortable pickings. 

Oliva went back to her sitting-room and debated the matter. It was asense of diffidence, the fear of making herself ridiculous, whicharrested her. Otherwise she might have flown into the room, declaimedher preposterous theories and leave these clever men to work out thedetails. She opened the door and with the ticket clenched in her handstepped into the room. 

If they had missed her after she had left nobody saw her return. Theywere sitting in a group about the table, firing questions at the bigunshaven man who had made such a dramatic entrance to the conference andwho, with a long cigar in the corner of his mouth, was answering readilyand fluently. 

But faced with the tangible workings of criminal investigation herresolution and her theories shrank to vanishing-point. She clasped theticket in her hand and felt for a pocket, but the dressmaker had notprovided her with that useful appendage. 

So she turned and went softly back to her room, praying that she wouldnot be noticed. She closed the door gently behind her and turned to meeta well-valeted man in evening-dress who was standing in the middle ofthe room, a light overcoat thrown over his arm, his silk hat tilted backfrom his forehead, a picture of calm assurance. 

"Don't move, " said van Heerden, "and don't scream. And be good enough tohand over the pawn ticket you are holding in your hand. "

Silently she obeyed, and as she handed the little pasteboard across thetable which separated them she looked past him to the bookshelf behindhis head, and particularly to a new volume which bore the name ofStanford Beale. 

CHAPTER XXX

THE WATCH

"Thanks, " said van Heerden, pocketing the ticket, "it is of no use to menow, for I cannot wait. I gather that you have not disclosed the factthat this ticket is in your possession. "

"I don't know how you gather that, " she said. 

"Lower your voice!" he hissed menacingly. "I gather as much becauseBeale knew the ticket would not be in my possession now. If he onlyknew, if he only had a hint of its existence, I fear my scheme wouldfail. As it is, it will succeed. And now, " he said with a smile, "timeis short and your preparations must be of the briefest. I will save youthe trouble of asking questions by telling you that I am going to takeyou along with me. I certainly cannot afford to leave you. Get yourcoat. "

With a shrug she walked past him to the bedroom and he followed. 

"Are we going far?" she asked. 

There was no tremor in her voice and she felt remarkably self-possessed. 

"That you will discover, " said he. 

"I am not asking out of idle curiosity, but I want to know whether Iought to take a bag. "

"Perhaps it would be better, " he said. 

She carried the little attaché case back to the sitting-room. 

"You have no objection to my taking a little light reading-matter?" sheasked contemptuously. "I am afraid you are not a very entertainingcompanion, Dr. Van Heerden. "

"Excellent girl, " said van Heerden cheerfully. "Take anything you like. "

She slipped a book from the shelf and nearly betrayed herself by aninvoluntary exclamation as she felt its weight. 

"You are not very original in your methods, " she said, "this is thesecond time you have spirited me off. "

"The gaols of England, as your new-found friend Milsom will tell you, are filled with criminals who departed from the beaten tracks, " said vanHeerden. "Walk out into the corridor and turn to the right. I will beclose behind you. A little way along you will discover a narrow passagewhich leads to the service staircase. Go down that. I am sure youbelieve me when I say that I will kill you if you attempt to make anysignal or scream or appeal for help. "

She did not answer. It was because of this knowledge and this fear, which was part of her youthful equipment--for violent death is a veryterrible prospect to the young and the healthy--that she obeyed him atall. 

They walked down the stone stairs, through an untidy, low-roofed lobby, redolent of cooking food, into the street, without challenge and withoutattracting undue notice. 

Van Heerden's car was waiting at the end of the street, and she thoughtshe recognized the chauffeur as Bridgers. 

"Once more we ride together, " said van Heerden gaily, "and what will bethe end of this adventure for you depends entirely upon yourloyalty--what are you opening your bag for?" he asked, peering in thedark. 

"I am looking for a handkerchief, " said Oliva. "I am afraid I am goingto cry!"

He settled himself back in the corner of the car with a sigh ofresignation, accepting her explanation--sarcasm was wholly wasted on vanHeerden. 

 * * * * *

"Well, gentlemen, " said Milsom, "I don't think there's anything more Ican tell you. What are you going to do with me?"

"I'll take the responsibility of not executing the warrant, " saidMcNorton. "You will accompany one of my men to his home to-night and youwill be under police supervision. "

"That's no new experience, " said Milsom, "there's only one piece ofadvice I want to give you. "

"And that is?" asked Beale. 

"Don't underrate van Heerden. You have no conception of his nerve. Thereisn't a man of us here, " he said, "whose insurance rate wouldn't go upto ninety per cent. If van Heerden decided to get him. I don't professthat I can help you to explain his strange conduct to-day. I can onlyoutline the psychology of it, but how and where he has hidden his codeand what circumstances prevent its recovery, is known only to vanHeerden. "

He nodded to the little group, and accompanied by McNorton left theroom. 

"There goes a pretty bad man, " said Kitson, "or I am no judge ofcharacter. He's an old lag, isn't he?"

Beale nodded. 

"Murder, " he said laconically. "He lived after his time. He should havebeen a contemporary of the Borgias. "

"A poisoner!" shuddered one of the under-secretaries. "I remember thecase. He killed his nephew and defended himself on the plea that theyouth was a degenerate, as he undoubtedly was. "

"He might have got that defence past in America or France, " said Beale, "but unfortunately there was a business end to the matter. He was thesole heir of his nephew's considerable fortune, and a jury from theSociety of Eugenics would have convicted him on that. "

He looked at his watch and turned his eyes to Kitson. 

"I presume Miss Cresswell is bored and has retired for the night, " hesaid. 

"I'll find out in a moment, " said Kitson. "Did you speak to her?"

Beale nodded, and his eyes twinkled. 

"Did you make any progress?"

"I broke the sad news to her, if that's what you mean. "

"You told her she was married to you? Good heavens! What did she say?"

"Well, she didn't faint, I don't think she's the fainting kind. She iscursed with a sense of humour, and refused even to take a tragic view. "

"That's bad, " said Kitson, shaking his head. "A sense of humour is outof place in a divorce court, and that is where your little romance isgoing to end, my friend. "

"I am not so sure, " said Beale calmly, and the other stared at him. 

"You have promised me, " he began, with a note of acerbity in his voice. 

"And you have advised me, " said Beale. 

Kitson choked down something which he was going to say, but which heevidently thought was better left unsaid. 

"Wait, " he commanded, "I will find out whether Miss Cresswell, " heemphasized the words, "has gone to bed. "

He passed through the door to Oliva's sitting-room and was gone a fewminutes. When he came back Beale saw his troubled face, and ran forwardto meet him. 

"She's not there, " said Kitson. 

"Not in her room?"

"Neither in the sitting-room nor the bedroom. I have rung for her maid. Oh, here you are. "

Prim Minnie came through the bedroom door. 

"Where is your mistress?"

"I thought she was with you, sir. "

"What is this?" said Beale, stooped and picked up a white kid glove. "She surely hasn't gone out, " he said in consternation. 

"That's not a lady's glove, sir, " said the girl, "that is agentleman's. "

It was a new glove, and turning it over he saw stamped inside the words:"Glebler, Rotterdam. "

"Has anybody been here?" he asked. 

"Not to my knowledge, sir. The young lady told me she did not want meany more to-night. " The girl hesitated. It seemed a veritable betrayalof her mistress to disclose such a sordid matter as the search for apawn ticket. 

Beale noticed the hesitation. 

"You must tell me everything, and tell me quickly, " he said. 

"Well, sir, " said the maid, "the lady came in to look for something shebrought with her when she came here. "

"I remember!" cried Kitson, "she told me she had brought away somethingvery curious from van Heerden's house and made me guess what it was. Something interrupted our talk--what was it?"

"Well, sir, " said the maid, resigned, "I won't tell you a lie, sir. Itwas a pawn ticket. "

"A pawn ticket!" cried Kitson and Beale in unison. 

"Are you sure?" asked the latter. 

"Absolutely sure, sir. "

"But she couldn't have brought a pawn ticket from van Heerden's house. What was it for?"

"I beg your pardon, sir. "

"What was on the pawn ticket?" said Kitson impatiently. "What articlehad been pledged?"

Again the girl hesitated. To betray her mistress was unpleasant. Tobetray herself--as she would if she confessed that she had mostcarefully and thoroughly read the voucher--was unthinkable. 

"You know what was on it, " said Beale, in his best third degree manner, "now don't keep us waiting. What was it?"

"A watch, sir. "

"How much was it pledged for?"

"Ten shillings, sir. "

"Do you remember the name. "

"In a foreign name, sir--van Horden. "

"Van Heerden, " said Beale quickly, "and at what pawnbrokers?"

"Well, sir, " said the girl, making a fight for her reputation, "I onlyglanced at the ticket and I only noticed----"

"Yes, you did, " interrupted Beale sharply, "you read every line of it. Where was it?"

"Rosenblaum Bros. , of Commercial Road, " blurted the girl. 

"Any number?"

"I didn't see the number. "

"You will find them in the telephone book, " said Kitson. "What does itmean?"

But Beale was half-way to Kitson's sitting-room, arriving there in timeto meet McNorton who had handed over his charge to his subordinate. 

"I've found it!" cried Beale. 

"Found what?" asked Kitson. 

"The code!"

"Where? How?" asked McNorton. 

"Unless I am altogether wrong the code is contained, either engraved onthe case or written on a slip of paper enclosed within the case of awatch. Can't you see it all plainly now? Van Heerden neither trusted hismemory nor his subordinates. He had his simple code written, as we shallfind, upon thin paper enclosed in the case of a hunter watch, and thishe pledged. A pawnbroker's is the safest of safe deposits. Searching forclues, suppose the police had detected his preparations, the pledgedticket might have been easily overlooked. "

Kitson was looking at him with an expression of amazed indignation. Here was a man who had lost his wife, and Kitson believed that thisyoung detective loved the girl as few women are loved; but in thepassion of the chase, in the production of a new problem, he wasabsorbed to the exclusion of all other considerations in the greatergame. 

Yet he did Beale an injustice if he only knew, for the thought ofOliva's new peril ran through all his speculations, his rapiddeductions, his lightning plans. 

"Miss Cresswell found the ticket and probably extracted it as acuriosity. These things are kept in little envelopes, aren't they, McNorton?"

The police chief nodded. 

"That was it, then. She took it out and left the envelope behind, andvan Heerden did not discover his loss until he went to find the voucherto give Milsom the code. Don't you remember? In the first place he saidhe couldn't give him the code until after ten o'clock, which is probablythe hour the pawnbrokers open for business. "

McNorton nodded again. 

"Then do you remember that Milsom said that the code was notirredeemably lost and that van Heerden knew where it was. In default offinding the ticket he decided to burgle the pawnbroker's, and thatburglary is going through to-night. "

"But he could have obtained a duplicate of the ticket, " said McNorton. 

"How?" asked Beale quickly. 

"By going before a magistrate and swearing an affidavit. "

"In his own name, " said Beale, "you see, he couldn't do that. It wouldmean walking into the lion's den. No, burglary was his only chance. "

"But what of Oliva?" said Kitson impatiently, "I tell you, Beale, I amnot big enough or stoical enough to think outside of that girl'ssafety. "

Beale swung round at him. 

"You don't think I've forgotten that, do you?" he said in a low voice. "You don't think that has been out of my mind?" His face was tense anddrawn. "I think, I believe that Oliva is safe, " he said quietly. "Ibelieve that Oliva and not any of us here will deliver van Heerden tojustice. "

"Are you mad?" asked Kitson in astonishment. 

"I am very sane. Come here!"

He gripped the old lawyer by the arm and led him back to the girl'sroom. 

"Look, " he said, and pointed. 

"What do you mean, the bookshelf?"

Beale nodded. 

"Half an hour ago I gave Oliva a book, " he said, "that book is no longerthere. "

"But in the name of Heaven how can a book save her?" demanded theexasperated Kitson. 

Stanford Beale did not answer. 

"Yes, yes, she's safe. I know she's safe, " he said. "If Oliva is thegirl I think she is then I see van Heerden's finish. "

CHAPTER XXXI

A CORN CHANDLER'S BILL

The church bells were chiming eleven o'clock when a car drew up before agloomy corner shop, bearing the dingy sign of the pawnbroker's calling, and Beale and McNorton alighted. 

It was a main street and was almost deserted. Beale looked up at thewindows. They were dark. He knocked at the side-entrance of the shop, and presently the two men were joined by a policeman. 

"Nobody lives here, sir, " explained the officer, when McNorton had madehimself known. "Old Rosenblaum runs the business, and lives atHighgate. "

He flashed his lamp upon the door and tried it, but it did not yield. Anightfarer who had been in the shade on the opposite side of the streetcame across and volunteered information. 

He had seen another car drive up and a gentleman had alighted. He hadopened the door with a key and gone in. There was nothing suspiciousabout him. He was "quite a gentleman, and was in evening-dress. " Theconstable thought it was one of the partners of Rosenblaum in convivialand resplendent garb. He had been in the house ten minutes then had comeout again, locking the door behind him, and had driven off just beforeBeale's car had arrived. 

It was not until half an hour later that an agitated little man broughtby the police from Highgate admitted the two men. 

There was no need to make a long search. The moment the light wasswitched on in the shop Beale made his discovery. On the broad counterlay a sheet of paper and a little heap of silver coins. He swept themoney aside and read:

"For the redemption of one silver hunter, 10s. 6d. "

It was signed in the characteristic handwriting that Beale knew so well"Van Heerden, M. D. "

The two men looked at one another. 

"What do you make of that?" asked McNorton. 

Beale carried the paper to the light and examined it, and McNorton wenton:

"He's a pretty cool fellow. I suppose he had the money and the messageall ready for our benefit. "

Beale shook his head. 

"On the contrary, " he said, "this was done on the spur of the moment. Apiece of bravado which occurred to him when he had the watch. Look atthis paper. You can imagine him searching his pocket for a piece ofwaste paper and taking the first that came to his hand. It is written inink with the pawnbroker's own pen. The inkwell is open, " he lifted upthe pen, "the nib is still wet, " he said. 

McNorton took the paper from his hands. 

It was a bill from a corn-chandler's at Horsham, the type of bill thatwas sent in days of war economy which folded over and constituted itsown envelope. It was addressed to "J. B. Harden, Esq. " ("That was the_alias_ he used when he took the wine vaults at Paddington, " explainedMcNorton) and had been posted about a week before. Attached to thebottom of the account, which was for £3 10s. , was a little slip callingattention to the fact that "this account had probably been overlooked. "

Beale's finger traced the item for which the bill was rendered, andMcNorton uttered an exclamation of surprise. 

"Curious, isn't it?" said Beale, as he folded the paper and put it awayin his pocket, "how these very clever men always make some triflingerror which brings them to justice. I don't know how many great schemesI have seen brought to nothing through some such act of folly as this, some piece of theatrical bravado which benefited the criminal nothing atall. "

"Good gracious, " said McNorton wonderingly, "of course, that's what heis going to do. I never thought of that. It is in the neighbourhood ofHorsham we must look for him, and I think if we can get one of theMessrs. Billingham out of bed in a couple of hours' time we shall do agood night's work. "

They went outside and again questioned the policeman. He remembered thecar turning round and going back the way it had come. It had probablytaken one of the innumerable side-roads which lead from the mainthoroughfare, and in this way they had missed it. 

"I want to go to the '_Megaphone_' office first, " said Beale. "I havesome good friends on that paper and I am curious to know how bad themarkets are. The night cables from New York should be coming in by now. "

In his heart was a sickening fear which he dared not express. What wouldthe morrow bring forth? If this one man's cupidity and hate shouldsucceed in releasing the terror upon the world, what sort of a worldwould it leave? Through the windows of the car he could see the placidpolicemen patrolling the streets, caught a glimpse of other carsbrilliantly illuminated bearing their laughing men and women back tohomes, who were ignorant of the monstrous danger which threatened theirsecurity and life. 

He passed the façades of great commercial mansions which in a month'stime might but serve to conceal the stark ruin within. 

To him it was a night of tremendous tragedy, and for the second time inhis life in the numbness induced by the greater peril and the greateranxiety he failed to wince at the thought of the danger in which Olivastood. 

Indeed, analysing his sensations she seemed to him on this occasion lessa victim than a fellow-worker and he found a strange comfort in thatthought of partnership. 

The _Megaphone_ buildings blazed with light when the car drew up to thedoor, messenger-boys were hurrying through the swing-doors, the twogreat elevators were running up and down without pause. The grey editorwith a gruff voice threw over a bundle of flimsies. 

"Here are the market reports, " he growled, "they are not veryencouraging. "

Beale read them and whistled, and the editor eyed him keenly. 

"Well, what do you make of it?" he asked the detective. "Wheat at ashilling a pound already. God knows what it's going to be to-morrow!"

"Any other news?" asked Beale. 

"We have asked Germany to explain why she has prohibited the export ofwheat and to give us a reason for the stocks she holds and the steps shehas taken during the past two months to accumulate reserves. "

"An ultimatum?"

"Not exactly an ultimatum. There's nothing to go to war about. TheGovernment has mobilized the fleet and the French Government haspartially mobilized her army. The question is, " he said, "would war easethe situation?"

Beale shook his head. 

"The battle will not be fought in the field, " he said, "it will befought right here in London, in all your great towns, in Manchester, Coventry, Birmingham, Cardiff. It will be fought in New York and in athousand townships between the Pacific and the Atlantic, and if theGerman scheme comes off we shall be beaten before a shot is fired. "

"What does it mean?" asked the editor, "why is everybody buying wheatso frantically? There is no shortage. The harvests in the United Statesand Canada are good. "

"There will be no harvests, " said Beale solemnly; and the journalistgaped at him. 

CHAPTER XXXII

THE END OF VAN HEERDEN

Dr. Van Heerden expected many things and was prepared for contingenciesbeyond the imagination of the normally minded, but he was not preparedto find in Oliva Cresswell a pleasant travelling-companion. When a mantakes a girl, against her will, from a pleasant suite at the best hotelin London, compels her at the peril of death to accompany him on amotor-car ride in the dead of the night, and when his offence is aduplication of one which had been committed less than a week before, henot unnaturally anticipates tears, supplications, or in the alternativea frigid and unapproachable silence. 

To his amazement Oliva was extraordinarily cheerful and talkative andeven amusing. He had kept Bridgers at the door of the car whilst heinvestigated the pawn-broking establishment of Messrs. Rosenblaum Bros. , and had returned in triumph to discover that the girl who up to then hadbeen taciturn and uncommunicative was in quite an amiable mood. 

"I used to think, " she said, "that motor-car abductions were theinvention of sensational writers, but you seem to make a practice of it. You are not very original, Dr. Van Heerden. I think I've told you thatbefore. "

He smiled in the darkness as the car sped smoothly through the desertedstreets. 

"I must plead guilty to being rather unoriginal, " he said, "but Ipromise you that this little adventure shall not end as did the last. "

"It can hardly do that, " she laughed, "I can only be married oncewhilst Mr. Beale is alive. "

"I forgot you were married, " he said suddenly, then after a pause, "Isuppose you will divorce him?"

"Why?" she asked innocently. 

"But you're not fond of that fellow, are you?"

"Passionately, " she said calmly, "he is my ideal. "

The reply took away his breath and certainly silenced him. 

"How is this adventure to end?" she demanded. "Are you going to maroonme on a desert island, or are you taking me to Germany?"

"How did you know I am trying to get to Germany?" he asked sharply. 

"Oh, Mr. Beale thought so, " she replied, in a tone of indifference, "hereckoned that he would catch you somewhere near the coast. "

"He did, did he?" said the other calmly. "I shall deny him thatpleasure. I don't intend taking you to Germany. Indeed, it is not myintention to detain you any longer than is necessary. "

"For which I am truly grateful, " she smiled, "but why detain me at all?"

"That is a stupid question to ask when I am sure you have no doubt inyour mind as to why it is necessary to keep you close to me until I havefinished my work. I think I told you some time ago, " he went on, "that Ihad a great scheme. The other day you called me a Hun, by which Isuppose you meant that I was a German. It is perfectly true that I am aGerman and I am a patriotic German. To me even in these days of hisdegradation the Kaiser is still little less than a god. "

His voice quivered a little, and the girl was struck dumb with wonderthat a man of such intelligence, of such a wide outlook, of suchmodernity, should hold to views so archaic. 

"Your country ruined Germany. You have sucked us dry. To say that I hateEngland and hate America--for you Anglo-Saxons are one in your soullesscovetousness--is to express my feelings mildly. "

"But what is your scheme?" she asked. 

"Briefly I will tell you, Miss Cresswell, that you may understand thatto-night you accompany history and are a participant in world politics. America and England are going to pay. They are going to buy corn from mycountry at the price that Germany can fix. It will be a price, " hecried, and did not attempt to conceal his joy, "which will ruin theAnglo-Saxon people more effectively than they ruined Germany. "

"But how?" she asked, bewildered. 

"They are going to buy corn, " he repeated, "at our price, corn which isstored in Germany. "

"But what nonsense!" she said scornfully, "I don't know very much aboutharvests and things of that kind, but I know that most of the world'swheat comes from America and from Russia. "

"The Russian wheat will be in German granaries, " he said softly, "theAmerican wheat--there will be no American wheat. "

And then his calmness deserted him. The story of the Green Rust burstout in a wild flood of language which was half-German and half-English. The man was beside himself, almost mad, and before his gesticulatinghands she shrank back into the corner of the car. She saw his silhouetteagainst the window, heard the roar and scream of his voice as he babbledincoherently of his wonderful scheme and had to piece together as bestshe could his disconnected narrative. And then she remembered her workin Beale's office, the careful tabulation of American farms, the namesof the sheriffs, the hotels where conveyances might be secured. 

So that was it! Beale had discovered the plot, and had already moved tocounter this devilish plan. And she remembered the man who had come toher room in mistake for van Heerden's and the phial of green sawdust hecarried and Beale's look of horror when he examined it. And suddenly shecried with such vehemence that his flood of talk was stopped:

"Thank God! Oh, thank God!"

"What--what do you mean?" he demanded suspiciously. "What are youthanking God about?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. " She was her eager, animated self. "Tell me somemore. It is a wonderful story. It is true, is it not?"

"True?" he laughed harshly, "you shall see how true it is. You shall seethe world lie at the feet of German science. To-morrow the word will goforth. Look!" He clicked on a little electric light and held out hishand. In his palm lay a silver watch. 

"I told you there was a code" (she was dimly conscious that he hadspoken of a code but she had been so occupied by her own thoughts thatshe had not caught all that he had said). "That code was in this watch. Look!"

He pressed a knob and the case flew open. Pasted to the inside of thecase was a circular piece of paper covered with fine writing. 

"When you found that ticket you had the code in your hands, " hechuckled; "if you or your friends had the sense to redeem that watch Icould not have sent to-morrow the message of German liberation! See, itis very simple!" He pointed with his finger and held the watch half-wayto the roof that the light might better reveal the wording. "This wordmeans 'Proceed. ' It will go to all my chief agents. They will transmitit by telegram to hundreds of centres. By Thursday morning greatstretches of territory where the golden corn was waving so proudlyto-day will be blackened wastes. By Saturday the world will confront itssublime catastrophe. "

"But why have you three words?" she asked huskily. 

"We Germans provide against all contingencies, " he said, "we leavenothing to chance. We are not gamblers. We work on lines of scientificaccuracy. The second word is to tell my agents to suspend operationsuntil they hear from me. The third word means 'Abandon the scheme forthis year'! We must work with the markets. A more favourable opportunitymight occur--with so grand a conception it is necessary that we shouldobtain the maximum results for our labours. "

He snapped the case of the watch and put it back in his pocket, turnedout the light and settled himself back with a sigh of content. 

"You see you are unimportant, " he said, "you are a beautiful woman andto many men you would be most desirable. To me, you are just a woman, anordinary fellow-creature, amusing, beautiful, possessed of an agilemind, though somewhat frivolous by our standards. Many of myfellow-countrymen who do not think like I do would take you. It is myintention to leave you just as soon as it is safe to do so unless----" Athought struck him, and he frowned. 

"Unless----?" she repeated with a sinking heart in spite of herassurance. 

"Bridgers was speaking to me of you. He who is driving. " He nodded tothe dimly outlined shoulders of the chauffeur. "He has been a faithfulfellow----"

"You wouldn't?" she gasped. 

"Why not?" he said coolly. "I don't want you. Bridgers thinks that youare beautiful. "

"Is he a Hun, too?" she asked, and he jerked round toward her. 

"If Bridgers wants you he shall have you, " he said harshly. 

She knew she had made a mistake. There was no sense in antagonizing him, the more especially so since she had not yet learnt all that she wantedto know. 

"I think your scheme is horrible, " she said after awhile, "the wheatdestruction scheme, I mean, not Bridgers. But it is a very great one. "

The man was susceptible to flattery, for he became genial again. 

"It is the greatest scheme that has ever been known to science. It isthe most colossal crime--I suppose they will call it a crime--that hasever been committed. "

"But how are you going to get your code word away? The telegraphs are inthe hands of the Government and I think you will find it difficult evenif you have a secret wireless. "

"Wireless, bah!" he said scornfully. "I never expected to send it bytelegraph with or without wires. I have a much surer way, fräulein, asyou will see. "

"But how will you escape?" she asked. 

"I shall leave England to-morrow, soon after daybreak, " he replied, with assurance, "by aeroplane, a long-distance flying-machine will landon my Sussex farm which will have British markings--indeed, it isalready in England, and I and my good Bridgers will pass your coastwithout trouble. "

He peered out of the window. 

"This is Horsham, I think, " he said, as they swept through what appearedto the girl to be a square. "That little building on the left is therailway station. You will see the signal lamps in a moment. My farm isabout five miles down the Shoreham Road. "

He was in an excellent temper as they passed through the old town andmounted the hill which leads to Shoreham, was politeness itself when thecar had turned off the main road and had bumped over cart tracks to thedoor of a large building. 

"This is your last escapade, Miss Cresswell, or Mrs. Beale I suppose Ishould call you, " he said jovially, as he pushed her before him into aroom where supper had been laid for two. "You see, you were notexpected, but you shall have Bridgers'. It will be daylight in twohours, " he said inconsequently, "you must have some wine. "

She shook her head with a smile, and he laughed as if the impliedsuspicion of her refusal was the best joke in the world. 

"Nein, nein, little friend, " he said, "I shall not doctor you again. Mydays of doctoring have passed. "

She had expected to find the farm in occupation, but apparently theywere the only people there. The doctor had opened the door himself witha key, and no servant had appeared, nor apparently did he expect them toappear. She learnt afterwards that there were two farm servants, an oldman and his wife, who lived in a cottage on the estate and came in thedaytime to do the housework and prepare a cold supper against theirmaster's coming. 

Bridgers did not make his appearance. Apparently he was staying with hiscar. About three o'clock in the morning, when the first streaks of greywere showing in the sky, van Heerden rose to go in search of hisassistant. Until then he had not ceased to talk of himself, of hisscheme, of his great plan, of his early struggles, of his difficultiesin persuading members of his Government to afford him the assistance herequired. As he turned to the door she checked him with a word:

"I am immensely interested, " she said, "but still, you have not told mehow you intend to send your message. "

"It is simple, " he said, and beckoned to her. 

They passed out of the house into the chill sweet dawn, made ahalf-circuit of the farm and came to a courtyard surrounded on threesides by low buildings. He opened a door to reveal another door coveredwith wire netting. 

"Behold!" he laughed. 

"Pigeons!" said the girl. 

The dark interior of the shed was aflicker with white wings. 

"Pigeons!" repeated van Heerden, closing the door, "and every one knowshis way back to Germany. It has been a labour of love collecting them. And they are all British, " he said with a laugh. "There I will give theBritish credit, they know more about pigeons than we Germans and haveused them more in the war. "

"But suppose your pigeon is shot down or falls by the way?" she asked, as they walked slowly back to the house. 

"I shall send fifty, " replied van Heerden calmly; "each will carry thesame message and some at least will get home. "

Back in the dining-room he cleared the remains of the supper from thetable and went out of the room for a few minutes, returning with a smallpad of paper, and she saw from the delicacy with which he handed eachsheet that it was of the thinnest texture. Between each page he placed acarbon and began to write, printing the characters. There was only oneword on each tiny sheet. When this was written he detached the leaves, putting them aside and using his watch as a paper-weight, and wroteanother batch. 

She watched him, fascinated, until he showed signs that he hadcompleted his task. Then she lifted the little valise which she had ather side, put it on her knees, opened it and took out a book. It musthave been instinct which made him raise his eyes to her. 

"What have you got there?" he asked sharply. 

"Oh, a book, " she said, with an attempt at carelessness. 

"But why have you got it out? You are not reading. "

He leant over and snatched it from her and looked at the title. 

"'A Friend in Need, '" he read. "By Stanford Beale--by Stanford Beale, "he repeated, frowning. "I didn't know your husband wrote books?"

She made no reply. He turned back the cover and read the title page. 

"But this is 'Smiles's Self Help, '" he said. 

"It's the same thing, " she replied. 

He turned another page or two, then stopped, for he had come to a placewhere the centre of the book had been cut right out. The leaves had beenglued together to disguise this fact, and what was apparently a book wasin reality a small box. 

"What was in there?" he asked, springing to his feet. 

"This, " she said, "don't move, Dr. Van Heerden!"

The little hand which held the Browning was firm and did not quiver. 

"I don't think you are going to send your pigeons off this morning, doctor, " she said. "Stand back from the table. " She leant over andseized the little heap of papers and the watch. "I am going to shootyou, " she said steadily, "if you refuse to do as I tell you; because ifI don't shoot you, you will kill me. "

His face had grown old and grey in the space of a few seconds. The whitehands he raised were shaking. He tried to speak but only a hoarse murmurcame. Then his face went blank. He stared at the pistol, then stretchedout his hands slowly toward it. 

"Stand back!" she cried. 

He jumped at her, and she pulled the trigger, but nothing happened, andthe next minute she was struggling in his arms. The man was hystericalwith fear and relief and was giggling and cursing in the same breath. He wrenched the pistol from her hand and threw it on the table. 

"You fool! You fool!" he shouted, "the safety-catch! You didn't put itdown!"

She could have wept with anger and mortification. Beale had put thecatch of the weapon at safety, not realizing that she did not understandthe mechanism of it, and van Heerden in one lightning glance had seenhis advantage. 

"Now you suffer!" he said, as he flung her in a chair. "You shallsuffer, I tell you! I will make an example of you. I will leave yourhusband something which he will not touch!"

He was shaking in every limb. He dashed to the door and bellowed"Bridgers!"

Presently she heard a footstep in the hall. 

"Come, my friend, " van Heerden shouted, "you shall have your wish. Itis----"

"How are you going, van Heerden? Quietly or rough?"

He spun round. There were two men in the doorway, and the first of thesewas Beale. 

"It's no use your shouting for Bridgers because Bridgers is on the wayto the jug, " said McNorton. "I have a warrant for you, van Heerden. "

The doctor turned with a howl of rage, snatched up the pistol which layon the table, and thumbed down the safety-catch. 

Beale and McNorton fired together, so that it seemed like a single shotthat thundered through the room. Van Heerden slid forward, and fellsprawling across the table. 

 * * * * *

It was the Friday morning, and Beale stepped briskly through thevestibule of the Ritz-Carlton, and declining the elevator went up thestairs two at a time. He burst into the room where Kitson and the girlwere standing by the window. 

"Wheat prices are tumbling down, " he said, "the message worked. "

"Thank Heaven for that!" said Kitson. "Then van Heerden's code messagetelling his gang to stop operations reached its destination!"

"Its destinations, " corrected Beale cheerfully. "I released thirtypigeons with the magic word. The agents have been arrested, " he said;"we notified the Government authorities, and there was a sheriff or apoliceman in every post office when the code word came through--vanHeerden's agents saw some curious telegraph messengers yesterday. "

Kitson nodded and turned away. 

"What are you going to do now?" asked the girl, with a light in hereyes. "You must feel quite lost without this great quest of yours. "

"There are others, " said Stanford Beale. 

"When do you return to America?" she asked. 

He fenced the question, but she brought him back to it. 

"I have a great deal of business to do in London before I go, " he said. 

"Like what?" she asked. 

"Well, " he hesitated, "I have some legal business. "

"Are you suing somebody?" she asked, wilfully dense. 

He rubbed his head in perplexity. 

"To tell you the truth, " he said, "I don't exactly know what I've got todo or what sort of figure I shall cut. I have never been in the DivorceCourt before. "

"Divorce Court?" she said, puzzled, "are you giving evidence? Of courseI know detectives do that sort of thing. I have read about it in thenewspapers. It must be rather horrid, but you are such a cleverdetective--oh, by the way you never told me how you found me. "

"It was a very simple matter, " he said, relieved to change the subject, "van Heerden, by one of those curious lapses which the best of criminalsmake, left a message at the pawnbroker's which was written on the backof an account for pigeon food, sent to him from a Horsham tradesman. Iknew he would not try to dispatch his message by the ordinary coursesand I suspected all along that he had established a pigeon-post. Thebill gave me all the information I wanted. It took us a long time tofind the tradesman, but once we had discovered him he directed us to thefarm. We took along a couple of local policemen and arrested Bridgers inthe garage. "

She shivered. 

"It was horrible, wasn't it?" she said. 

He nodded. 

"It was rather dreadful, but it might have been very much worse, " headded philosophically. 

"But how wonderful of you to switch yourself from the crime of thatenthralling character to a commonplace divorce suit. "

"This isn't commonplace, " he said, "it is rather a curious story. "

"Do tell me. " She made a place for him on the window-ledge and he satdown beside her. 

"It is a story of a mistake and a blunder, " he said. "The plaintiff, avery worthy young man, passably good looking, was a man of myprofession, a detective engaged in protecting the interests of a youngand beautiful girl. "

"I suppose you have to say she's young and beautiful or the storywouldn't be interesting, " she said. 

"It is not necessary to lie in this case, " he said, "she is certainlyyoung and undoubtedly beautiful. She has the loveliest eyes----"

"Go on, " she said hastily. 

"The detective, " he resumed, "hereinafter called the petitioner, desiring to protect the innocent maiden from the machinations of afortune-hunting gentleman no longer with us, contracted as he thought afraudulent marriage with this unfortunate girl, believing thereby hecould choke off the villain who was pursuing her. "

"But why did the unfortunate girl marry him, even fraudulently?"

"Because, " said Beale, "the villain of the piece had drugged her and shedidn't know what she was doing. After the marriage, " he went on, "hediscovered that so far from being illegal it was good in law and he hadbound this wretched female. "

"Please don't be rude, " she said. 

"He had bound this wretched female to him for life. Being a perfectgentleman, born of poor but American parents, he takes the firstopportunity of freeing her. "

"And himself, " she murmured. 

"As to the poor misguided lad, " he said firmly, "you need feel nosympathy. He had behaved disgracefully. "

"How?" she asked. 

"Well, you see, he had already fallen in love with her and that made hisoffence all the greater. If you go red I cannot tell you this story, because it embarrasses me. "

"I haven't gone red, " she denied indignantly. "So what are you--what ishe going to do?"

Beale shrugged his shoulders. 

"He is going to work for a divorce. "

"But why?" she demanded. "What has she done?"

He looked at her in astonishment. 

"What do you mean?" he stammered. 

"Well"--she shrugged her shoulders slightly and smiled in his face--"itseems to me that it is nothing to do with him. It is the wretched femalewho should sue for a divorce, not the handsome detective--do you feelfaint?"

"No, " he said hoarsely. 

"Don't you agree with me?"

"I agree with you, " said the incoherent Beale. "But suppose her guardiantakes the necessary steps?"

She shook her head. 

"The guardian can do nothing unless the wretched female instructs him, "she said. "Does it occur to you that even the best of drugs wear off intime and that there is a possibility that the lady was not asunconscious of the ceremony as she pretends? Of course, " she saidhurriedly, "she did not realize that it had actually happened, and untilshe was told by Apollo from the Central Office--that's what you callScotland Yard in New York, isn't it?--that the ceremony had actuallyoccurred she was under the impression that it was a beautifuldream--when I say beautiful, " she amended, in some hurry, "I mean notunpleasant. "

"Then what am I to do?" said the helpless Beale. 

"Wait till I divorce you, " said Oliva, and turned her head hurriedly, sothat Beale only kissed the tip of her ear. 

THE END