Chapter 1
    The 4.15 from Victoria to Lewes had been held up at Three Bridgesin consequence of a derailment and, though John Lexman wasfortunate enough to catch a belated connection to Beston Tracey,the wagonette which was the sole communication between the villageand the outside world had gone.
　　"If you can wait half an hour, Mr. Lexman," said thestation-master, "I will telephone up to the village and get Briggsto come down for you."John Lexman looked out upon the dripping landscape and shruggedhis shoulders.
　　"I'll walk," he said shortly and, leaving his bag in thestation-master's care and buttoning his mackintosh to his chin, hestepped forth resolutely into the rain to negotiate the two mileswhich separated the tiny railway station from Little Tracey.
　　The downpour was incessant and likely to last through the night.
　　The high hedges on either side of the narrow road were so manyleafy cascades; the road itself was in places ankle deep in mud.
　　He stopped under the protecting cover of a big tree to fill andlight his pipe and with its bowl turned downwards continued hiswalk. But for the driving rain which searched every crevice andfound every chink in his waterproof armor, he preferred, indeedwelcomed, the walk.
　　The road from Beston Tracey to Little Beston was associated in hismind with some of the finest situations in his novels. It was onthis road that he had conceived "The Tilbury Mystery." Between thestation and the house he had woven the plot which had made"Gregory Standish" the most popular detective story of the year.
　　For John Lexman was a maker of cunning plots.
　　If, in the literary world, he was regarded by superior persons asa writer of "shockers," he had a large and increasing public whowere fascinated by the wholesome and thrilling stories he wrote,and who held on breathlessly to the skein of mystery until theycame to the denouement he had planned.
　　But no thought of books, or plots, or stories filled his troubledmind as he strode along the deserted road to Little Beston. Hehad had two interviews in London, one of which under ordinarycircumstances would have filled him with joy: He had seen T. X.
　　and "T. X." was T. X. Meredith, who would one day be Chief of theCriminal Investigation Department and was now an AssistantCommissioner of Police, engaged in the more delicate work of thatdepartment.
　　In his erratic, tempestuous way, T. X. had suggested the greatestidea for a plot that any author could desire. But it was not ofT. X. that John Lexman thought as he breasted the hill, on theslope of which was the tiny habitation known by the somewhatmagnificent title of Beston Priory.
　　It was the interview he had had with the Greek on the previous daywhich filled his mind, and he frowned as he recalled it. Heopened the little wicket gate and went through the plantation tothe house, doing his best to shake off the recollection of theremarkable and unedifying discussion he had had with themoneylender.
　　Beston Priory was little more than a cottage, though one of itswalls was an indubitable relic of that establishment which a piousHoward had erected in the thirteenth century. A small andunpretentious building, built in the Elizabethan style with quaintgables and high chimneys, its latticed windows and sunken gardens,its rosary and its tiny meadow, gave it a certain manorialcompleteness which was a source of great pride to its owner.
　　He passed under the thatched porch, and stood for a moment in thebroad hallway as he stripped his drenching mackintosh.
　　The hall was in darkness. Grace would probably be changing fordinner, and he decided that in his present mood he would notdisturb her. He passed through the long passage which led to thebig study at the back of the house. A fire burnt redly in theold-fashioned grate and the snug comfort of the room brought asense of ease and re-lief. He changed his shoes, and lit thetable lamp.
　　The room was obviously a man's den. The leather-covered chairs,the big and well-filled bookcase which covered one wall of theroom, the huge, solid-oak writing-desk, covered with books andhalf-finished manuscripts, spoke unmistakably of its owner'soccupation.
　　After he had changed his shoes, he refilled his pipe, walked overto the fire, and stood looking down into its glowing heart.
　　He was a man a little above medium height, slimly built, with abreadth of shoulder which was suggestive of the athlete. He hadindeed rowed 4 in his boat, and had fought his way into thesemi-finals of the amateur boxing championship of England. Hisface was strong, lean, yet well-moulded. His eyes were grey anddeep, his eyebrows straight and a little forbidding. Theclean-shaven mouth was big and generous, and the healthy tan ofhis cheek told of a life lived in the open air.
　　There was nothing of the recluse or the student in his appearance.
　　He was in fact a typical, healthy-looking Britisher, very muchlike any other man of his class whom one would meet in themess-room of the British army, in the wardrooms of the fleet, orin the far-off posts of the Empire, where the administrative cogsof the great machine are to be seen at work.
　　There was a little tap at the door, and before he could say "Comein" it was pushed open and Grace Lexman entered.
　　If you described her as brave and sweet you might secure from thatbrief description both her manner and her charm. He half crossedthe room to meet her, and kissed her tenderly.
　　"I didn't know you were back until - " she said; linking her armin his.
　　"Until you saw the horrible mess my mackintosh has made," hesmiled. "I know your methods, Watson!"She laughed, but became serious again.
　　"I am very glad you've come back. We have a visitor," she said.
　　He raised his eyebrows.
　　"A visitor? Whoever came down on a day like this?"She looked at him a little strangely.
　　"Mr. Kara," she said.
　　"Kara? How long has he been here?""He came at four."There was nothing enthusiastic in her tone.
　　"I can't understand why you don't like old Kara," rallied herhusband.
　　"There are very many reasons," she replied, a little curtly forher.
　　"Anyway," said John Lexman, after a moment's thought, "his arrivalis rather opportune. Where is he?""He is in the drawing-room."The Priory drawing-room was a low-ceilinged, rambling apartment,"all old print and chrysanthemums," to use Lexman's description.
　　Cosy armchairs, a grand piano, an almost medieval open grate,faced with dull-green tiles, a well-worn but cheerful carpet andtwo big silver candelabras were the principal features whichattracted the newcomer.
　　There was in this room a harmony, a quiet order and a soothingquality which made it a haven of rest to a literary man withjagged nerves. Two big bronze bowls were filled with earlyviolets, another blazed like a pale sun with primroses, and theearly woodland flowers filled the room with a faint fragrance.
　　A man rose to his feet, as John Lexman entered and crossed theroom with an easy carriage. He was a man possessed of singularbeauty of face and of figure. Half a head taller than the author,he carried himself with such a grace as to conceal his height.
　　"I missed you in town," he said, "so I thought I'd run down on theoff chance of seeing you."He spoke in the well-modulated tone of one who had had a longacquaintance with the public schools and universities of England.
　　There was no trace of any foreign accent, yet Remington Kara was aGreek and had been born and partly educated in the more turbulentarea of Albania.
　　The two men shook hands warmly.
　　"You'll stay to dinner?"Kara glanced round with a smile at Grace Lexman. She satuncomfortably upright, her hands loosely folded on her lap, herface devoid of encouragement.
　　"If Mrs. Lexman doesn't object," said the Greek.
　　"I should be pleased, if you would," she said, almostmechanically; "it is a horrid night and you won't get anythingworth eating this side of London and I doubt very much," shesmiled a little, "if the meal I can give you will be worthy ofthat description.""What you can give me will be more than sufficient," he said, witha little bow, and turned to her husband.
　　In a few minutes they were deep in a discussion of books andplaces, and Grace seized the opportunity to make her escape. Frombooks in general to Lexman's books in particular the conversationflowed.
　　"I've read every one of them, you know," said Kara.
　　John made a little face. "Poor devil," he said sardonically.
　　"On the contrary," said Kara, "I am not to be pitied. There is agreat criminal lost in you, Lexman.""Thank you," said John.
　　"I am not being uncomplimentary, am I?" smiled the Greek. "I ammerely referring to the ingenuity of your plots. Sometimes yourbooks baffle and annoy me. If I cannot see the solution of yourmysteries before the book is half through, it angers me a little.
　　Of course in the majority of cases I know the solution before Ihave reached the fifth chapter."John looked at him in surprise and was somewhat piqued.
　　"I flatter myself it is impossible to tell how my stories will enduntil the last chapter," he said.
　　Kara nodded.
　　"That would be so in the case of the average reader, but youforget that I am a student. I follow every little thread of theclue which you leave exposed.""You should meet T. X.," said John, with a laugh, as he rose fromhis chair to poke the fire.
　　"T. X.?""T. X. Meredith. He is the most ingenious beggar you could meet.
　　We were at Caius together, and he is by way of being a great palof mine. He is in the Criminal Investigation Department."Kara nodded. There was the light of interest in his eyes and hewould have pursued the discussion further, but at the momentdinner was announced.
　　It was not a particularly cheerful meal because Grace did not asusual join in the conversation, and it was left to Kara and to herhusband to supply the deficiencies. She was experiencing acurious sense of depression, a premonition of evil which she couldnot define. Again and again in the course of the dinner she tookher mind back to the events of the day to discover the reason forher unease.
　　Usually when she adopted this method she came upon the trivialcauses in which apprehension was born, but now she was puzzled tofind that a solution was denied her. Her letters of the morninghad been pleasant, neither the house nor the servants had givenher any trouble. She was well herself, and though she knew Johnhad a little money trouble, since his unfortunate speculation inRoumanian gold shares, and she half suspected that he had had toborrow money to make good his losses, yet his prospects were soexcellent and the success of his last book so promising that she,probably seeing with a clearer vision the unimportance of thosemoney worries, was less concerned about the problem than he.
　　"You will have your coffee in the study, I suppose," said Grace,"and I know you'll excuse me; I have to see Mrs. Chandler on themundane subject of laundry."She favoured Kara with a little nod as she left the room andtouched John's shoulder lightly with her hand in passing.
　　Kara's eyes followed her graceful figure until she was out ofview, then"I want to see you, Kara," said John Lexman, "if you will give mefive minutes.""You can have five hours, if you like," said the other, easily.
　　They went into the study together; the maid brought the coffee andliqueur, and placed them on a little table near the fire anddisappeared.
　　For a time the conversation was general. Kara, who was a frankadmirer of the comfort of the room and who lamented his owninability to secure with money the cosiness which John hadobtained at little cost, went on a foraging expedition whilst hishost applied himself to a proof which needed correcting.
　　"I suppose it is impossible for you to have electric light here,"Kara asked.
　　"Quite," replied the other.
　　"Why?""I rather like the light of this lamp.""It isn't the lamp," drawled the Greek and made a little grimace;"I hate these candles."He waved his hand to the mantle-shelf where the six tall, white,waxen candles stood out from two wall sconces.
　　"Why on earth do you hate candles?" asked the other in surprise.
　　Kara made no reply for the moment, but shrugged his shoulders.
　　Presently he spoke.
　　"If you were ever tied down to a chair and by the side of thatchair was a small keg of black powder and stuck in that powder wasa small candle that burnt lower and lower every minute - my God!"John was amazed to see the perspiration stand upon the forehead ofhis guest.
　　"That sounds thrilling," he said.
　　The Greek wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and his handshook a little.
　　"It was something more than thrilling," he said.
　　"And when did this occur?" asked the author curiously.
　　"In Albania," replied the other; "it was many years ago, but thedevils are always sending me reminders of the fact."He did not attempt to explain who the devils were or under whatcircumstances he was brought to this unhappy pass, but changed thesubject definitely.
　　Sauntering round the cosy room he followed the bookshelf whichfilled one wall and stopped now and again to examine some title.
　　Presently he drew forth a stout volume.
　　"'Wild Brazil'," he read, "by George Gathercole - do you knowGathercole?"John was filling his pipe from a big blue jar on his desk andnodded.
　　"Met him once - a taciturn devil. Very short of speech and, likeall men who have seen and done things, less inclined to talk abouthimself than any man I know."Kara looked at the book with a thoughtful pucker of brow andturned the leaves idly.
　　"I've never seen him," he said as he replaced the book, "yet, in asense, his new journey is on my behalf."The other man looked up.
　　"On your behalf?""Yes - you know he has gone to Patagonia for me. He believesthere is gold there - you will learn as much from his book on themountain systems of South America. I was interested in histheories and corresponded with him. As a result of thatcorrespondence he undertook to make a geological survey for me. Isent him money for his expenses, and he went off.""You never saw him?" asked John Lexman, surprised.
　　Kara shook his head.
　　"That was not - ?" began his host.
　　"Not like me, you were going to say. Frankly, it was not, butthen I realized that he was an unusual kind of man. I invited himto dine with me before he left London, and in reply received awire from Southampton intimating that he was already on his way."Lexman nodded.
　　"It must be an awfully interesting kind of life," he said. "Isuppose he will be away for quite a long time?""Three years," said Kara, continuing his examination of thebookshelf.
　　"I envy those fellows who run round the world writing books," saidJohn, puffing reflectively at his pipe. "They have all the bestof it."Kara turned. He stood immediately behind the author and the othercould not see his face. There was, however, in his voice anunusual earnestness and an unusual quiet vehemence.
　　"What have you to complain about!" he asked, with that littledrawl of his. "You have your own creative work - the mostfascinating branch of labour that comes to a man. He, poorbeggar, is bound to actualities. You have the full range of allthe worlds which your imagination gives to you. You can createmen and destroy them, call into existence fascinating problems,mystify and baffle ten or twenty thousand people, and then, at aword, elucidate your mystery."John laughed.
　　"There is something in that," he said.
　　"As for the rest of your life," Kara went on in a lower voice, "Ithink you have that which makes life worth living - anincomparable wife."Lexman swung round in his chair, and met the other's gaze, andthere was something in the set of the other's handsome face whichtook his. breath away.
　　"I do not see - " he began.
　　Kara smiled.
　　"That was an impertinence, wasn't it!" he said, banteringly. "Butthen you mustn't forget, my dear man, that I was very anxious tomarry your wife. I don't suppose it is secret. And when I losther, I had ideas about you which are not pleasant to recall."He had recovered his self-possession and had continued his aimlessstroll about the room.
　　"You must remember I am a Greek, and the modern Greek is nophilosopher. You must remember, too, that I am a petted child offortune, and have had everything I wanted since I was a baby.""You are a fortunate devil," said the other, turning back to hisdesk, and taking up his pen.
　　For a moment Kara did not speak, then he made as though he wouldsay something, checked himself, and laughed.
　　"I wonder if I am," he said.
　　And now he spoke with a sudden energy.
　　"What is this trouble you are having with Vassalaro?"John rose from his chair and walked over to the fire, stood gazingdown into its depths, his legs wide apart, his hands claspedbehind him, and Kara took his attitude to supply an answer to thequestion.
　　"I warned you against Vassalaro," he said, stooping by the other'sside to light his cigar with a spill of paper. "My dear Lexman,my fellow countrymen are unpleasant people to deal with in certainmoods.""He was so obliging at first," said Lexman, half to himself.
　　"And now he is so disobliging," drawled Kara. "That is a waywhich moneylenders have, my dear man; you were very foolish to goto him at all. I could have lent you the money.""There were reasons why I should not borrow money from you,", saidJohn, quietly, "and I think you yourself have supplied theprincipal reason when you told me just now, what I already knew,that you wanted to marry Grace.""How much is the amount?" asked Kara, examining his well-manicuredfinger-nails.
　　"Two thousand five hundred pounds," replied John, with a shortlaugh, "and I haven't two thousand five hundred shillings at thismoment.""Will he wait?"John Lexman shrugged his shoulders.
　　"Look here, Kara," he said, suddenly, "don't think I want toreproach you, but it was through you that I met Vassalaro so thatyou know the kind of man he is."Kara nodded.
　　"Well, I can tell you he has been very unpleasant indeed," saidJohn, with a frown, "I had an interview with him yesterday inLondon and it is clear that he is going to make a lot of trouble.
　　I depended upon the success of my play in town giving me enough topay him off, and I very foolishly made a lot of promises ofrepayment which I have been unable to keep.""I see," said Kara, and then, "does Mrs. Lexman know about thismatter?""A little," said the other.
　　He paced restlessly up and down the room, his hands behind him andhis chin upon his chest.
　　"Naturally I have not told her the worst, or how beastlyunpleasant the man has been."He stopped and turned.
　　"Do you know he threatened to kill me?" he asked.
　　Kara smiled.
　　"I can tell you it was no laughing matter," said the other,angrily, "I nearly took the little whippersnapper by the scruff ofthe neck and kicked him."Kara dropped his hand on the other's arm.
　　"I am not laughing at you," he said; "I am laughing at the thoughtof Vassalaro threatening to kill anybody. He is the biggestcoward in the world. What on earth induced him to take thisdrastic step?""He said he is being hard pushed for money," said the other,moodily, "and it is possibly true. He was beside himself withanger and anxiety, otherwise I might have given the littleblackguard the thrashing he deserved."Kara who had continued his stroll came down the room and halted infront of the fireplace looking at the young author with a paternalsmile.
　　"You don't understand Vassalaro," he said; "I repeat he is thegreatest coward in the world. You will probably discover he isfull of firearms and threats of slaughter, but you have only toclick a revolver to see him collapse. Have you a revolver, by theway?""Oh, nonsense," said the other, roughly, "I cannot engage myselfin that kind of melodrama.""It is not nonsense," insisted the other, "when you are in Rome,et cetera, and when you have to deal with a low-class Greek youmust use methods which will at least impress him. If you thrashhim, he will never forgive you and will probably stick a knifeinto you or your wife. If you meet his melodrama with melodramaand at the psychological moment produce your revolver; you willsecure the effect you require. Have you a revolver?"John went to his desk and, pulling open a drawer, took out a smallBrowning.
　　"That is the extent of my armory," he said, "it has never beenfired and was sent to me by an unknown admirer last Christmas.""A curious Christmas present," said the other, examining theweapon.
　　"I suppose the mistaken donor imagined from my books that I livedin a veritable museum of revolvers, sword sticks and noxiousdrugs," said Lexman, recovering some of his good humour; "it wasaccompanied by a card.""Do you know how it works?" asked the other.
　　"I have never troubled very much about it," replied Lexman, "Iknow that it is loaded by slipping back the cover, but as myadmirer did not send ammunition, I never even practised with it."There was a knock at the door.
　　"That is the post," explained John.
　　The maid had one letter on the salver and the author took it upwith a frown.
　　"From Vassalaro," he said, when the girl had left the room.
　　The Greek took the letter in his hand and examined it.
　　"He writes a vile fist," was his only comment as he handed it backto John.
　　He slit open the thin, buff envelope and took out half a dozensheets of yellow paper, only a single sheet of which was writtenupon. The letter was brief:
　　"I must see you to-night without fail," ran the scrawl; "meet meat the crossroads between Beston Tracey and the EastbourneRoad. I shall be there at eleven o'clock, and, if you want topreserve your life, you had better bring me a substantialinstalment."It was signed "Vassalaro."John read the letter aloud. "He must be mad to write a letterlike that," he said; "I'll meet the little devil and teach himsuch a lesson in politeness as he is never likely to forget."He handed the letter to the other and Kara read it in silence.
　　"Better take your revolver," he said as he handed it back.
　　John Lexman looked at his watch.
　　"I have an hour yet, but it will take me the best part of twentyminutes to reach the Eastbourne Road.""Will you see him?" asked Kara, in a tone of surprise.
　　"Certainly," Lexman replied emphatically: "I cannot have himcoming up to the house and making a scene and that is certainlywhat the little beast will do.""Will you pay him?" asked Kara softly.
　　John made no answer. There was probably 10 pounds in the houseand a cheque which was due on the morrow would bring him another30 pounds. He looked at the letter again. It was written onpaper of an unusual texture. The surface was rough almost likeblotting paper and in some places the ink absorbed by the poroussurface had run. The blank sheets had evidently been inserted bya man in so violent a hurry that he had not noticed theextravagance.
　　"I shall keep this letter," said John.
　　"I think you are well advised. Vassalaro probably does not knowthat he transgresses a law in writing threatening letters and thatshould be a very strong weapon in your hand in certaineventualities."There was a tiny safe in one corner of the study and this Johnopened with a key which he took from his pocket. He pulled openone of the steel drawers, took out the papers which were in it andput in their place the letter, pushed the drawer to, and lockedit.
　　All the time Kara was watching him intently as one who found morethan an ordinary amount of interest in the novelty of theprocedure.
　　He took his leave soon afterwards.
　　"I would like to come with you to your interesting meeting," hesaid, "but unfortunately I have business elsewhere. Let me enjoinyou to take your revolver and at the first sign of anybloodthirsty intention on the part of my admirable compatriot,produce it and click it once or twice, you won't have to do more."Grace rose from the piano as Kara entered the little drawing-roomand murmured a few conventional expressions of regret that thevisitor's stay had been so short. That there was no sincerity inthat regret Kara, for one, had no doubt. He was a man singularlyfree from illusions.
　　They stayed talking a little while.
　　"I will see if your chauffeur is asleep," said John, and went outof the room."There was a little silence after he had gone.
　　"I don't think you are very glad to see me," said Kara. Hisfrankness was a little embarrassing to the girl and she flushedslightly.
　　"I am always glad to see you, Mr. Kara, or any other of myhusband's friends," she said steadily.
　　He inclined his head.
　　"To be a friend of your husband is something," he said, and thenas if remembering something, "I wanted to take a book away with me- I wonder if your husband would mind my getting it?""I will find it for you.""Don't let me bother you," he protested, "I know my way."Without waiting for her permission he left the girl with theunpleasant feeling that he was taking rather much for granted. Hewas gone less than a minute and returned with a book under hisarm.
　　"I have not asked Lexman's permission to take it," he said, "but Iam rather interested in the author. Oh, here you are," he turnedto John who came in at that moment. "Might I take this book onMexico?" he asked. "I will return it in the morning."They stood at the door, watching the tail light of the motordisappear down the drive; and returned in silence to the drawingroom.
　　"You look worried, dear," she said, laying her hand on hisshoulder.
　　He smiled faintly.
　　"Is it the money" she asked anxiously.
　　For a moment he was tempted to tell her of the letter. He stifledthe temptation realizing that she would not consent to his goingout if she knew the truth.
　　"It is nothing very much," he said. "I have to go down to BestonTracey to meet the last train. I am expecting some proofs down."He hated lying to her, and even an innocuous lie of this characterwas repugnant to him.
　　"I'm afraid you have had a dull evening," he said, "Kara was notvery amusing."She looked at him thoughtfully.
　　"He has not changed very much," she said slowly.
　　"He's a wonderfully handsome chap, isn't he?" he asked in a toneof admiration. "I can't understand what you ever saw in a fellowlike me, when you had a man who was not only rich, but possiblythe best-looking man in the world."She shivered a little.
　　"I have seen a side of Mr. Kara that is not particularlybeautiful," she said. "Oh, John, I am afraid of that man!"He looked at her in astonishment.
　　"Afraid?" he asked. "Good heavens, Grace, what a thing to say!
　　Why I believe he'd do anything for you.""That is exactly what I am afraid of," she said in a low voice.
　　She had a reason which she did not reveal. She had first metRemington Kara in Salonika two years before. She had been doing atour through the Balkans with her father - it was the last tourthe famous archeologist made - and had met the man who was fatedto have such an influence upon her life at a dinner given by theAmerican Consul.
　　Many were the stories which were told about this Greek with hisJove-like face, his handsome carriage and his limitless wealth.
　　It was said that his mother was an American lady who had beencaptured by Albanian brigands and was sold to one of the Albanianchiefs who fell in love with her, and for her sake became aProtestant. He had been educated at Yale and at Oxford, and wasknown to be the possessor of vast wealth, and was virtually kingof a hill district forty miles out of Durazzo. Here he reignedsupreme, occupying a beautiful house which he had built by anItalian architect, and the fittings and appointments of which hadbeen imported from the luxurious centres of the world.
　　In Albania they called him "Kara Rumo," which meant "The BlackRoman," for no particular reason so far as any one could judge,for his skin was as fair as a Saxon's, and his close-cropped curlswere almost golden.
　　He had fallen in love with Grace Terrell. At first his attentionshad amused her, and then there came a time when they frightenedher, for the man's fire and passion had been unmistakable. Shehad made it plain to him that he could base no hopes upon herreturning his love, and, in a scene which she even now shudderedto recall, he had revealed something of his wild and recklessnature. On the following day she did not see him, but two dayslater, when returning through the Bazaar from a dance which hadbeen given by the Governor General, her carriage was stopped, shewas forcibly dragged from its interior, and her cries were stifledwith a cloth impregnated with a scent of a peculiar aromaticsweetness. Her assailants were about to thrust her into anothercarriage, when a party of British bluejackets who had been onleave came upon the scene, and, without knowing anything of thenationality of the girl, had rescued her.
　　In her heart of hearts she did not doubt Kara's complicity in thismedieval attempt to gain a wife, but of this adventure she hadtold her husband nothing. Until her marriage she was constantlyreceiving valuable presents which she as constantly returned tothe only address she knew - Kara's estate at Lemazo. A few monthsafter her marriage she had learned through the newspapers thatthis "leader of Greek society" had purchased a big house nearCadogan Square, and then, to her amazement and to her dismay, Karahad scraped an acquaintance with her husband even before thehoneymoon was over.
　　His visits had been happily few, but the growing intimacy betweenJohn and this strange undisciplined man had been a source ofconstant distress to her.
　　Should she, at this, the eleventh hour, tell her husband all herfears and her suspicions?
　　She debated the point for some time. And never was she nearertaking him into her complete confidence than she was as he sat inthe big armchair by the side of the piano, a little drawn of face,more than a little absorbed in his own meditations. Had he beenless worried she might have spoken. As it was, she turned theconversation to his last work, the big mystery story which, if itwould not make his fortune, would mean a considerable increase tohis income.
　　At a quarter to eleven he looked at his watch, and rose. Shehelped him on with his coat. He stood for some time irresolutely.
　　"Is there anything you have forgotten?" she asked.
　　He asked himself whether he should follow Kara's advice. In anycircumstance it was not a pleasant thing to meet a ferociouslittle man who had threatened his life, and to meet him unarmedwas tempting Providence. The whole thing was of courseridiculous, but it was ridiculous that he should have borrowed,and it was ridiculous that the borrowing should have beennecessary, and yet he had speculated on the best of advice - itwas Kara's advice.
　　The connection suddenly occurred to him, and yet Kara had notdirectly suggested that he should buy Roumanian gold shares, buthad merely spoken glowingly of their prospects. He thought amoment, and then walked back slowly into the study, pulled openthe drawer of his desk, took out the sinister little Browning, andslipped it into his pocket.
　　"I shan't be long, dear," he said, and kissing the girl he strodeout into the darkness.
　　Kara sat back in the luxurious depths of his car, humming a littletune, as the driver picked his way cautiously over the uncertainroad. The rain was still falling, and Kara had to rub the windowsfree of the mist which had gathered on them to discover where hewas. From time to time he looked out as though he expected to seesomebody, and then with a little smile he remembered that he hadchanged his original plan, and that he had fixed the waiting roomof Lewes junction as his rendezvous.
　　Here it was that he found a little man muffled up to the ears in abig top coat, standing before the dying fire. He started as Karaentered and at a signal followed him from the room.
　　The stranger was obviously not English. His face was sallow andpeaked, his cheeks were hollow, and the beard he wore wasirregular-almost unkempt.
　　Kara led the way to the end of the dark platform, before he spoke.
　　"You have carried out my instructions?" he asked brusquely.
　　The language he spoke was Arabic, and the other answered him inthat language.
　　"Everything that you have ordered has been done, Effendi," he saidhumbly.
　　"You have a revolver?"The man nodded and patted his pocket.
　　"Loaded?""Excellency," asked the other, in surprise, "what is the use of arevolver, if it is not loaded?""You understand, you are not to shoot this man," said Kara. "Youare merely to present the pistol. To make sure, you had betterunload it now."Wonderingly the man obeyed, and clicked back the ejector.
　　"I will take the cartridges," said Kara, holding out his hand.
　　He slipped the little cylinders into his pocket, and afterexamining the weapon returned it to its owner.
　　"You will threaten him," he went on. "Present the revolverstraight at his heart. You need do nothing else."The man shuffled uneasily.
　　"I will do as you say, Effendi," he 'said. "But - ""There are no 'buts,' " replied the other harshly. "You are tocarry out my instructions without any question. What will happenthen you shall see. I shall be at hand. That I have a reason forthis play be assured.""But suppose he shoots?" persisted the other uneasily.
　　"He will not shoot," said Kara easily. "Besides, his revolver isnot loaded. Now you may go. You have a long walk before you.
　　You know the way?"The man nodded.
　　"I have been over it before," he said confidently.
　　Kara returned to the big limousine which had drawn up somedistance from the station. He spoke a word or two to thechauffeur in Greek, and the man touched his hat.
Chapter 2
    Assistant Commissioner of Police T. X. Meredith did not occupyoffices in New Scotland Yard. It is the peculiarity of publicoffices that they are planned with the idea of supplying themargin of space above all requirements and that on theircompletion they are found wholly inadequate to house the variousdepartments which mysteriously come into progress coincident withthe building operations.
　　"T. X.," as he was known by the police forces of the world, had abig suite of offices in Whitehall. The house was an old onefacing the Board of Trade and the inscription on the ancient doortold passers-by that this was the "Public Prosecutor, SpecialBranch."The duties of T. X. were multifarious. People said of him - andlike most public gossip, this was probably untrue - that he wasthe head of the "illegal" department of Scotland Yard. If bychance you lost the keys of your safe, T. X. could supply you (sopopular rumour ran) with a burglar who would open that safe inhalf an hour.
　　If there dwelt in England a notorious individual against whom thepolice could collect no scintilla of evidence to justify aprosecution, and if it was necessary for the good of the communitythat that person should be deported, it was T. X. who arrested theobnoxious person, hustled him into a cab and did not loose hishold upon his victim until he had landed him on the indignantshores of an otherwise friendly power.
　　It is very certain that when the minister of a tiny power whichshall be nameless was suddenly recalled by his government andbrought to trial in his native land for putting into circulationspurious bonds, it was somebody from the department which T. X.
　　controlled, who burgled His Excellency's house, burnt the locksfrom his safe and secured the necessary incriminating evidence.
　　I say it is fairly certain and here I am merely voicing theopinion of very knowledgeable people indeed, heads of publicdepartments who speak behind their hands, mysteriousunder-secretaries of state who discuss things in whispers in theremote corners of their clubrooms and the more frank views ofAmerican correspondents who had no hesitation in putting thoseviews into print for the benefit of their readers.
　　That T. X. had a more legitimate occupation we know, for it wasthat flippant man whose outrageous comment on the Home OfficeAdministration is popularly supposed to have sent one HomeSecretary to his grave, who traced the Deptford murderers througha labyrinth of perjury and who brought to book Sir Julius Waglitethough he had covered his trail of defalcation through the balancesheets of thirty-four companies.
　　On the night of March 3rd, T. X. sat in his inner officeinterviewing a disconsolate inspector of metropolitan police,named Mansus.
　　In appearance T. X. conveyed the impression of extreme youth, forhis face was almost boyish and it was only when you looked at himclosely and saw the little creases about his eyes, the setting ofhis straight mouth, that you guessed he was on the way to forty.
　　In his early days he had been something of a poet, and had writtena slight volume of "Woodland Lyrics," the mention of which at thislater stage was sufficient to make him feel violently unhappy.
　　In manner he was tactful but persistent, his language was at timesmarked by a violent extravagance and he had had the distinction ofhaving provoked, by certain correspondence which had seen thelight, the comment of a former Home Secretary that "it wasunfortunate that Mr. Meredith did not take his position with theseriousness which was expected from a public official."His language was, as I say, under great provocation, violent andunusual. He had a trick of using words which never were on landor sea, and illustrating his instruction or his admonition withthe quaintest phraseology.
　　Now he was tilted back in his office chair at an alarming angle,scowling at his distressed subordinate who sat on the edge of achair at the other side of his desk.
　　"But, T. X.," protested the Inspector, "there was nothing to befound."It was the outrageous practice of Mr. Meredith to insist upon hisassociates calling him by his initials, a practice which had earntdisapproval in the highest quarters.
　　"Nothing is to be found!" he repeated wrathfully. "Curious Mike!"He sat up with a suddenness which caused the police officer tostart back in alarm.
　　"Listen," said T. X., grasping an ivory paperknife savagely in hishand and tapping his blotting-pad to emphasize his words, "you'rea pie!""I'm a policeman," said the other patiently.
　　"A policeman!" exclaimed the exasperated T. X. "You're worse thana pie, you're a slud! I'm afraid I shall never make a detectiveof you," he shook his head sorrowfully at the smiling Mansus whohad been in the police force when T. X. was a small boy at school,"you are neither Wise nor Wily; you combine the innocence of aBaby with the grubbiness of a County Parson - you ought to be inthe choir."At this outrageous insult Mr. Mansus was silent; what he mighthave said, or what further provocation he might have received maybe never known, for at that moment, the Chief himself walked in.
　　The Chief of the Police in these days was a grey man, rathertired, with a hawk nose and deep eyes that glared under shaggyeyebrows and he was a terror to all men of his department save toT. X. who respected nothing on earth and very little elsewhere.
　　He nodded curtly to Mansus.
　　"Well, T. X.," he said, "what have you discovered about our friendKara?"He turned from T. X. to the discomforted inspector.
　　"Very little," said T. X. "I've had Mansus on the job.""And you've found nothing, eh?" growled the Chief.
　　"He has found all that it is possible to find," said T. X. "We donot perform miracles in this department, Sir George, nor can wepick up the threads of a case at five minutes' notice."Sir George Haley grunted.
　　"Mansus has done his best," the other went on easily, "but it israther absurd to talk about one's best when you know so little ofwhat you want."Sir George dropped heavily into the arm-chair, and stretched outhis long thin legs.
　　"What I want," he said, looking up at the ceiling and putting hishands together, "is to discover something about one RemingtonKara, a wealthy Greek who has taken a house in Cadogan Square, whohas no particular position in London society and therefore has noreason for coming here, who openly expresses his detestation ofthe climate, who has a magnificent estate in some wild place inthe Balkans, who is an excellent horseman, a magnificent shot anda passable aviator."T. X. nodded to Mansus and with something of gratitude in his eyesthe inspector took his leave.
　　"Now Mansus has departed," said T. X., sitting himself on the edgeof his desk and selecting with great care a cigarette from thecase he took from his pocket, "let me know something of the reasonfor this sudden interest in the great ones of the earth."Sir George smiled grimly.
　　"I have the interest which is the interest of my department," hesaid. "That is to say I want to know a great deal about abnormalpeople. We have had an application from him," he went on, "whichis rather unusual. Apparently he is in fear of his life from somecause or other and wants to know if he can have a privatetelephone connection between his house and the central office. Wetold him that he could always get the nearest Police Station onthe 'phone, but that doesn't satisfy him. He has made bad friendswith some gentleman of his own country who sooner or later, hethinks, will cut his throat."T. X. nodded.
　　"All this I know," he said patiently, "if you will further unfoldthe secret dossier, Sir George, I am prepared to be thrilled.""There is nothing thrilling about it," growled the older man,rising, "but I remember the Macedonian shooting case in SouthLondon and I don't want a repetition of that sort of thing. Ifpeople want to have blood feuds, let them take them outside themetropolitan area.""By all means," said T. X., "let them. Personally, I don't carewhere they go. But if that is the extent of your information Ican supplement it. He has had extensive alterations made to thehouse he bought in Cadogan Square; the room in which he lives ispractically a safe."Sir George raised his eyebrows.
　　"A safe," he repeated.
　　T. X. nodded.
　　"A safe," he said; "its walls are burglar proof, floor and roofare reinforced concrete, there is one door which in addition toits ordinary lock is closed by a sort of steel latch which he letsfall when he retires for the night and which he opens himselfpersonally in the morning. The window is unreachable, there areno communicating doors, and altogether the room is planned tostand a siege."The Chief Commissioner was interested.
　　"Any more?" he asked.
　　"Let me think," said T. X., looking up at the ceiling. "Yes, theinterior of his room is plainly furnished, there is a bigfireplace, rather an ornate bed, a steel safe built into the walland visible from its outer side to the policeman whose beat is inthat neighborhood.""How do you know all this?" asked the Chief Commissioner.
　　"Because I've been in the room," said T. X. simply, "having by anunderhand trick succeeded in gaining the misplaced confidence ofKara's housekeeper, who by the way" - he turned round to his deskand scribbled a name on the blotting-pad - "will be dischargedto-morrow and must be found a place.""Is there any -er -?" began the Chief.
　　"Funny business?" interrupted T. X., "not a bit. House and manare quite normal save for these eccentricities. He has announcedhis intention of spending three months of the year in England andnine months abroad. He is very rich, has no relations, and has apassion for power.""Then he'll be hung," said the Chief, rising.
　　"I doubt it," said the other, "people with lots of money seldomget hung. You only get hung for wanting money.""Then you're in some danger, T. X.," smiled the Chief, "foraccording to my account you're always more or less broke.""A genial libel," said T. X., "but talking about people beingbroke, I saw John Lexman to-day - you know him!"The Chief Commissioner nodded.
　　"I've an idea he's rather hit for money. He was in that Roumaniangold swindle, and by his general gloom, which only comes to a manwhen he's in love (and he can't possibly be in love since he'smarried) or when he's in debt, I fear that he is still feeling theeffect of that rosy adventure."A telephone bell in the corner of the room rang sharply, and T. X.
　　picked up the receiver. He listened intently.
　　"A trunk call," he said over his shoulder to the departingcommissioner, "it may be something interesting."A little pause; then a hoarse voice spoke to him. "Is that you,T. X.?""That's me," said the Assistant Commissioner, commonly.
　　"It's John Lexman speaking.""I shouldn't have recognized your voice," said T. X., "what iswrong with you, John, can't you get your plot to went?""I want you to come down here at once," said the voice urgently,and even over the telephone T. X. recognized the distress. "Ihave shot a man, killed him!"T. X. gasped.
　　"Good Lord," he said, "you are a silly ass!"
Chapter 3
    In the early hours of the morning a tragic little party wasassembled in the study at Beston Priory. John Lexman, white andhaggard, sat on the sofa with his wife by his side. Immediateauthority as represented by a village constable was on duty in thepassage outside, whilst T. X. sitting at the table with a writingpad and a pencil was briefly noting the evidence.
　　The author had sketched the events of the day. He had describedhis interview with the money-lender the day before and the arrivalof the letter.
　　"You have the letter!" asked T. X.
　　John Lexman nodded.
　　"I am glad of that," said the other with a sigh of relief, "thatwill save you from a great deal of unpleasantness, my poor oldchap. Tell me what happened afterward.""I reached the village," said John Lexman, "and passed through it.
　　There was nobody about, the rain was still falling very heavilyand indeed I didn't meet a single soul all the evening. I reachedthe place appointed about five minutes before time. It was thecorner of Eastbourne Road on the station side and there I foundVassalaro waiting. I was rather ashamed of myself at meeting himat all under these conditions, but I was very keen on his notcoming to the house for I was afraid it would upset Grace. Whatmade it all the more ridiculous was this infernal pistol which wasin my pocket banging against my side with every step I took asthough to nudge me to an understanding of my folly.""Where did you meet Vassalaro?" asked T. X.
　　"He was on the other side of the Eastbourne Road and crossed theroad to meet me. At first he was very pleasant though a littleagitated but afterward he began to behave in a most extraordinarymanner as though he was lashing himself up into a fury which hedidn't feel. I promised him a substantial amount on account, buthe grew worse and worse and then, suddenly, before I realised whathe was doing, he was brandishing a revolver in my face anduttering the most extraordinary threats. Then it was I rememberedKara's warning.""Kara," said T. X. quickly.
　　"A man I know and who was responsible for introducing me toVassalaro. He is immensely wealthy.""I see," said T. X., "go on.""I remembered this warning," the other proceeded, "and I thoughtit worth while trying it out to see if it had any effect upon thelittle man. I pulled the pistol from my pocket and pointed it athim, but that only seemed to make it - and then I pressed thetrigger . . . .
　　"To my horror four shots exploded before I could recoversufficient self-possession to loosen my hold of the butt. He fellwithout a word. I dropped the revolver and knelt by his side. Icould tell he was dangerously wounded, and indeed I knew at thatmoment that nothing would save him. My pistol had been pointed inthe region of his heart . . . . "He shuddered, dropping his face in his hands, and the girl by hisside, encircling his shoulder with a protecting arm, murmuredsomething in his ear. Presently he recovered.
　　"He wasn't quite dead. I heard him murmur something but I wasn'table to distinguish what he said. I went straight to the villageand told the constable and had the body removed."T. X. rose from the table and walked to the door and opened it.
　　"Come in, constable," he said, and when the man made hisappearance, "I suppose you were very careful in removing thisbody, and you took everything which was lying about in theimmediate ate vicinity'?""Yes, sir," replied the man, "I took his hat and his walkingstick,if that's what you mean.""And the revolver!" asked T. X.
　　The man shook his head.
　　"There warn't any revolver, sir, except the pistol which Mr.
　　Lexman had."He fumbled in his pocket and pulled it out gingerly, and T. X.
　　took it from him.
　　"I'll look after your prisoner; you go down to the village, getany help you can and make a most careful search in the place wherethis man was killed and bring me the revolver which you willdiscover. You'll probably find it in a ditch by the side of theroad. I'll give a sovereign to the man who finds it."The constable touched his hat and went out.
　　"It looks rather a weird case to me," said T. X., as he came backto the table, "can't you see the unusual features yourself,Lexman! It isn't unusual for you to owe money and it isn'tunusual for the usurer to demand the return of that money, but inthis case he is asking for it before it was due, and further thanthat he was demanding it with threats. It is not the practice ofthe average money lender to go after his clients with a loadedrevolver. Another peculiar thing is that if he wished toblackmail you, that is to say, bring you into contempt in the eyesof your friends, why did he choose to meet you in a dark andunfrequented road, and not in your house where the moral pressurewould be greatest? Also, why did he write you a threateningletter which would certainly bring him into the grip of the lawand would have saved you a great deal of unpleasantness if he haddecided upon taking action!"He tapped his white teeth with the end of his pencil and thensuddenly,"I think I'll see that letter," he said.
　　John Lexman rose from the sofa, crossed to the safe, unlocked itand was unlocking the steel drawer in which he had placed theincriminating document. His hand was on the key when T. X.
　　noticed the look of surprise on his face.
　　"What is it!" asked the detective suddenly.
　　"This drawer feels very hot," said John, - he looked round asthough to measure the distance between the safe and the fire.
　　T. X. laid his hand upon the front of the drawer. It was indeedwarm.
　　"Open it," said T. X., and Lexman turned the key and pulled thedrawer open.
　　As he did so, the whole contents burst up in a quick blaze offlame. It died down immediately and left only a little coil ofsmoke that flowed from the safe into the room.
　　"Don't touch anything inside," said T. X. quickly.
　　He lifted the drawer carefully and placed it under the light. Inthe bottom was no more than a few crumpled white ashes and ablister of paint where the flame had caught the side.
　　"I see," said T. X. slowly.
　　He saw something more than that handful of ashes, he saw thedeadly peril in which his friend was standing. Here was one halfof the evidence in Lexman's favour gone, irredeemably.
　　"The letter was written on a paper which was specially prepared bya chemical process which disintegrated the moment the paper wasexposed to the air. Probably if you delayed putting the letter inthe drawer another five minutes, you would have seen it burnbefore your eyes. As it was, it was smouldering before you hadturned the key of the box. The envelope!""Kara burnt it," said Lexman in a low voice, "I remember seeinghim take it up from the table and throw it in the fire."T. X. nodded.
　　"There remains the other half of the evidence," he said grimly,and when an hour later, the village constable returned to reportthat in spite of his most careful search he had failed to discoverthe dead man's revolver, his anticipations were realized.
　　The next morning John Lexman was lodged in Lewes gaol on a chargeof wilful murder.
　　A telegram brought Mansus from London to Beston Tracey, and T. X.
　　received him in the library.
　　"I sent for you, Mansus, because I suffer from the illusion thatyou have more brains than most of the people in my department, andthat's not saying much.""I am very grateful to you, sir, for putting me right withCommissioner," began Mansus, but T. X. stopped him.
　　"It is the duty of every head of departments," he said oracularly,"to shield the incompetence of his subordinates. It is only bythe adoption of some such method that the decencies of the publiclife can be observed. Now get down to this." He gave a sketch ofthe case from start to finish in as brief a space of time aspossible.
　　"The evidence against Mr. Lexman is very heavy," he said. "Heborrowed money from this man, and on the man's body were foundparticulars of the very Promissory Note which Lexman signed. Whyhe should have brought it with him, I cannot say. Anyhow I doubtvery much whether Mr. Lexman will get a jury to accept hisversion. Our only chance is to find the Greek's revolver - Idon't think there's any very great chance, but if we are to besuccessful we must make a search at once."Before he went out he had an interview with Grace. The darkshadows under her eyes told of a sleepless night. She wasunusually pale and surprisingly calm.
　　"I think there are one or two things I ought to tell you," shesaid, as she led the way into the drawing room, closing the doorbehind him.
　　"And they concern Mr. Kara, I think," said T. X.
　　She looked at him startled.
　　"How did you know that?""I know nothing."He hesitated on the brink of a flippant claim of omniscience, butrealizing in time the agony she must be suffering he checked hisnatural desire.
　　"I really know nothing," he continued, "but I guess a lot," andthat was as near to the truth as you might expect T. X. to reachon the spur of the moment.
　　She began without preliminary.
　　"In the first place I must tell you that Mr. Kara once asked me tomarry him, and for reasons which I will give you, I am dreadfullyafraid of him."She described without reserve the meeting at Salonika and Kara'sextravagant rage and told of the attempt which had been made uponher.
　　"Does John know this?" asked T. X.
　　She shook her head sadly.
　　"I wish I had told him now," she said. "Oh, how I wish I had!"She wrung her hands in an ecstasy of sorrow and remorse.
　　T. X. looked at her sympathetically. Then he asked,"Did Mr. Kara ever discuss your husband's financial position withyou!""Never.""How did John Lexman happen to meet Vassalaro!""I can tell you that," she answered, "the first time we met Mr.
　　Kara in England was when we were staying at Babbacombe on a summerholiday - which was really a prolongation of our honeymoon. Mr.
　　Kara came to stay at the same hotel. I think Mr. Vassalaro musthave been there before; at any rate they knew one another andafter Kara's introduction to my husband the rest was easy.
　　"Can I do anything for John!" she asked piteously.
　　T. X. shook his head.
　　"So far as your story is concerned, I don't think you willadvantage him by telling it," he said. "There is nothing whateverto connect Kara with this business and you would only give yourhusband a great deal of pain. I'll do the best I can."He held out his hand and she grasped it and somehow at that momentthere came to T. X. Meredith a new courage, a new faith and agreater determination than ever to solve this troublesome mystery.
　　He found Mansus waiting for him in a car outside and in a fewminutes they were at the scene of the tragedy. A curious littleknot of spectators had gathered, looking with morbid interest atthe place where the body had been found. There was a localpoliceman on duty and to him was deputed the ungracious task ofwarning his fellow villagers to keep their distance. The groundhad already been searched very carefully. The two roads crossedalmost at right angles and at the corner of the cross thus formed,the hedges were broken, admitting to a field which had evidentlybeen used as a pasture by an adjoining dairy farm. Some roughattempt had been made to close the gap with barbed wire, but itwas possible to step over the drooping strands with little or nodifficulty. It was to this gap that T. X. devoted his principalattention. All the fields had been carefully examined withoutresult, the four drains which were merely the connecting pipesbetween ditches at the sides of the crossroads had been swept outand only the broken hedge and its tangle of bushes behind offeredany prospect of the new search being rewarded.
　　"Hullo!" said Mansus, suddenly, and stooping down he picked upsomething from the ground.
　　T. X. took it in his hand.
　　It was unmistakably a revolver cartridge. He marked the spotwhere it had been found by jamming his walking stick into theground and continued his search, but without success.
　　"I am afraid we shall find nothing more here," said T. X., afterhalf an hour's further search. He stood with his chin in hishand, a frown on his face.
　　"Mansus," he said, "suppose there were three people here, Lexman,the money lender and a third witness. And suppose this thirdperson for some reason unknown was interested in what took placebetween the two men and he wanted to watch unobserved. Isn't itlikely that if he, as I think, instigated the meeting, he wouldhave chosen this place because this particular hedge gave him achance of seeing without being seen?"Mansus thought.
　　"He could have seen just as well from either of the other hedges,with less chance of detection," he said, after a long pause.
　　T. X. grinned.
　　"You have the makings of a brain," he said admiringly. "I agreewith you. Always remember that, Mansus. That there was oneoccasion in your life when T. X. Meredith and you thought alike."Mansus smiled a little feebly.
　　"Of course from the point of view of the observer this was theworst place possible, so whoever came here, if they did come here,dropping revolver bullets about, must have chosen the spot becauseit was get-at-able from another direction. Obviously he couldn'tcome down the road and climb in without attracting the attentionof the Greek who was waiting for Mr. Lexman. We may suppose thereis a gate farther along the road, we may suppose that he enteredthat gate, came along the field by the side of the hedge and thatsomewhere between here and the gate, he threw away his cigar.""His cigar!" said Mansus in surprise.
　　"His cigar," repeated T. X., "if he was alone, he would keep hiscigar alight until the very last moment.""He might have thrown it into the road," said Mansus.
　　"Don't jibber," said T. X., and led the way along the hedge. Fromwhere they stood they could see the gate which led on to the roadabout a hundred yards further on. Within a dozen yards of thatgate, T. X. found what he had been searching for, a half-smokedcigar. It was sodden with rain and he picked it up tenderly.
　　"A good cigar, if I am any judge," he said, "cut with a penknife,and smoked through a holder."They reached the gate and passed through. Here they were on theroad again and this they followed until they reached another crossroad that to the left inclining southward to the new EastbourneRoad and that to the westward looking back to the Lewes-Eastbournerailway. The rain had obliterated much that T. X. was lookingfor, but presently he found a faint indication of a car wheel.
　　"This is where she turned and backed," he said, and walked slowlyto the road on the left, "and this is where she stood. There isthe grease from her engine."He stooped down and moved forward in the attitude of a Russiandancer, "And here are the wax matches which the chauffeur struck,"he counted, "one, two, three, four, five, six, allow three foreach cigarette on a boisterous night like last night, that makesthree cigarettes. Here is a cigarette end, Mansus, Gold Flakebrand," he said, as he examined it carefully, "and a Gold Flakebrand smokes for twelve minutes in normal weather, but about eightminutes in gusty weather. A car was here for about twenty-fourminutes - what do you think of that, Mansus?""A good bit of reasoning, T. X.," said the other calmly, "if ithappens to be the car you're looking for.""I am looking for any old car," said T. X.
　　He found no other trace of car wheels though he carefully followedup the little lane until it reached the main road. After that itwas hopeless to search because rain had fallen in the night and inthe early hours of the morning. He drove his assistant to therailway station in time to catch the train at one o'clock toLondon.
　　"You will go straight to Cadogan Square and arrest the chauffeurof Mr. Kara," he said.
　　"Upon what charge!" asked Mansus hurriedly.
　　When it came to the step which T. X. thought fit to take in thepursuance of his duty, Mansus was beyond surprise.
　　"You can charge him with anything you like," said T. X., with finecarelessness, "probably something will occur to you on your way upto town. As a matter of fact the chauffeur has been calledunexpectedly away to Greece and has probably left by thismorning's train for the Continent. If that is so, we can donothing, because the boat will have left Dover and will havelanded him at Boulogne, but if by any luck you get him, keep himbusy until I get back."T. X. himself was a busy man that day, and it was not until nightwas falling that he again turned to Beston Tracey to find atelegram waiting for him. He opened it and read,"Chauffeur's name, Goole. Formerly waiter English Club,Constantinople. Left for east by early train this morning, hismother being ill.""His mother ill," said T. X. contemptuously, "how very feeble, - Ishould have thought Kara could have gone one better than that."He was in John Lexman's study as the door opened and the maidannounced, "Mr. Remington Kara."
Chapter 4
    T. X. folded the telegram very carefully and slipped it into hiswaistcoat pocket.
　　He favoured the newcomer with a little bow and taking upon himselfthe honours of the establishment, pushed a chair to his visitor.
　　"I think you know my name," said Kara easily, "I am a friend ofpoor Lexman's.""So I am told," said T. X.,"but don't let your friendship forLexman prevent your sitting down."For a moment the Greek was nonplussed and then, with a littlesmile and bow, he seated himself by the writing table.
　　"I am very distressed at this happening," he went on, "and I ammore distressed because I feel that as I introduced Lexman to thisunfortunate man, I am in a sense responsible.""If I were you," said T. X., leaning back in the chair and lookinghalf questioningly and half earnestly into the face of the other,"I shouldn't let that fact keep me awake at night. Most peopleare murdered as a result of an introduction. The cases wherepeople murder total strangers are singularly rare. That I thinkis due to the insularity of our national character."Again the other was taken back and puzzled by the flippancy of theman from whom he had expected at least the official manner.
　　"When did you see Mr. Vassalaro last?" asked T. X. pleasantly.
　　Kara raised his eyes as though considering.
　　"I think it must have been nearly a week ago.""Think again," said T. X.
　　For a second the Greek started and again relaxed into a smile.
　　"I am afraid," he began.
　　"Don't worry about that," said T. X.,"but let me ask you thisquestion. You were here last night when Mr. Lexman received aletter. That he did receive a letter, there is considerableevidence," he said as he saw the other hesitate, "because we havethe supporting statements of the servant and the postman.""I was here," said the other, deliberately, "and I was presentwhen Mr. Lexman received a letter."T. X. nodded.
　　"A letter written on some brownish paper and rather bulky," hesuggested.
　　Again there was that momentary hesitation.
　　"I would not swear to the color of the paper or as to the bulk ofthe letter," he said.
　　"I should have thought you would," suggested T. X.,"because yousee, you burnt the envelope, and I presumed you would have noticedthat.""I have no recollection of burning any envelope," said the othereasily.
　　"At any rate," T. X. went on, "when Mr. Lexman read this letterout to you . . .""To which letter are you referring?" asked the other, with a liftof his eyebrows.
　　"Mr. Lexman received a threatening letter," repeated T. X.
　　patiently, "which he read out to you, and which was addressed tohim by Vassalaro. This letter was handed to you and you alsoread it. Mr. Lexman to your knowledge put the letter in his safe- in a steel drawer."The other shook his head, smiling gently.
　　"I am afraid you've made a great mistake," he said almostapologetically, "though I have a recollection of his receiving aletter, I did not read it, nor was it read to me."The eyes of T. X. narrowed to the very slits and his voice becamemetallic and hard.
　　"And if I put you into the box, will you swear, that you did notsee that letter, nor read it, nor have it read to you, and thatyou have no knowledge whatever of such a letter having beenreceived by Mr. Lexman?""Most certainly," said the other coolly.
　　"Would you swear that you have not seen Vassalaro for a week?""Certainly," smiled the Greek.
　　"That you did not in fact see him last night," persisted T. X.,"and interview him on the station platform at Lewes, that you didnot after leaving him continue on your way to London and then turnyour car and return to the neighbourhood of Beston Tracey?"The Greek was white to the lips, but not a muscle of his facemoved.
　　"Will you also swear," continued T. X. inexorably, "that you didnot stand at the corner of what is known as Mitre's Lot andre-enter a gate near to the side where your car was, and that youdid not watch the whole tragedy?""I'd swear to that," Kara's voice was strained and cracked.
　　"Would you also swear as to the hour of your arrival in London?""Somewhere in the region of ten or eleven," said the Greek.
　　T. X. smiled.
　　"Would you swear that you did not go through Guilford at half-pasttwelve and pull up to replenish your petrol?"The Greek had now recovered his self-possession and rose.
　　"You are a very clever man, Mr. Meredith - I think that is yourname?""That is my name," said T. X. calmly. "There has been, no needfor me to change it as often as you have found the necessity."He saw the fire blazing in the other's eyes and knew that his shothad gone home.
　　"I am afraid I must go," said Kara. "I came here intending to seeMrs. Lexman, and I had no idea that I should meet a policeman.""My dear Mr. Kara," said T. X.,rising and lighting a cigarette,"you will go through life enduring that unhappy experience.""What do you mean?""Just what I say. You will always be expecting to meet oneperson, and meeting another, and unless you are very fortunateindeed, that other will always be a policeman."His eyes twinkled for he had recovered from the gust of angerwhich had swept through him.
　　"There are two pieces of evidence I require to save Mr. Lexmanfrom very serious trouble," he said, "the first of these is theletter which was burnt, as you know.""Yes," said Kara.
　　T. X. leant across the desk.
　　"How did you know" he snapped.
　　"Somebody told me, I don't know who it was.""That's not true," replied T. X.; "nobody knows except myself andMrs. Lexman.""But my dear good fellow," said Kara, pulling on his gloves, "youhave already asked me whether I didn't burn the letter.""I said envelope," said T. X.,with a little laugh.
　　"And you were going to say something about the other clue?""The other is the revolver," said T. X.
　　"Mr. Lexman's revolver!" drawled the Greek.
　　"That we have," said T. X. shortly. "What we want is the weaponwhich the Greek had when he threatened Mr. Lexman.""There, I'm afraid I cannot help you."Kara walked to the door and T. X. followed.
　　"I think I will see Mrs. Lexman.""I think not," said T. X.
　　The other turned with a sneer.
　　"Have you arrested her, too?" he asked.
　　"Pull yourself together!" said T. X. coarsely. He escorted Karato his waiting limousine.
　　"You have a new chauffeur to-night, I observe," he said.
　　Kara towering with rage stepped daintily into the car.
　　"If you are writing to the other you might give him my love," saidT. X.,"and make most tender enquiries after his mother. Iparticularly ask this.
　　Kara said nothing until the car was out of earshot then he layback on the down cushions and abandoned himself to a paroxysm ofrage and blasphemy.
Chapter 5
    Six months later T. X. Meredith was laboriously tracing an elusiveline which occurred on an ordnance map of Sussex when the ChiefCommissioner announced himself.
　　Sir George described T. X. as the most wholesome corrective apublic official could have, and never missed an opportunity ofmeeting his subordinate (as he said) for this reason.
　　"What are you doing there?" he growled.
　　"The lesson this morning," said T. X. without looking up, "ismaps."Sir George passed behind his assistant and looked over hisshoulder.
　　"That is a very old map you have got there," he said.
　　"1876. It shows the course of a number of interesting littlestreams in this neighbourhood which have been lost sight of forone reason or the other by the gentleman who made the survey at alater period. I am perfectly sure that in one of these streams Ishall find what I am seeking.""You haven't given up hope, then, in regard to Lexman?""I shall never give up hope," said T. X.,"until I am dead, andpossibly not then.""Let me see, what did he get - fifteen years!""Fifteen years," repeated T. X.,"and a very fortunate man toescape with his life."Sir George walked to the window and stared out on to busyWhitehall.
　　"I am told you are quite friendly with Kara again."T. X. made a noise which might be taken to indicate his assent tothe statement.
　　"I suppose you know that gentleman has made a very heroic attemptto get you fired," he said.
　　"I shouldn't wonder," said T. X. "I made as heroic an attempt toget him hung, and one good turn deserves another. What did he do?
　　See ministers and people?""He did," said Sir George.
　　"He's a silly ass," responded T. X.
　　"I can understand all that"-the Chief Commissioner turned round -"but what I cannot understand is your apology to him.""There are so many things you don't understand, Sir George," saidT. X. tartly, "that I despair of ever cataloguing them.""You are an insolent cub," growled his Chief. "Come to lunch.""Where will you take me?" asked T. X. cautiously.
　　"To my club.""I'm sorry," said the other, with elaborate politeness, "I havelunched once at your club. Need I say more?"He smiled, as he worked after his Chief had gone, at therecollection of Kara's profound astonishment and the gratificationhe strove so desperately to disguise.
　　Kara was a vain man, immensely conscious of his good looks,conscious of his wealth. He had behaved most handsomely, for notonly had he accepted the apology, but he left nothing undone toshow his desire to create a good impression upon the man who hadso grossly insulted him.
　　T. X. had accepted an invitation to stay a weekend at Kara's"little place in the country," and had found there assembledeverything that the heart could desire in the way of fellowship,eminent politicians who might conceivably be of service to anambitious young Assistant Commissioner of Police, beautiful ladiesto interest and amuse him. Kara had even gone to the length ofengaging a theatrical company to play "Sweet Lavender," and forthis purpose the big ballroom at Hever Court had been transformedinto a theatre.
　　As he was undressing for bed that night T. X. remembered that hehad mentioned to Kara that "Sweet Lavender" was his favorite play,and he realized that the entertainment was got up especially forhis benefit.
　　In a score of other ways Kara had endeavoured to consolidate thefriendship. He gave the young Commissioner advice about a railwaycompany which was operating in Asia Minor, and the shares of whichstood a little below par. T. X. thanked him for the advice, anddid not take it, nor did he feel any regret when the shares rose 3pounds in as many weeks.
　　T. X. had superintended the disposal of Beston Priory. He had thefurniture removed to London, and had taken a flat for GraceLexman.
　　She had a small income of her own, and this, added to the largeroyalties which came to her (as she was bitterly conscious) inincreasing volume as the result of the publicity of the trial,placed her beyond fear of want.
　　"Fifteen years," murmured T. X.,as he worked and whistled.
　　There had been no hope for John Lexman from the start. He was indebt to the man he killed. His story of threatening letters wasnot substantiated. The revolver which he said had been flourishedat him had never been found. Two people believed implicitly inthe story, and a sympathetic Home Secretary had assured T. X.
　　personally that if he could find the revolver and associate itwith the murder beyond any doubt, John Lexman would be pardoned.
　　Every stream in the neighbourhood had been dragged. In one case asmall river had been dammed, and the bed had been carefully driedand sifted, but there was no trace of the weapon, and T. X. hadtried methods more effective and certainly less legal.
　　A mysterious electrician had called at 456 Cadogan Square inKara's absence, and he was armed with such indisputable authoritythat he was permitted to penetrate to Kara's private room, inorder to examine certain fitments.
　　Kara returning next day thought no more of the matter when it wasreported to him, until going to his safe that night he discoveredthat it had been opened and ransacked.
　　As it happened, most of Kara's valuable and confidentialpossessions were at the bank. In a fret of panic and atconsiderable cost he had the safe removed and another put in itsplace of such potency that the makers offered to indemnify himagainst any loss from burglary.
　　T. X. finished his work, washed his hands, and was drying themwhen Mansus came bursting into the room. It was not usual forMansus to burst into anywhere. He was a slow, methodical,painstaking man, with a deliberate and an official, manner.
　　"What's the matter?" asked T. X. quickly.
　　"We didn't search Vassalaro's lodgings," cried Mansusbreathlessly. "It just occurred to me as I was coming overWestminster Bridge. I was on top of a bus - ""Wake up!" said T. X. "You're amongst friends and cut all that'bus' stuff out. Of course we searched Vassalaro's lodgings!""No, we didn't, sir," said the other triumphantly. "He lived inGreat James Street.""He lived in the Adelphi," corrected T. X.
　　"There were two places where he lived," said Mansus.
　　"When did you learn this?" asked his Chief, dropping hisflippancy.
　　"This morning. I was on a bus coming across Westminster Bridge,and there were two men in front of me, and I heard the word'Vassalaro' and naturally I pricked up my ears.""It was very unnatural, but proceed," said T. X.
　　"One of the men - a very respectable person - said, 'That chapVassalaro used to lodge in my place, and I've still got a lot ofhis things. What do you think I ought to do?'""And you said," suggested the other.
　　"I nearly frightened his life out of him," said Mansus. "I said,'I am a police officer and I want you to come along with me.'""And of course he shut up and would not say another word," said T.
　　X.
　　"That's true, sir," said Mansus, "but after awhile I got him totalk. Vassalaro lived in Great James Street, 604, on the thirdfloor. In fact, some of his furniture is there still. He had agood reason for keeping two addresses by all accounts."T. X. nodded wisely.
　　"What was her name?" he asked.
　　"He had a wife," said the other, "but she left him about fourmonths before he was killed. He used the Adelphi address forbusiness purposes and apparently he slept two or three nights ofthe week at Great James Street. I have told the man to leaveeverything as it is, and that we will come round."Ten minutes later the two officers were in the somewhat gloomyapartments which Vassalaro had occupied.
　　The landlord explained that most of the furniture was his, butthat there were certain articles which were the property of thedeceased man. He added, somewhat unnecessarily, that the latetenant owed him six months' rent.
　　The articles which had been the property of Vassalaro included atin trunk, a small writing bureau, a secretaire bookcase and a fewclothes. The secretaire was locked, as was the writing bureau.
　　The tin box, which had little or nothing of interest, wasunfastened.
　　The other locks needed very little attention. Without anydifficulty Mansus opened both. The leaf of the bureau, when letdown, formed the desk, and piled up inside was a whole mass ofletters opened and unopened, accounts, note-books and all theparaphernalia which an untidy man collects.
　　Letter by letter, T. X. went through the accumulation withoutfinding anything to help him. Then his eye was attracted by asmall tin case thrust into one of the oblong pigeon holes at theback of the desk. This he pulled out and opened and found a smallwad of paper wrapped in tin foil.
　　"Hello, hello!" said T. X.,and he was pardonably exhilarated.
Chapter 6
    A Man stood in the speckless courtyard before the Governor's houseat Dartmoor gaol. He wore the ugly livery of shame which marksthe convict. His head was clipped short, and there was two days'
　　growth of beard upon his haggard face. Standing with his handsbehind him, he waited for the moment when he would be ordered tohis work.
　　John Lexman - A. O. 43 - looked up at the blue sky as he hadlooked so many times from the exercise yard, and wondered what theday would bring forth. A day to him was the beginning and the endof an eternity. He dare not let his mind dwell upon the longaching years ahead. He dare not think of the woman he left, orlet his mind dwell upon the agony which she was enduring. He haddisappeared from the world, the world he loved, and the world thatknew him, and all that there was in life; all that was worth whilehad been crushed and obliterated into the granite of thePrincetown quarries, and its wide horizon shrunken by the gauntmoorland with its menacing tors.
　　New interests made up his existence. The quality of the food wasone. The character of the book he would receive from the prisonlibrary another. The future meant Sunday chapel; the presentwhatever task they found him. For the day he was to paint somedoors and windows of an outlying cottage. A cottage occupied by awarder who, for some reason, on the day previous, had spoken tohim with a certain kindness and a certain respect which wasunusual.
　　"Face the wall," growled a voice, and mechanically he turned, hishands still behind him, and stood staring at the grey wall of theprison storehouse.
　　He heard the shuffling feet of the quarry gang, his ears caughtthe clink of the chains which bound them together. They weredesperate men, peculiarly interesting to him, and he had watchedtheir faces furtively in the early period of his imprisonment.
　　He had been sent to Dartmoor after spending three months inWormwood Scrubbs. Old hands had told him variously that he wasfortunate or unlucky. It was usual to have twelve months at theScrubbs before testing the life of a convict establishment. Hebelieved there was some talk of sending him to Parkhurst, and herehe traced the influence which T. X. would exercise, for Parkhurstwas a prisoner's paradise.
　　He heard his warder's voice behind him.
　　"Right turn, 43, quick march."He walked ahead of the armed guard, through the great and gloomygates of the prison, turned sharply to the right, and walked upthe village street toward the moors, beyond the village ofPrincetown, and on the Tavistock Road where were two or threecottages which had been lately taken by the prison staff; and itwas to the decoration of one of these that A. O. 43 had been sent.
　　The house was as yet without a tenant.
　　A paper-hanger under the charge of another warder was waiting forthe arrival of the painter. The two warders exchanged greetings,and the first went off leaving the other in charge of both men.
　　For an hour they worked in silence under the eyes of the guard.
　　Presently the warder went outside, and John Lexman had anopportunity of examining his fellow sufferer.
　　He was a man of twenty-four or twenty-five, lithe and alert. Byno means bad looking, he lacked that indefinable suggestion ofanimalism which distinguished the majority of the inhabitants atDartmoor.
　　They waited until they heard the warder's step clear the passage,and until his iron-shod boots were tramping over the cobbled pathwhich led from the door, through the tiny garden to the road,before the second man spoke.
　　"What are you in for?" he asked, in a low voice.
　　"Murder," said John Lexman, laconically.
　　He had answered the question before, and had noticed with a littleamusement the look of respect which came into the eyes of thequestioner.
　　"What have you got!""Fifteen years," said the other.
　　"That means 11 years and 9 months," said the first man. "You'venever been here before, I suppose?""Hardly," said Lexman, drily.
　　"I was here when I was a kid," confessed the paper-hanger. "I amgoing out next week."John Lexman looked at him enviously. Had the man told him that hehad inherited a great fortune and a greater title his envy wouldnot have been so genuine.
　　Going out!
　　The drive in the brake to the station, the ride to London increased, but comfortable clothing, free as the air, at liberty togo to bed and rise when he liked, to choose his own dinner, toanswer no call save the call of his conscience, to see - hechecked himself.
　　"What are you in for?" he asked in self-defence.
　　"Conspiracy and fraud," said the other cheerfully. "I was putaway by a woman after three of us had got clear with 12,000pounds. Damn rough luck, wasn't it?"John nodded.
　　It was curious, he thought, how sympathetic one grows with theseexponents of crimes. One naturally adopts their point of view andsees life through their distorted vision.
　　"I bet I'm not given away with the next lot," the prisoner wenton. "I've got one of the biggest ideas I've ever had, and I'vegot a real good man to help me.""How?" asked John, in surprise.
　　The man jerked his head in the direction of the prison.
　　"Larry Green," he said briefly. "He's coming out next month, too,and we are all fixed up proper. We are going to get the pile andthen we're off to South America, and you won't see us for dust."Though he employed all the colloquialisms which were common, histone was that of a man of education, and yet there was somethingin his address which told John as clearly as though the man hadconfessed as much, that he had never occupied any social positionin life.
　　The warder's step on the stones outside reduced them to silence.
　　Suddenly his voice came up the stairs.
　　"Forty-three," he called sharply, "I want you down here."John took his paint pot and brush and went clattering down theuncarpeted stairs.
　　"Where's the other man?" asked the warder, in a low voice.
　　"He's upstairs in the back room."The warder stepped out of the door and looked left and right.
　　Coming up from Princetown was a big, grey car.
　　"Put down your paint pot," he said.
　　His voice was shaking with excitement.
　　"I am going upstairs. When that car comes abreast of the gate,ask no questions and jump into it. Get down into the bottom andpull a sack over you, and do not get up until the car stops."The blood rushed to John Lexman's head, and he staggered.
　　"My God!" he whispered.
　　"Do as I tell you," hissed the warder.
　　Like an automaton John put down his brushes, and walked slowly tothe gate. The grey car was crawling up the hill, and the face ofthe driver was half enveloped in a big rubber mask. Through thetwo great goggles John could see little to help him identify theman. As the machine came up to the gate, he leapt into thetonneau and sank instantly to the bottom. As he did so he feltthe car leap forward underneath him. Now it was going fast, nowfaster, now it rocked and swayed as it gathered speed. He felt itsweeping down hill and up hill, and once he heard a hollow rumbleas it crossed a wooden bridge.
　　He could not detect from his hiding place in what direction theywere going, but he gathered they had switched off to the left andwere making for one of the wildest parts of the moor. Never oncedid he feel the car slacken its pace, until, with a grind ofbrakes, it stopped suddenly.
　　"Get out," said a voice.
　　John Lexman threw off the cover and leapt out and as he did so thecar turned and sped back the way it had come.
　　For a moment he thought he was alone, and looked around. Far awayin the distance he saw the grey bulk of Princetown Gaol. It wasan accident that he should see it, but it so happened that a rayof the sun fell athwart it and threw it into relief.
　　He was alone on the moors! Where could he go?
　　He turned at the sound of a voice.
　　He was standing on the slope of a small tor. At the foot therewas a smooth stretch of green sward. It was on this stretch thatthe people of Dartmoor held their pony races in the summer months.
　　There was no sign of horses; but only a great bat-like machinewith out-stretched pinions of taut white canvas, and by thatmachine a man clad from head to foot in brown overalls.
　　John stumbled down the slope. As he neared the machine he stoppedand gasped.
　　"Kara," he said, and the brown man smiled.
　　"But, I do not understand. What are you going to do!" askedLexman, when he had recovered from his surprise.
　　"I am going to take you to a place of safety," said the other.
　　"I have no reason to be grateful to you, as yet, Kara," breathedLexman. "A word from you could have saved me.""I could not lie, my dear Lexman. And honestly, I had forgottenthe existence of the letter; if that is what you are referring to,but I am trying to do what I can for you and for your wife.""My wife!""She is waiting for you," said the other.
　　He turned his head, listening.
　　Across the moor came the dull sullen boom of a gun.
　　"You haven't time for argument. They discovered your escape," hesaid. "Get in."John clambered up into the frail body of the machine and Karafollowed.
　　"This is a self-starter," he said, "one of the newest models ofmonoplanes."He clicked over a lever and with a roar the big three-bladedtractor screw spun.
　　The aeroplane moved forward with a jerk, ran with increasing gaitfor a hundred yards, and then suddenly the jerky progress ceased.
　　The machine swayed gently from side to side, and looking over, thepassenger saw the ground recede beneath him.
　　Up, up, they climbed in one long sweeping ascent, passing throughdrifting clouds till the machine soared like a bird above the bluesea.
　　John Lexman looked down. He saw the indentations of the coast andrecognized the fringe of white houses that stood for Torquay, butin an incredibly short space of time all signs of the land wereblotted out.
　　Talking was impossible. The roar of the engines defiedpenetration.
　　Kara was evidently a skilful pilot. From time to time heconsulted the compass on the board before him, and changed hiscourse ever so slightly. Presently he released one hand from thedriving wheel, and scribbling on a little block of paper which wasinserted in a pocket at the side of the seat he passed it back.
　　John Lexman read:
　　"If you cannot swim there is a life belt under your seat."John nodded.
　　Kara was searching the sea for something, and presently he foundit. Viewed from the height at which they flew it looked no morethan a white speck in a great blue saucer, but presently themachine began to dip, falling at a terrific rate of speed, whichtook away the breath of the man who was hanging on with both handsto the dangerous seat behind.
　　He was deadly cold, but had hardly noticed the fact. It was allso incredible, so impossible. He expected to wake up and wonderedif the prison was also part of the dream.
　　Now he saw the point for which Kara was making.
　　A white steam yacht, long and narrow of beam, was steaming slowlywestward. He could see the feathery wake in her rear, and as theaeroplane fell he had time to observe that a boat had been putoff. Then with a jerk the monoplane flattened out and came like askimming bird to the surface of the water; her engines stopped.
　　"We ought to be able to keep afloat for ten minutes," said Kara,"and by that time they will pick us up."His voice was high and harsh in the almost painful silence whichfollowed the stoppage of the engines.
　　In less than five minutes the boat had come alongside, manned, asLexman gathered from a glimpse of the crew, by Greeks. Hescrambled aboard and five minutes later he was standing on thewhite deck of the yacht, watching the disappearing tail of themonoplane. Kara was by his side.
　　"There goes fifteen hundred pounds," said the Greek, with a smile,"add that to the two thousand I paid the warder and you have atidy sum-but some things are worth all the money in the world!"
Chapter 7
    T. X. came from Downing Street at 11 o'clock one night, and hisheart was filled with joy and gratitude.
　　He swung his stick to the common danger of the public, but thepoliceman on point duty at the end of the street, who saw him,recognized and saluted him, did not think it fit to issue anyofficial warning.
　　He ran up the stairs to his office, and found Mansus reading theevening paper.
　　"My poor, dumb beast," said T. X. "I am afraid I have kept youwaiting for a very long time, but tomorrow you and I will take alittle journey to Devonshire. It will be good for you, Mansus -where did you get that ridiculous name, by the way!""M. or N.," replied Mansus, laconically.
　　"I repeat that there is the dawn of an intellect in you," said T.
　　X., offensively.
　　He became more serious as he took from a pocket inside hiswaistcoat a long blue envelope containing the paper which had costhim so much to secure.
　　"Finding the revolver was a master-stroke of yours, Mansus," hesaid, and he was in earnest as he spoke.
　　The man coloured with pleasure for the subordinates of T. X. lovedhim, and a word of praise was almost equal to promotion. It wason the advice of Mansus that the road from London to Lewes hadbeen carefully covered and such streams as passed beneath thatroad had been searched.
　　The revolver had been found after the third attempt betweenGatwick and Horsley. Its identification was made easier by thefact that Vassalaro's name was engraved on the butt. It wasrather an ornate affair and in its earlier days had been silverplated; the handle was of mother-o'-pearl,"Obviously the gift of one brigand to another," was T. X.'scomment.
　　Armed with this, his task would have been fairly easy, but when tothis evidence he added a rough draft of the threatening letterwhich he had found amongst Vassalaro's belongings, and which hadevidently been taken down at dictation, since some of the wordswere misspelt and had been corrected by another hand, the case wascomplete.
　　But what clinched the matter was the finding of a wad of thatpeculiar chemical paper, a number of sheets of which T. X. hadignited for the information of the Chief Commissioner and the HomeSecretary by simply exposing them for a few seconds to the lightof an electric lamp.
　　Instantly it had filled the Home Secretary's office with a pungentand most disagreeable smoke, for which he was heartily cursed byhis superiors. But it had rounded off the argument.
　　He looked at his watch.
　　"I wonder if it is too late to see Mrs. Lexman," he said.
　　"I don't think any hour would be too late," suggested Mansus.
　　"You shall come and chaperon me," said his superior.
　　But a disappointment awaited. Mrs. Lexman was not in and neitherthe ringing at her electric bell nor vigorous applications to theknocker brought any response. The hall porter of the flats whereshe lived was under the impression that Mrs. Lexman had gone outof town. She frequently went out on Saturdays and returned on theMonday and, he thought, occasionally on Tuesdays.
　　It happened that this particular night was a Monday night and T.
　　X. was faced with a dilemma. The night porter, who had only thevaguest information on the subject, thought that the day portermight know more, and aroused him from his sleep.
　　Yes, Mrs. Lexman had gone. She went on the Sunday, an unusual dayto pay a week-end visit, and she had taken with her two bags. Theporter ventured the opinion that she was rather excited, but whenasked to define the symptoms relapsed into a chaos of incoherent"you-knows" and "what-I-means.""I don't like this," said T. X.,suddenly. "Does anybody know thatwe have made these discoveries?""Nobody outside the office," said Mansus, "unless, unless . . . ""Unless what?" asked the other, irritably. "Don't be a jimp,Mansus. Get it off your mind. What is it?""I am wondering," said Mansus slowly, "if the landlord at GreatJames Street said anything. He knows we have made a search.""We can easily find that out," said T. X.
　　They hailed a taxi and drove to Great James Street. Thatrespectable thoroughfare was wrapped in sleep and it was some timebefore the landlord could be aroused. Recognizing T. X. hechecked his sarcasm, which he had prepared for a keyless lodger,and led the way into the drawing room.
　　"You didn't tell me not to speak about it, Mr. Meredith," he said,in an aggrieved tone, "and as a matter of fact I have spoken tonobody except the gentleman who called the same day.""What did he want?" asked T. X.
　　"He said he had only just discovered that Mr. Vassalaro had stayedwith me and he wanted to pay whatever rent was due," replied theother.
　　"What like of man was he?" asked T. X.
　　The brief description the man gave sent a cold chill to theCommissioner's heart.
　　"Kara for a ducat!" he said, and swore long and variously.
　　"Cadogan Square," he ordered.
　　His ring was answered promptly. Mr. Kara was out of town, hadindeed been out of town since Saturday. This much the man-servantexplained with a suspicious eye upon his visitors, rememberingthat his predecessor had lost his job from a too confidingfriendliness with spurious electric fitters. He did not know whenMr. Kara would return, perhaps it would be a long time and perhapsa short time. He might come back that night or he might not.
　　"You are wasting your young life," said T. X. bitterly. "Youought to be a fortune teller.""This settles the matter," he said, in the cab on the way back.
　　"Find out the first train for Tavistock in the morning and wirethe George Hotel to have a car waiting.""Why not go to-night?" suggested the other. "There is themidnight train. It is rather slow, but it will get you there bysix or seven in the morning.""Too late," he said, "unless you can invent a method of gettingfrom here to Paddington in about fifty seconds."The morning journey to Devonshire was a dispiriting one despitethe fineness of the day. T. X. had an uncomfortable sense thatsomething distressing had happened. The run across the moor inthe fresh spring air revived him a little.
　　As they spun down to the valley of the Dart, Mansus touched hisarm.
　　"Look at that," he said, and pointed to the blue heavens where, amile above their heads, a white-winged aeroplane, looking nolarger than a very distant dragon fly, shimmered in the sunlight.
　　"By Jove!" said T. X. "What an excellent way for a man to escape!""It's about the only way," said Mansus.
　　The significance of the aeroplane was borne in upon T. X. a fewminutes later when he was held up by an armed guard. A glance athis card was enough to pass him.
　　"What is the matter?" he asked.
　　"A prisoner has escaped," said the sentry.
　　"Escaped - by aeroplane?" asked T. X.
　　"I don't know anything about aeroplanes, sir. All I know is thatone of the working party got away."The car came to the gates of the prison and T. X. sprang out,followed by his assistant. He had no difficulty in finding theGovernor, a greatly perturbed man, for an escape is a very seriousmatter.
　　The official was inclined to be brusque in his manner, but againthe magic card produced a soothing effect.
　　"I am rather rattled," said the Governor. "One of my men has gotaway. I suppose you know that?""And I am afraid another of your men is going away, sir," said T.
　　X., who had a curious reverence for military authority. Heproduced his paper and laid it on the governor's table.
　　"This is an order for the release of John Lexman, convicted undersentence of fifteen years penal servitude."The Governor looked at it.
　　"Dated last night," he said, and breathed a long sigh of relief.
　　"Thank the Lord! - that is the man who escaped!"
Chapter 8
    Two years after the events just described, T. X. journeying up toLondon from Bath was attracted by a paragraph in the Morning Post.
　　It told him briefly that Mr. Remington Kara, the influentialleader of the Greek Colony, had been the guest of honor at adinner of the Hellenic Society.
　　T. X. had only seen Kara for a brief space of time following thattragic morning, when he had discovered not only that his bestfriend had escaped from Dartmoor prison and disappeared, as itwere, from the world at a moment when his pardon had been signed,but that that friend's wife had also vanished from the face of theearth.
　　At the same time - it might, as even T. X. admitted, have been theveriest coincidence that Kara had also cleared out of London toreappear at the end of six months. Any question addressed to him,concerning the whereabouts of the two unhappy people, was met witha bland expression of ignorance as to their whereabouts.
　　John Lexman was somewhere in the world, hiding as he believed fromjustice, and with him was his wife. T. X. had no doubt in hismind as to this solution of the puzzle. He had caused to bepublished the story of the pardon and the circumstances underwhich that pardon had been secured, and he had, moreover, arrangedfor an advertisement to be inserted in the principal papers ofevery European country.
　　It was a moot question amongst the departmental lawyers as towhether John Lexman was not guilty of a technical and punishableoffence for prison breaking, but this possibility did not keep T.
　　X. awake at nights. The circumstances of the escape had beencarefully examined. The warder responsible had been dischargedfrom the service, and had almost immediately purchased for himselfa beer house in Falmouth, for a sum which left no doubt in theofficial mind that he had been the recipient of a heavy bribe.
　　Who had been the guiding spirit in that escape - Mrs. Lexman, orKarat?
　　It was impossible to connect Kara with the event. The motor carhad been traced to Exeter, where it had been hired by a"foreign-looking gentleman," but the chauffeur, whoever he was,had made good his escape. An inspection of Kara's hangars atWembley showed that his two monoplanes had not been removed, andT. X. failed entirely to trace the owner of the machine he hadseen flying over Dartmoor on the fatal morning.
　　T. X. was somewhat baffled and a little amused by thedisinclination of the authorities to believe that the escape hadbeen effected by this method at all. All the events of the trialcame back to him, as he watched the landscape spinning past.
　　He set down the newspaper with a little sigh, put his feet on thecushions of the opposite seat and gave himself up to reverie.
　　Presently he returned to his journals and searched them idly forsomething to interest him in the final stretch of journey betweenNewbury and Paddington.
　　Presently he found it in a two column article with the uninspiringtitle, "The Mineral Wealth of Tierra del Fuego." It was writtenbrightly with a style which was at once easy and informative. Ittold of adventures in the marshes behind St. Sebastian Bay andjourneys up the Guarez Celman river, of nights spent in primevalforests and ended in a geological survey, wherein the commercialvalue of syenite, porphyry, trachite and dialite were severallycanvassed.
　　The article was signed "G. G." It is said of T. X. that hisgreatest virtue was his curiosity. He had at the tip of hisfingers the names of all the big explorers and author-travellers,and for some reason he could not place "G. G." to hissatisfaction, in fact he had an absurd desire to interpret theinitials into "George Grossmith." His inability to identify thewriter irritated him, and his first act on reaching his office wasto telephone to one of the literary editors of the Times whom heknew.
　　"Not my department," was the chilly reply, "and besides we nevergive away the names of our contributors. Speaking as a personoutside the office I should say that "G. G." was 'GeorgeGathercole' the explorer you know, the fellow who had an armchewed off by a lion or something.""George Gathercole!" repeated T. X. "What an ass I am.""Yes," said the voice at the other end the wire, and he had rungoff before T. X. could think of something suitable to say.
　　Having elucidated this little side-line of mystery, the matterpassed from the young Commissioner's mind. It happened thatmorning that his work consisted of dealing with John Lexman'sestate.
　　With the disappearance of the couple he had taken over control oftheir belongings. It had not embarrassed him to discover that hewas an executor under Lexman's will, for he had already acted astrustee to the wife's small estate, and had been one of theparties to the ante-nuptial contract which John Lexman had madebefore his marriage.
　　The estate revenues had increased very considerably. All thevanished author's books were selling as they had never soldbefore, and the executor's work was made the heavier by the factthat Grace Lexman had possessed an aunt who had most ininconsiderately died, leaving a considerable fortune to her"unhappy niece.""I will keep the trusteeship another year," he told the solicitorwho came to consult him that morning. "At the end of that time Ishall go to the court for relief.""Do you think they will ever turn up?" asked the solicitor, anelderly and unimaginative man.
　　"Of course, they'll turn up!" said T. X. impatiently; "all theheroes of Lexman's books turn up sooner or later. He willdiscover himself to us at a suitable moment, and we shall beproperly thrilled."That Lexman would return he was sure. It was a faith from whichhe did not swerve.
　　He had as implicit a confidence that one day or other Kara, themagnificent, would play into his hands.
　　There were some queer stories in circulation concerning the Greek,but on the whole they were stories and rumours which weredifficult to separate from the malicious gossip which invariablyattaches itself to the rich and to the successful.
　　One of these was that Kara desired something more than an Albanianchieftainship, which he undoubtedly enjoyed. There were whispersof wider and higher ambitions. Though his father had been born aGreek, he had indubitably descended in a direct line from one ofthose old Mprets of Albania, who had exercised their briefauthority over that turbulent land.
　　The man's passion was for power. To this end he did not sparehimself. It was said that he utilized his vast wealth for thisreason, and none other, and that whatever might have been theirregularities of his youth - and there were adduced concreteinstances - he was working toward an end with a singleness ofpurpose, from which it was difficult to withhold admiration.
　　T. X. kept in his locked desk a little red book, steel bound andtriple locked, which he called his "Scandalaria." In this heinscribed in his own irregular writing the titbits which might notbe published, and which often helped an investigator to light uponthe missing threads of a problem. In truth he scorned no sourceof information, and was conscienceless in the compilation of thissomewhat chaotic record.
　　The affairs of John Lexman recalled Kara, and Kara's greatreception. Mansus would have made arrangements to secure averbatim report of the speeches which were made, and these wouldbe in his hands by the night. Mansus did not tell him that Karawas financing some very influential people indeed, that a certainUnder-secretary of State with a great number of very influentialrelations had been saved from bankruptcy by the timely advanceswhich Kara had made. This T. X. had obtained through sourceswhich might be hastily described as discreditable. Mansus knew ofthe baccarat establishment in Albemarle Street, but he did notknow that the neurotic wife of a very great man indeed, no lessthan the Minister of Justice, was a frequent visitor to thatestablishment, and that she had lost in one night some 6,000pounds. In these circumstances it was remarkable, thought T. X.,that she should report to the police so small a matter as thepetty pilfering of servants. This, however, she had done andwhilst the lesser officers of Scotland Yard were interrogatingpawnbrokers, the men higher up were genuinely worried by thelady's own lapses from grace.
　　It was all sordid but, unfortunately, conventional, because highlyplaced people will always do underbred things, where money orwomen are concerned, but it was necessary, for the proper conductof the department which T. X. directed, that, however sordid andhowever conventional might' be the errors which the great ones ofthe earth committed, they should be filed for reference.
　　The motto which T. X. went upon in life was, "You never know."The Minister of Justice was a very important person, for he was apersonal friend of half the monarchs of Europe. A poor man, withtwo or three thousand a year of his own, with no very definitepolitical views and uncommitted to the more violent policies ofeither party, he succeeded in serving both, with profit tohimself, and without earning the obloquy of either. Though he didnot pursue the blatant policy of the Vicar of Bray, yet it is factwhich may be confirmed from the reader's own knowledge, that heserved in four different administrations, drawing the pay andemoluments of his office from each, though the fundamentalpolicies of those four governments were distinct.
　　Lady Bartholomew, the wife of this adaptable Minister, hadrecently departed for San Remo. The newspapers announced the factand spoke vaguely of a breakdown which prevented the lady fromfulfilling her social engagements.
　　T. X., ever a Doubting Thomas, could trace no visit of nervespecialist, nor yet of the family practitioner, to the officialresidence in Downing Street, and therefore he drew conclusions.
　　In his own "Who's Who" T. X. noted the hobbies of his victimswhich, by the way, did not always coincide with the innocentoccupations set against their names in the more pretentiousvolume. Their follies and their weaknesses found a place and wererecorded at a length (as it might seem to the uninformed observer)beyond the limit which charity allowed.
　　Lady Mary Bartholomew's name appeared not once, but many times, inthe erratic records which T. X. kept. There was a plainmatter-of-fact and wholly unobjectionable statement that she wasborn in 1874, that she was the seventh daughter of the Earl ofBalmorey, that she had one daughter who rejoiced in the somewhatunpromising name of Belinda Mary, and such further information asa man might get without going to a great deal of trouble.
　　T. X.,refreshing his memory from the little red book, wonderedwhat unexpected tragedy had sent Lady Bartholomew out of London inthe middle of the season. The information was that the lady wasfairly well off at this moment, and this fact made matters all themore puzzling and almost induced him to believe that, after all,the story was true, and a nervous breakdown really was the causeof her sudden departure. He sent for Mansus.
　　"You saw Lady Bartholomew off at Charing Cross, I suppose?"Mansus nodded.
　　"She went alone?""She took her maid, but otherwise she was alone. I thought shelooked ill.""She has been looking ill for months past," said T. X., withoutany visible expression of sympathy.
　　"Did she take Belinda Mary?"Mansus was puzzled. "Belinda Mary?" he repeated slowly. "Oh, youmean the daughter. No, she's at a school somewhere in France."T. X. whistled a snatch of a popular song, closed the little redbook with a snap and replaced it in his desk.
　　"I wonder where on earth people dig up names like Belinda Mary?"he mused. "Belinda Mary must be rather a weird little animal -the Lord forgive me for speaking so about my betters! If hereditycounts for anything she ought to be something between a headwaiter and a pack of cards. Have you lost anything'?"Mansus was searching his pockets.
　　"I made a few notes, some questions I wanted to ask you about andLady Bartholomew was the subject of one of them. I have had herunder observation for six months; do you want it kept up?"T. X. thought awhile, then shook his head.
　　"I am only interested in Lady Bartholomew in so far as Kara isinterested in her. There is a criminal for you, my friend!" headded, admiringly.
　　Mansus busily engaged in going through the bundles of letters,slips of paper and little notebooks he had taken from his pocket,sniffed audibly.
　　"Have you a cold?" asked T. X. politely.
　　"No, sir," was the reply, "only I haven't much opinion of Kara asa criminal. Besides, what has he got to be a criminal about? Hehas all that he requires in the money department, he's one of themost popular people in London, and certainly one of thebest-looking men I've ever seen in my life. He needs nothing."T. X. regarded him scornfully.
　　"You're a poor blind brute," he said, shaking his head; don't youknow that great criminals are never influenced by materialdesires, or by the prospect of concrete gains? The man, who robshis employer's till in order to give the girl of his heart the25-pearl and ruby brooch her soul desires, gains nothing but theglow of satisfaction which comes to the man who is thought wellof. The majority of crimes in the world are committed by peoplefor the same reason - they want to be thought well of. Here isDoctor X. who murdered his wife because she was a drunkard and aslut, and he dared not leave her for fear the neighbours wouldhave doubts as to his respectability. Here is another gentlemanwho murders his wives in their baths in order that he should keepup some sort of position and earn the respect of his friends andhis associates. Nothing roused him more quickly to a frenzy ofpassion than the suggestion that he was not respectable. Here isthe great financier, who has embezzled a million and a quarter,not because he needed money, but because people looked up to him.
　　Therefore, he must build great mansions, submarine pleasure courtsand must lay out huge estates - because he wished that he shouldbe thought well of.
　　Mansus sniffed again.
　　"What about the man who half murders his wife, does he do that tobe well thought of?" he asked, with a tinge of sarcasm.
　　T. X. looked at him pityingly.
　　"The low-brow who beats his wife, my poor Mansus," he said, "doesso because she doesn't think well of him. That is our rulingpassion, our national characteristic, the primary cause of mostcrimes, big or little. That is why Kara is a bad criminal andwill, as I say, end his life very violently."He took down his glossy silk hat from the peg and slipped into hisovercoat.
　　"I am going down to see my friend Kara," he said. "I have afeeling that I should like to talk with him. He might tell mesomething."His acquaintance with Kara's menage had been mere hearsay. He hadinterviewed the Greek once after his return, but since all hisefforts to secure information concerning the whereabouts of JohnLexman and his wife - the main reason for his visit been in vain,he had not repeated his visit.
　　The house in Cadogan Square was a large one, occupying a cornersite. It was peculiarly English in appearance with its windowboxes, its discreet curtains, its polished brass and enamelleddoorway. It had been the town house of Lord Henry Gratham, thateccentric connoisseur of wine and follower of witless pleasure.
　　It had been built by him "round a bottle of port," as his friendssaid, meaning thereby that his first consideration had been thecellarage of the house, and that when those cellars had been builtand provision made for the safe storage of his priceless wines,the house had been built without the architect's being greatlytroubled by his lordship. The double cellars of Gratham Househad, in their time, been one of the sights of London. WhenHenry Gratham lay under eight feet of Congo earth (he was killedby an elephant whilst on a hunting trip) his executors had beensingularly fortunate in finding an immediate purchaser. Rumourhad it that Kara, who was no lover of wine, had bricked up thecellars, and their very existence passed into domestic legendary.
　　The door was opened by a well-dressed and deferential man-servantand T. X. was ushered into the hall. A fire burnt cheerily in abronze grate and T. X. had a glimpse of a big oil painting of Karaabove the marble mantle-piece.
　　"Mr. Kara is very busy, sir," said the man.
　　"Just take in my card," said T. X. "I think he may care to seeme."The man bowed, produced from some mysterious corner a silversalver and glided upstairs in that manner which well-trainedservants have, a manner which seems to call for no bodily effort.
　　In a minute he returned.
　　"Will you come this way, sir," he said, and led the way up a broadflight of stairs.
　　At the head of the stairs was a corridor which ran to the left andto the right. From this there gave four rooms. One at theextreme end of the passage on the right, one on the left, and twoat fairly regular intervals in the centre.
　　When the man's hand was on one of the doors, T. X. asked quietly,"I think I have seen you before somewhere, my friend."The man smiled.
　　"It is very possible, sir. I was a waiter at the Constitutionalfor some time."T. X. nodded.
　　"That is where it must have been," he said.
　　The man opened the door and announced the visitor.
　　T. X. found himself in a large room, very handsomely furnished,but just lacking that sense of cosiness and comfort which is thefeature of the Englishman's home.
　　Kara rose from behind a big writing table, and came with a smileand a quick step to greet the visitor.
　　"This is a most unexpected pleasure," he said, and shook handswarmly.
　　T. X. had not seen him for a year and found very little change inthis strange young man. He could not be more confident than hehad been, nor bear himself with a more graceful carriage.
　　Whatever social success he had achieved, it had not spoiled him,for his manner was as genial and easy as ever.
　　"I think that will do, Miss Holland," he said, turning to the girlwho, with notebook in hand, stood by the desk.
　　"Evidently," thought T. X.,"our Hellenic friend has a pretty tastein secretaries."In that one glance he took her all in - from the bronze-brown ofher hair to her neat foot.
　　T. X. was not readily attracted by members of the opposite sex.
　　He was self-confessed a predestined bachelor, finding life and itsincidence too absorbing to give his whole mind to the seriousproblem of marriage, or to contract responsibilities and interestswhich might divert his attention from what he believed was thegreater game. Yet he must be a man of stone to resist thefreshness, the beauty and the youth of this straight, slendergirl; the pink-and-whiteness of her, the aliveness and buoyancyand the thrilling sense of vitality she carried in her verypresence.
　　"What is the weirdest name you have ever heard?" asked Karalaughingly. "I ask you, because Miss Holland and I have beendiscussing a begging letter addressed to us by a Maggie Goomer."The girl smiled slightly and in that smile was paradise, thoughtT. X.
　　"The weirdest name?" he repeated, "why I think the worst I haveheard for a long time is Belinda Mary.""That has a familiar ring," said Kara.
　　T. X. was looking at the girl.
　　She was staring at him with a certain languid insolence which madehim curl up inside. Then with a glance at her employer she sweptfrom the room.
　　"I ought to have introduced you," said Kara. "That was mysecretary, Miss Holland. Rather a pretty girl, isn't she?""Very," said T. X.,recovering his breath.
　　"I like pretty things around me," said Kara, and somehow thecomplacency of the remark annoyed the detective more than anythingthat Kara had ever said to him.
　　The Greek went to the mantlepiece, and taking down a silvercigarette box, opened and offered it to his visitor. Kara waswearing a grey lounge suit; and although grey is a very tryingcolour for a foreigner to wear, this suit fitted his splendidfigure and gave him just that bulk which he needed.
　　"You are a most suspicious man, Mr. Meredith," he smiled.
　　"Suspicious! I?" asked the innocent T. X.
　　Kara nodded.
　　"I am sure you want to enquire into the character of all mypresent staff. I am perfectly satisfied that you will never be atrest until you learn the antecedents of my cook, my valet, mysecretary - "T. X. held up his hand with a laugh.
　　"Spare me," he said. "It is one of my failings, I admit, but Ihave never gone much farther into your domestic affairs than topry into the antecedents of your very interesting chauffeur."A little cloud passed over Kara's face, but it was only momentary.
　　"Oh, Brown," he said, airily, with just a perceptible pausebetween the two words.
　　"It used to be Smith," said T. X.,"but no matter. His name isreally Poropulos.""Oh, Poropulos," said Kara gravely, "I dismissed him a long timeago.""Pensioned hire, too, I understand," said T. X.
　　The other looked at him awhile, then, "I am very good to my oldservants," he said slowly and, changing the subject; "to what goodfortune do I owe this visit?"T. X. selected a cigarette before he replied.
　　"I thought you might be of some service to me," he said,apparently giving his whole attention to the cigarette.
　　"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," said Kara, a littleeagerly. "I am afraid you have not been very keen on continuingwhat I hoped would have ripened into a valuable friendship, morevaluable to me perhaps," he smiled, "than to you.""I am a very shy man," said the shameless T. X., "difficult to afault, and rather apt to underrate my social attractions. I havecome to you now because you know everybody - by the way, how longhave you had your secretary!" he asked abruptly.
　　Kara looked up at the ceiling for inspiration.
　　"Four, no three months," he corrected, "a very efficient younglady who came to me from one of the training establishments.
　　Somewhat uncommunicative, better educated than most girls in herposition - for example, she speaks and writes modern Greek fairlywell.""A treasure!" suggested T. X.
　　"Unusually so," said Kara. "She lives in Marylebone Road, 86a isthe address. She has no friends, spends most of her evenings inher room, is eminently respectable and a little chilling in herattitude to her employer."T. X. shot a swift glance at the other.
　　"Why do you tell me all this?" he asked.
　　"To save you the trouble of finding out," replied the othercoolly. "That insatiable curiosity which is one of the equipmentsof your profession, would, I feel sure, induce you to conductinvestigations for your own satisfaction."T. X. laughed.
　　"May I sit down?" he said.
　　The other wheeled an armchair across the room and T. X. sank intoit. He leant back and crossed his legs, and was, in a second, thepersonification of ease.
　　"I think you are a very clever man, Monsieur Kara," he said.
　　The other looked down at him this time without amusement.
　　"Not so clever that I can discover the object of your visit," hesaid pleasantly enough.
　　"It is very simply explained," said T. X. "You know everybody intown. You know, amongst other people, Lady Bartholomew.""I know the lady very well indeed," said Kara, readily, - tooreadily in fact, for the rapidity with which answer had followedquestion, suggested to T. X. that Kara had anticipated the reasonfor the call.
　　"Have you any idea," asked T. X., speaking with deliberation, "asto why Lady Bartholomew has gone out of town at this particularmoment?"Kara laughed.
　　"What an extraordinary question to ask me - as though LadyBartholomew confided her plans to one who is little more than achance acquaintance!""And yet," said T. X., contemplating the burning end of hiscigarette, "you know her well enough to hold her promissory note.""Promissory note?" asked the other.
　　His tone was one of involuntary surprise and T. X. swore softly tohimself for now he saw the faintest shade of relief in Kara'sface. The Commissioner realized that he had committed an error -he had been far too definite.
　　"When I say promissory note," he went on easily, as though he hadnoticed nothing, "I mean, of course, the securities which thedebtor invariably gives to one from whom he or she has borrowedlarge sums of money."Kara made no answer, but opening a drawer of his desk he took outa key and brought it across to where T. X. was sitting.
　　"Here is the key of my safe," he said quietly. "You are atliberty to go carefully through its contents and discover foryourself any promissory note which I hold from Lady Bartholomew.
　　My dear fellow, you don't imagine I'm a moneylender, do you?" hesaid in an injured tone.
　　"Nothing was further from my thoughts," said T. X., untruthfully.
　　But the other pressed the key upon him.
　　"I should be awfully glad if you would look for yourself," he saidearnestly. "I feel that in some way you associate LadyBartholomew's illness with some horrible act of usury on my part -will you satisfy yourself and in doing so satisfy me?"Now any ordinary man, and possibly any ordinary detective, wouldhave made the conventional answer. He would have protested thathe had no intention of doing anything of the sort; he would haveuttered, if he were a man in the position which T. X. occupied,the conventional statement that he had no authority to search theprivate papers, and that he would certainly not avail himself ofthe other's kindness. But T. X. was not an ordinary person. Hetook the key and balanced it lightly in the palm of his hand.
　　"Is this the key of the famous bedroom safe?" he said banteringly.
　　Kara was looking down at him with a quizzical smile. "It isn'tthe safe you opened in my absence, on one memorable occasion, Mr.
　　Meredith," he said. "As you probably know, I have changed thatsafe, but perhaps you don't feel equal to the task?""On the contrary," said T. X.,calmly, and rising from the chair,"I am going to put your good faith to the test."For answer Kara walked to the door and opened it.
　　"Let me show you the way," he said politely.
　　He passed along the corridor and entered the apartment at the end.
　　The room was a large one and lighted by one big square windowwhich was protected by steel bars. In the grate which was broadand high a huge fire was burning and the temperature of the roomwas unpleasantly close despite the coldness of the day.
　　"That is one of the eccentricities which you, as an Englishman,will never excuse in me," said Kara.
　　Near the foot of the bed, let into, and flush with, the wall, wasa big green door of the safe.
　　"Here you are, Mr. Meredith," said Kara. "All the precioussecrets of Remington Kara are yours for the seeking.""I am afraid I've had my trouble for nothing," said T. X., makingno attempt to use the key.
　　"That is an opinion which I share," said Kara, with a smile.
　　"Curiously enough," said T. X. "I mean just what you mean."He handed the key to Kara.
　　"Won't you open it?" asked the Greek.
　　T. X. shook his head.
　　"The safe as far as I can see is a Magnus, the key which you havebeen kind enough to give me is legibly inscribed upon the handle'Chubb.' My experience as a police officer has taught me thatChubb keys very rarely open Magnus safes."Kara uttered an exclamation of annoyance.
　　"How stupid of me!" he said, "yet now I remember, I sent the keyto my bankers, before I went out of town - I only came back thismorning, you know. I will send for it at once.""Pray don't trouble," murmured T. X. politely. He took from hispocket a little flat leather case and opened it. It contained anumber of steel implements of curious shape which were held inposition by a leather loop along the centre of the case. From oneof these loops he extracted a handle, and deftly fitted somethingthat looked like a steel awl to the socket in the handle. Lookingin wonder, and with no little apprehension, Kara saw that the awlwas bent at the head.
　　"What are you going to do?" he asked, a little alarmed.
　　"I'll show you," said T. X. pleasantly.
　　Very gingerly he inserted the instrument in the small keyhole andturned it cautiously first one way and then the other. There wasa sharp click followed by another. He turned the handle and thedoor of the safe swung open.
　　"Simple, isn't it!" he asked politely.
　　In that second of time Kara's face had undergone a transformation.
　　The eyes which met T. X. Meredith's blazed with an almost insanefury. With a quick stride Kara placed himself before the opensafe.
　　"I think this has gone far enough, Mr. Meredith," he said harshly.
　　"If you wish to search my safe you must get a warrant."T. X. shrugged his shoulders, and carefully unscrewing theinstrument he had employed and replacing it in the case, hereturned it to his inside pocket.
　　"It was at your invitation, my dear Monsieur Kara," he saidsuavely. "Of course I knew that you were putting a bluff up on mewith the key and that you had no more intention of letting me seethe inside of your safe than you had of telling me exactly whathappened to John Lexman."The shot went home.
　　The face which was thrust into the Commissioner's was ridged andveined with passion. The lips were turned back to show the bigwhite even teeth, the eyes were narrowed to slits, the jaw thrustout, and almost every semblance of humanity had vanished from hisface.
　　"You - you - " he hissed, and his clawing hands moved suspiciouslybackward.
　　"Put up your hands," said T. X. sharply, "and be damned quickabout it!"In a flash the hands went up, for the revolver which T. X. heldwas pressed uncomfortably against the third button of the Greek'swaistcoat.
　　"That's not the first time you've been asked to put up your hands,I think," said T. X. pleasantly.
　　His own left hand slipped round to Kara's hip pocket. He foundsomething in the shape of a cylinder and drew it out from thepocket. To his surprise it was not a revolver, not even a knife;it looked like a small electric torch, though instead of a bulband a bull's-eye glass, there was a pepper-box perforation at oneend.
　　He handled it carefully and was about to press the small nickelknob when a strangled cry of horror broke from Kara.
　　"For God's sake be careful!" he gasped. "You're pointing it atme! Do not press that lever, I beg!""Will it explode!" asked T. X. curiously.
　　"No, no!"T. X. pointed the thing downward to the carpet and pressed theknob cautiously. As he did so there was a sharp hiss and thefloor was stained with the liquid which the instrument contained.
　　Just one gush of fluid and no more. T. X. looked down. Thebright carpet had already changed colour, and was smoking. Theroom was filled with a pungent and disagreeable scent. T. X.
　　looked from the floor to the white-faced man.
　　"Vitriol, I believe," he said, shaking his head admiringly. "Whata dear little fellow you are!"The man, big as he was, was on the point of collapse and mumbledsomething about self-defence, and listened without a word, whilstT. X.,labouring under an emotion which was perfectly pardonable,described Kara, his ancestors and the possibilities of his futureestate.
　　Very slowly the Greek recovered his self-possession.
　　"I didn't intend using it on you, I swear I didn't," he pleaded.
　　"I'm surrounded by enemies, Meredith. I had to carry some meansof protection. It is because my enemies know I carry this thatthey fight shy of me. I'll swear I had no intention of using iton you. The idea is too preposterous. I am sorry I fooled youabout the safe.""Don't let that worry you," said T. X. "I am afraid I did all thefooling. No, I cannot let you have this back again," he said, asthe Greek put out his hand to take the infernal little instrument.
　　"I must take this back to Scotland Yard; it's quite a long timesince we had anything new in this shape. Compressed air, Ipresume."Kara nodded solemnly.
　　"Very ingenious indeed," said T. X. "If I had a brain like yours,"he paused, "I should do something with it - with a gun," he added,as he passed out of the room.
Chapter 9
    "My dear Mr. Meredith,"I cannot tell you how unhappy and humiliated I feel that mylittle joke with you should have had such an uncomfortableending. As you know, and as I have given you proof, I have thegreatest admiration in the world for one whose work forhumanity has won such universal recognition.
　　"I hope that we shall both forget this unhappy morning and thatyou will give me an opportunity of rendering to you in person,the apologies which are due to you. I feel that anything lesswill neither rehabilitate me in your esteem, nor secure for methe remnants of my shattered self-respect.
　　"I am hoping you will dine with me next week and meet a mostinteresting man, George Gathercole, who has just returned fromPatagonia, - I only received his letter this morning - havingmade most remarkable discoveries concerning that country.
　　"I feel sure that you are large enough minded and too much a manof the world to allow my foolish fit of temper to disturb arelationship which I have always hoped would be mutuallypleasant. If you will allow Gathercole, who will beunconscious of the part he is playing, to act as peacemakerbetween yourself and myself, I shall feel that his trip, whichhas cost me a large sum of money, will not have been wasted.
　　"I am, dear Mr. Meredith,"Yours very sincerely,"REMINGTON KARA."Kara folded the letter and inserted it in its envelope. He rang abell on his table and the girl who had so filled T. X. with asense of awe came from an adjoining room.
　　"You will see that this is delivered, Miss Holland."She inclined her head and stood waiting. Kara rose from his deskand began to pace the room.
　　"Do you know T. X. Meredith?" he asked suddenly.
　　"I have heard of him," said the girl.
　　"A man with a singular mind," said Kara; "a man against whom myfavourite weapon would fail."She looked at him with interest in her eyes.
　　"What is your favourite weapon, Mr. Kara?" she asked.
　　"Fear," he said.
　　If he expected her to give him any encouragement to proceed he wasdisappointed. Probably he required no such encouragement, for inthe presence of his social inferiors he was somewhat monopolizing.
　　"Cut a man's flesh and it heals," he said. "Whip a man and thememory of it passes, frighten him, fill him with a sense offoreboding and apprehension and let him believe that somethingdreadful is going to happen either to himself or to someone heloves - better the latter - and you will hurt him beyondforgetfulness. Fear is a tyrant and a despot, more terrible thanthe rack, more potent than the stake. Fear is many-eyed and seeshorrors where normal vision only sees the ridiculous.""Is that your creed?" she asked quietly.
　　"Part of it, Miss Holland," he smiled.
　　She played idly with the letter she held in her hand, balancing iton the edge of the desk, her eyes downcast.
　　"What would justify the use of such an awful weapon?" she asked.
　　"It is amply justified to secure an end," he said blandly. "Forexample - I want something - I cannot obtain that somethingthrough the ordinary channel or by the employment of ordinarymeans. It is essential to me, to my happiness, to my comfort, ormy amour-propre, that that something shall be possessed by me. IfI can buy it, well and good. If I can buy those who can use theirinfluence to secure this thing for me, so much the better. If Ican obtain it by any merit I possess, I utilize that merit,providing always, that I can secure my object in the time,otherwise"He shrugged his shoulders.
　　"I see," she said, nodding her head quickly. "I suppose that ishow blackmailers feel."He frowned.
　　"That is a word I never use, nor do I like to hear it employed,"he said. "Blackmail suggests to me a vulgar attempt to obtainmoney.""Which is generally very badly wanted by the people who use it,"said the girl, with a little smile, "and, according to yourargument, they are also justified.""It is a matter of plane," he said airily. "Viewed from mystandpoint, they are sordid criminals - the sort of person that T.
　　X. meets, I presume, in the course of his daily work. T. X., hewent on somewhat oracularly, "is a man for whom I have a greatdeal of respect. You will probably meet him again, for he willfind an opportunity of asking you a few questions about myself. Ineed hardly tell you - "He lifted his shoulders with a deprecating smile.
　　"I shall certainly not discuss your business with any person,"said the girl coldly.
　　"I am paying you 3 pounds a week, I think," he said. "I intendincreasing that to 5 pounds because you suit me most admirably.""Thank you," said the girl quietly, "but I am already being paidquite sufficient."She left him, a little astonished and not a little ruffled.
　　To refuse the favours of Remington Kara was, by him, regarded assomething of an affront. Half his quarrel with T. X. was thatgentleman's curious indifference to the benevolent attitude whichKara had persistently adopted in his dealings with the detective.
　　He rang the bell, this time for his valet.
　　"Fisher," he said, "I am expecting a visit from a gentleman namedGathercole - a one-armed gentleman whom you must look after if hecomes. Detain him on some pretext or other because he is ratherdifficult to get hold of and I want to see him. I am going outnow and I shall be back at 6.30. Do whatever you can to preventhim going away until I return. He will probably be interested ifyou take him into the library.""Very good, sir," said the urbane Fisher, "will you change beforeyou go out?"Kara shook his head.
　　"I think I will go as I am," he said. "Get me my fur coat. Thisbeastly cold kills me," he shivered as he glanced into the bleakstreet. "Keep my fire going, put all my private letters in mybedroom, and see that Miss Holland has her lunch."Fisher followed him to his car, wrapped the fur rug about hislegs, closed the door carefully and returned to the house. Fromthence onward his behaviour was somewhat extraordinary for awell-bred servant. That he should return to Kara's study and setthe papers in order was natural and proper.
　　That he should conduct a rapid examination of all the drawers inKara's desk might be excused on the score of diligence, since hewas, to some extent, in the confidence of his employer.
　　Kara was given to making friends of his servants - up to a point.
　　In his more generous moments he would address his bodyguard as"Fred," and on more occasions than one, and for no apparentreason, had tipped his servant over and above his salary.
　　Mr. Fred Fisher found little to reward him for his search until hecame upon Kara's cheque book which told him that on the previousday the Greek had drawn 6,000 pounds in cash from the bank. Thisinterested him mightily and he replaced the cheque book with thetightened lips and the fixed gaze of a man who was thinkingrapidly. He paid a visit to the library, where the secretary wasengaged in making copies of Kara's correspondence, answeringletters appealing for charitable donations, and in the hack wordswhich fall to the secretaries of the great.
　　He replenished the fire, asked deferentially for any instructionsand returned again to his quest. This time he made the bedroomthe scene of his investigations. The safe he did not attempt totouch, but there was a small bureau in which Kara would haveplaced his private correspondence of the morning. This howeveryielded no result.
　　By the side of the bed on a small table was a telephone, the sightof which apparently afforded the servant a little amusement. Thiswas the private 'phone which Kara had been instrumental in havingfixed to Scotland Yard - as he had explained to his servants.
　　"Rum cove," said Fisher.
　　He paused for a moment before the closed door of the room andsmilingly surveyed the great steel latch which spanned the doorand fitted into an iron socket securely screwed to the framework.
　　He lifted it gingerly - there was a little knob for the purpose -and let it fall gently into the socket which had been made toreceive it on the door itself.
　　"Rum cove," he said again, and lifting the latch to the hook whichheld it up, left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Hewalked down the corridor, with a meditative frown, and began todescend the stairs to the hall.
　　He was less than half-way down when the one maid of Kara'shousehold came up to meet him.
　　"There's a gentleman who wants to see Mr. Kara," she said, "hereis his card."Fisher took the card from the salver and read, "Mr. GeorgeGathercole, Junior Travellers' Club.""I'll see this gentleman," he said, with a sudden brisk interest.
　　He found the visitor standing in the hall.
　　He was a man who would have attracted attention, if only from thesomewhat eccentric nature of his dress and his unkempt appearance.
　　He was dressed in a well-worn overcoat of a somewhat pronouncedcheck, he had a top-hat, glossy and obviously new, at the back ofhis head, and the lower part of his face was covered by a raggedbeard. This he was plucking with nervous jerks, talking tohimself the while, and casting a disparaging eye upon the portraitof Remington Kara which hung above the marble fireplace. A pairof pince-nez sat crookedly on his nose and two fat volumes underhis arm completed the picture. Fisher, who was an observer ofsome discernment, noticed under the overcoat a creased blue suit,large black boots and a pair of pearl studs.
　　The newcomer glared round at the valet.
　　"Take these!" he ordered peremptorily, pointing to the books underhis arm.
　　Fisher hastened to obey and noted with some wonder that thevisitor did not attempt to assist him either by loosening his holdof the volumes or raising his hand. Accidentally the valet's handpressed against the other's sleeve and he received a shock, forthe forearm was clearly an artificial one. It was against awooden surface beneath the sleeve that his knuckles struck, andthis view of the stranger's infirmity was confirmed when the otherreached round with his right hand, took hold of the gloved lefthand and thrust it into the pocket of his overcoat.
　　"Where is Kara?" growled the stranger.
　　"He will be back very shortly, sir," said the urbane Fisher.
　　"Out, is he?" boomed the visitor. "Then I shan't wait. What thedevil does he mean by being out? He's had three years to be out!""Mr. Kara expects you, sir. He told me he would be in at sixo'clock at the latest.""Six o'clock, ye gods'." stormed the man impatiently. "What dogam I that I should wait till six?"He gave a savage little tug at his beard.
　　"Six o'clock, eh? You will tell Mr. Kara that I called. Give methose books.""But I assure you, sir, - " stammered Fisher.
　　"Give me those books!" roared the other.
　　Deftly he lifted his left hand from the pocket, crooked the elbowby some quick manipulation, and thrust the books, which the valetmost reluctantly handed to him, back to the place from whence hehad taken them.
　　"Tell Mr. Kara I will call at my own time - do you understand, atmy own time. Good morning to you.""If you would only wait, sir," pleaded the agonized Fisher.
　　"Wait be hanged," snarled the other. "I've waited three years, Itell you. Tell Mr. Kara to expect me when he sees me!"He went out and most unnecessarily banged the door behind him.
　　Fisher went back to the library. The girl was sealing up someletters as he entered and looked up.
　　"I am afraid, Miss Holland, I've got myself into very serioustrouble.""What is that, Fisher!" asked the girl.
　　"There was a gentleman coming to see Mr. Kara, whom Mr. Karaparticularly wanted to see.""Mr. Gathercole," said the girl quickly.
　　Fisher nodded.
　　"Yes, miss, I couldn't get him to stay though."She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
　　"Mr. Kara will be very cross, but I don't see how you can help it.
　　I wish you had called me,""He never gave a chance, miss," said Fisher, with a little smile,"but if he comes again I'll show him straight up to you."She nodded.
　　"Is there anything you want; miss?" he asked as he stood at thedoor.
　　"What time did Mr. Kara say he would be back?""At six o'clock, miss," the man replied.
　　"There is rather an important letter here which has to bedelivered.""Shall I ring up for a messenger?""No, I don't think that would be advisable. You had better takeit yourself."Kara was in the habit of employing Fisher as a confidentialmessenger when the occasion demanded such employment.
　　"I will go with pleasure, miss," he said.
　　It was a heaven-sent opportunity for Fisher, who had beeninventing some excuse for leaving the house. She handed him theletter and he read without a droop of eyelid the superscription"T. X. Meredith, Esq., Special Service Dept., Scotland Yard,Whitehall."He put it carefully in his pocket and went from the room tochange. Large as the house was Kara did not employ a regularstaff of servants. A maid and a valet comprised the whole of theindoor staff. His cook, and the other domestics, necessary forconducting an establishment of that size, were engaged by the day.
　　Kara had returned from the country earlier than had beenanticipated, and, save for Fisher, the only other person in thehouse beside the girl, was the middle-aged domestic who wasparlour-maid, serving-maid and housekeeper in one.
　　Miss Holland sat at her desk to all appearance reading over theletters she had typed that afternoon but her mind was very farfrom the correspondence before her. She heard the soft thud ofthe front door closing, and rising she crossed the room rapidlyand looked down through the window to the street. She watchedFisher until he was out of sight; then she descended to the halland to the kitchen.
　　It was not the first visit she had made to the big undergroundroom with its vaulted roof and its great ranges - which wereseldom used nowadays, for Kara gave no dinners.
　　The maid - who was also cook - arose up as the girl entered.
　　"It's a sight for sore eyes to see you in my kitchen, miss," shesmiled.
　　"I'm afraid you're rather lonely, Mrs. Beale," said the girlsympathetically.
　　"Lonely, miss!" cried the maid. "I fairly get the creeps sittinghere hour after hour. It's that door that gives me the hump."She pointed to the far end of the kitchen to a soiled looking doorof unpainted wood.
　　"That's Mr. Kara's wine cellar - nobody's been in it but him. Iknow he goes in sometimes because I tried a dodge that my brother- who's a policeman - taught me. I stretched a bit of whitecotton across it an' it was broke the next morning.""Mr. Kara keeps some of his private papers in there," said thegirl quietly, "he has told me so himself.""H'm," said the woman doubtfully, "I wish he'd brick it up - thesame as he has the lower cellar - I get the horrors sittin' hereat night expectin' the door to open an' the ghost of the mad lordto come out - him that was killed in Africa."Miss Holland laughed.
　　"I want you to go out now," she said, "I have no stamps."Mrs. Beale obeyed with alacrity and whilst she was assuming a hat- being desirous of maintaining her prestige as housekeeper in theeyes of Cadogan Square, the girl ascended to the upper floor.
　　Again she watched from the window the disappearing figure.
　　Once out of sight Miss Holland went to work with a remarkabledeliberation and thoroughness. From her bag she produced a smallpurse and opened it. In that case was a new steel key. Shepassed swiftly down the corridor to Kara's room and made straightfor the safe.
　　In two seconds it was open and she was examining its contents. Itwas a large safe of the usual type. There were four steel drawersfitted at the back and at the bottom of the strong box. Two ofthese were unlocked and contained nothing more interesting thanaccounts relating to Kara's estate in Albania.
　　The top pair were locked. She was prepared for this contingencyand a second key was as efficacious as the first. An examinationof the first drawer did not produce all that she had expected.
　　She returned the papers to the drawer, pushed it to and locked it.
　　She gave her attention to the second drawer. Her hand shook alittle as she pulled it open. It was her last chance, her lasthope.
　　There were a number of small jewel-boxes almost filling thedrawer. She took them out one by one and at the bottom she foundwhat she had been searching for and that which had filled herthoughts for the past three months.
　　It was a square case covered in red morocco leather. She insertedher shaking hand and took it out with a triumphant little cry.
　　"At last," she said aloud, and then a hand grasped her wrist andin a panic she turned to meet the smiling face of Kara.
Chapter 10
    She felt her knees shake under her and thought she was going toswoon. She put out her disengaged hand to steady herself, and ifthe face which was turned to him was pale, there was a steadfastresolution in her dark eyes.
　　"Let me relieve you of that, Miss Holland," said Kara, in hissilkiest tones.
　　He wrenched rather than took the box from her hand, replaced itcarefully in the drawer, pushed the drawer to and locked it,examining the key as he withdrew it. Then he closed the safe andlocked that.
　　"Obviously," he said presently, "I must get a new safe."He had not released his hold of her wrist nor did he, until he hadled her from the room back to the library. Then he released thegirl, standing between her and the door, with folded arms and thatcynical, quiet, contemptuous smile of his upon his handsome face.
　　"There are many courses which I can adopt," he said slowly. "Ican send for the police - when my servants whom you havedespatched so thoughtfully have returned, or I can take yourpunishment into my own hands.""So far as I am concerned," said the girl coolly, "you may sendfor the police."She leant back against the edge of the desk, her hands holding theedge, and faced him without so much as a quaver.
　　"I do not like the police," mused Kara, when there came a knock atthe door.
　　Kara turned and opened it and after a low strained conversation hereturned, closing the door and laid a paper of stamps on thegirl's table.
　　"As I was saying, I do not care for the police, and I prefer myown method. In this particular instance the police obviouslywould not serve me, because you are not afraid of them and in allprobability you are in their pay - am I right in supposing thatyou are one of Mr. T. X. Meredith's accomplices!""I do not know Mr. T. X. Meredith," she replied calmly, "and I amnot in any way associated with the police.""Nevertheless," he persisted, "you do not seem to be very scaredof them and that removes any temptation I might have to place youin the hands of the law. Let me see," he pursed his lips as heapplied his mind to the problem.
　　She half sat, half stood, watching him without any evidence ofapprehension, but with a heart which began to quake a little. Forthree months she had played her part and the strain had beengreater than she had confessed to herself. Now the great momenthad come and she had failed. That was the sickening, maddeningthing about it all. It was not the fear of arrest or ofconviction, which brought a sinking to her heart; it was thedespair of failure, added to a sense of her helplessness againstthis man.
　　"If I had you arrested your name would appear in all the papers,of course," he said, narrowly, "and your photograph would probablyadorn the Sunday journals," he added expectantly.
　　She laughed.
　　"That doesn't appeal to me," she said.
　　"I am afraid it doesn't," he replied, and strolled towards her asthough to pass her on his way to the window. He was abreast ofher when he suddenly swung round and catching her in his arms hecaught her close to him. Before she could realise what heplanned, he had stooped swiftly and kissed her full upon themouth.
　　"If you scream, I shall kiss you again," he said, "for I have sentthe maid to buy some more stamps - to the General Post Office.""Let me go," she gasped.
　　Now for the first time he saw the terror in her eyes, and theresurged within him that mad sense of triumph, that intoxication ofpower which had been associated with the red letter days of hiswarped life.
　　"You're afraid!" he bantered her, half whispering the words,"you're afraid now, aren't you? If you scream I shall kiss youagain, do you hear?""For God's sake, let me go," she whispered.
　　He felt her shaking in his arms, and suddenly he released her witha little laugh, and she sank trembling from head to foot upon thechair by her desk.
　　"Now you're going to tell me who sent you here," he went onharshly, "and why you came. I never suspected you. I thought youwere one of those strange creatures one meets in England, agentlewoman who prefers working for her living to the more simplebusiness of getting married. And all the time you were spying -clever - very clever!"The girl was thinking rapidly. In five minutes Fisher wouldreturn. Somehow she had faith in Fisher's ability and willingnessto save her from a situation which she realized was fraught withthe greatest danger to herself. She was horribly afraid. Sheknew this man far better than he suspected, realized the treacheryand the unscrupulousness of him. She knew he would stop short ofnothing, that he was without honour and without a single attributeof goodness.
　　He must have read her thoughts for he came nearer and stood overher.
　　"You needn't shrink, my young friend," he said with a littlechuckle. "You are going to do just what I want you to do, andyour first act will be to accompany me downstairs. Get up."He half lifted, half dragged her to her feet and led her from theroom. They descended to the hall together and the girl spoke noword. Perhaps she hoped that she might wrench herself free andmake her escape into the street, but in this she was disappointed.
　　The grip about her arm was a grip of steel and she knew safety didnot lie in that direction. She pulled back at the head of thestairs that led down to the kitchen.
　　"Where are you taking me?" she asked.
　　"I am going to put you into safe custody," he said. "On the wholeI think it is best that the police take this matter in hand and Ishall lock you into my wine cellar and go out in search of apoliceman."The big wooden door opened, revealing a second door and this Karaunbolted. She noticed that both doors were sheeted with steel,the outer on the inside, and the inner door on the outside. Shehad no time to make any further observations for Kara thrust herinto the darkness. He switched on a light.
　　"I will not deny you that," he said, pushing her back as she madea frantic attempt to escape. He swung the outer door to as sheraised her voice in a piercing scream, and clapping his hand overher mouth held her tightly for a moment.
　　"I have warned you," he hissed.
　　She saw his face distorted with rage. She saw Kara transfiguredwith devilish anger, saw that handsome, almost godlike countenancethrust into hers, flushed and seamed with malignity and ahatefulness beyond understanding and then her senses left her andshe sank limp and swooning into his arms.
　　When she recovered consciousness she found herself lying on aplain stretcher bed. She sat up suddenly. Kara had gone and thedoor was closed. The cellar was dry and clean and its walls wereenamelled white. Light was supplied by two electric lamps in theceiling. There was a table and a chair and a small washstand, andair was evidently supplied through unseen ventilators. It wasindeed a prison and no less, and in her first moments of panic shefound herself wondering whether Kara had used this undergrounddungeon of his before for a similar purpose.
　　She examined the room carefully. At the farthermost end wasanother door and this she pushed gently at first and thenvigorously without producing the slightest impression. She stillhad her bag, a small affair of black moire, which hung from herbelt, in which was nothing more formidable than a penknife, asmall bottle of smelling salts and a pair of scissors. The lattershe had used for cutting out those paragraphs from the dailynewspapers which referred to Kara's movements.
　　They would make a formidable weapon, and wrapping her handkerchiefround the handle to give it a better grip she placed it on thetable within reach. She was dimly conscious all the time that shehad heard something about this wine cellar - something which, ifshe could recollect it, would be of service to her.
　　Then in a flash she remembered that there was a lower cellar,which according to Mrs. Beale was never used and was bricked up.
　　It was approached from the outside, down a circular flight ofstairs. There might be a way out from that direction and wouldthere not be some connection between the upper cellar and thelower!
　　She set to work to make a closer examination of the apartment.
　　The floor was of concrete, covered with a light rush matting.
　　This she carefully rolled up, starting at the door. One half ofthe floor was uncovered without revealing the existence of anytrap. She attempted to pull the table into the centre of theroom, better to roll the matting, but found it fixed to the wall,and going down on her knees, she discovered that it had been fixedafter the matting had been laid.
　　Obviously there was no need for the fixture and, she tapped thefloor with her little knuckle. Her heart started racing. Thesound her knocking gave forth was a hollow one. She sprang up,took her bag from the table, opened the little penknife and cutcarefully through the thin rushes. She might have to replace thematting and it was necessary she should do her work tidily.
　　Soon the whole of the trap was revealed. There was an iron ring,which fitted flush with the top and which she pulled. The trapyielded and swung back as though there were a counterbalance atthe other end, as indeed there was. She peered down. There was adim light below -the reflection of a light in the distance. Aflight of steps led down to the lower level and after a second'shesitation she swung her legs over the cavity and began herdescent.
　　She was in a cellar slightly smaller than that above her. Thelight she had seen came from an inner apartment which would beunderneath the kitchen of the house. She made her way cautiouslyalong, stepping on tip-toe. The first of the rooms she came towas well-furnished. There was a thick carpet on the floor,comfortable easy-chairs, a little bookcase well filled, and areading lamp. This must be Kara's underground study, where hekept his precious papers.
　　A smaller room gave from this and again it was doorless. Shelooked in and after her eyes had become accustomed to the darknessshe saw that it was a bathroom handsomely fitted.
　　The room she was in was also without any light which came from thefarthermost chamber. As the girl strode softly across thewell-carpeted room she trod on something hard. She stooped andfelt along the floor and her fingers encountered a thin steelchain. The girl was bewildered-almost panic-stricken. She shrunkback from the entrance of the inner room, fearful of what shewould see. And then from the interior came a sound that made hertingle with horror.
　　It was a sound of a sigh, long and trembling. She set her teethand strode through the doorway and stood for a moment staring withopen eyes and mouth at what she saw.
　　"My God!" she breathed, "London' . . . . in the twentiethcentury . . . !"
Chapter 11
    Superintendent Mansus had a little office in Scotland Yard proper,which, he complained, was not so much a private bureau, as awaiting-room to which repaired every official of the policeservice who found time hanging on his hands. On the afternoon ofMiss Holland's surprising adventure, a plainclothes man of "D"Division brought to Mr. Mansus's room a very scared domesticservant, voluble, tearful and agonizingly penitent. It was a moodnot wholly unfamiliar to a police officer of twenty yearsexperience and Mr. Mansus was not impressed.
　　"If you will kindly shut up," he said, blending his naturalpoliteness with his employment of the vernacular, "and if you willalso answer a few questions I will save you a lot of trouble. Youwere Lady Bartholomew's maid weren't you?""Yes, sir," sobbed the red-eyed Mary Ann.
　　"And you have been detected trying to pawn a gold bracelet, theproperty of Lady Bartholomew?"The maid gulped, nodded and started breathlessly upon a recital ofher wrongs.
　　"Yes, sir - but she practically gave it to me, sir, and I haven'thad my wages for two months, sir, and she can give that foreignerthousands and thousands of pounds at a time, sir, but her poorservants she can't pay - no, she can't. And if Sir William knewespecially about my lady's cards and about the snuffbox, whatwould he think, I wonder, and I'm going to have my rights, for ifshe can pay thousands to a swell like Mr. Kara she can pay meand - "Mansus jerked his head.
　　"Take her down to the cells," he said briefly, and they led heraway, a wailing, woeful figure of amateur larcenist.
　　In three minutes Mansus was with T. X. and had reduced the girl'sincoherence to something like order.
　　"This is important," said T. X.; "produce the Abigail.""The - ?" asked the puzzled officer.
　　"The skivvy - slavey - hired help - get busy," said T. X.
　　impatiently.
　　They brought her to T. X. in a condition bordering upon collapse.
　　"Get her a cup of tea," said the wise chief. "Sit down, Mary Ann,and forget all your troubles.""Oh, sir, I've never been in this position before," she began, asshe flopped into the chair they put for her.
　　"Then you've had a very tiring time," said T. X. "Now listen - ""I've been respectable - ""Forget it!" said T. X., wearily. "Listen! If you'll tell methe whole truth about Lady Bartholomew and the money she paid toMr. Kara - ""Two thousand pounds - two separate thousand and by all accounts-""If you will tell me the truth, I'll compound a felony and let yougo free."It was a long time before he could prevail upon her to clear herspeech of the ego which insisted upon intruding. There were gapsin her narrative which he bridged. In the main it was abelievable story. Lady Bartholomew had lost money and hadborrowed from Kara. She had given as security, the snuffboxpresented to her husband's father, a doctor, by one of the Czarsfor services rendered, and was "all blue enamel and gold, andforeign words in diamonds." On the question of the amount LadyBartholomew had borrowed, Abigail was very vague. All that sheknew was that my lady had paid back two thousand pounds and thatshe was still very distressed ("in a fit" was the phrase the girlused), because apparently Kara refused to restore the box.
　　There had evidently been terrible scenes in the Bartholomewmenage, hysterics and what not, the principal breakdown havingoccurred when Belinda Mary came home from school in France.
　　"Miss Bartholomew is home then. Where is she?" asked T. X.
　　Here the girl was more vague than ever. She thought the younglady had gone back again, anyway Miss Belinda had been very muchupset. Miss Belinda had seen Dr. Williams and advised that hermother should go away for a change.
　　"Miss Belinda seems to be a precocious young person," said T. X.
　　"Did she by any chance see Mr. Kara?""Oh, no," explained the girl. "Miss Belinda was above that sortof person. Miss Belinda was a lady, if ever there was one.""And how old is this interesting young woman?" asked T. X.
　　curiously.
　　"She is nineteen," said the girl, and the Commissioner, who hadpictured Belinda in short plaid frocks and long pigtails, and hadmoreover visualised her as a freckled little girl with thin legsand snub nose, was abashed.
　　He delivered a short lecture on the sacred rights of property,paid the girl the three months' wages which were due to her - hehad no doubt as to the legality of her claim - and dismissed herwith instructions to go back to the house, pack her box and clearout.
　　After the girl had gone, T. X. sat down to consider the position.
　　He might see Kara and since Kara had expressed his contrition andwas probably in a more humble state of mind, he might makereparation. Then again he might not. Mansus was waiting and T.
　　X. walked back with him to his little office.
　　"I hardly know what to make of it," he said in despair.
　　"If you can give me Kara's motive, sir, I can give you asolution," said Mansus.
　　T. X. shook his head.
　　"That is exactly what I am unable to give you," he said.
　　He perched himself on Mansus's desk and lit a cigar.
　　"I have a good mind to go round and see him," he said after awhile.
　　"Why not telephone to him?" asked Mansus. "There is his 'phonestraight into his boudoir."He pointed to a small telephone in a corner of the room.
　　"Oh, he persuaded the Commissioner to run the wire, did he?" saidT. X. interested, and walked over to the telephone.
　　He fingered the receiver for a little while and was about to takeit off, but changed his mind.
　　"I think not," he said, "I'll go round and see him to-morrow. Idon't hope to succeed in extracting the confidence in the case ofLady Bartholomew, which he denied me over poor Lexman.""I suppose you'll never give up hope of seeing Mr. Lexman again,"smiled Mansus, busily arranging a new blotting pad.
　　Before T. X. could answer there came a knock at the door, and auniformed policeman, entered. He saluted T. X.
　　"They've just sent an urgent letter across from your office, sir.
　　I said I thought you were here."Ht handed the missive to the Commissioner. T. X. took it andglanced at the typewritten address. It was marked "urgent" and"by hand." He took up the thin, steel, paper-knife from the deskand slit open the envelope. The letter consisted of three or fourpages of manuscript and, unlike the envelope, it was handwritten.
　　"My dear T. X.," it began, and the handwriting was familiar.
　　Mansus, watching the Commissioner, saw the puzzled frown gather onhis superior's forehead, saw the eyebrows arch and the mouth openin astonishment, saw him hastily turn to the last page to read thesignature and then"Howling apples!" gasped T. X. "It's from John Lexman!"His hand shook as he turned the closely written pages. The letterwas dated that afternoon. There was no other address than"London.""My dear T. X.," it began, "I do not doubt that this letter willgive you a little shock, because most of my friends will havebelieved that I am gone beyond return. Fortunately orunfortunately that is not so. For myself I could wish - but I amnot going to take a very gloomy view since I am genuinely pleasedat the thought that I shall be meeting you again. Forgive thisletter if it is incoherent but I have only this moment returnedand am writing at the Charing Cross Hotel. I am not staying here,but I will let you have my address later. The crossing has been avery severe one so you must forgive me if my letter sounds alittle disjointed. You will be sorry to hear that my dear wife isdead. She died abroad about six months ago. I do not wish totalk very much about it so you will forgive me if I do not tellyou any more.
　　"My principal object in writing to you at the moment is anofficial one. I suppose I am still amenable to punishment and Ihave decided to surrender myself to the authorities to-night. Youused to have a most excellent assistant in Superintendent Mansus,and if it is convenient to you, as I hope it will be, I willreport myself to him at 10.15. At any rate, my dear T. X., I donot wish to mix you up in my affairs and if you will let me dothis business through Mansus I shall be very much obliged to you.
　　"I know there is no great punishment awaiting me, because mypardon was apparently signed on the night before my escape. Ishall not have much to tell you, because there is not much in thepast two years that I would care to recall. We endured a greatdeal of unhappiness and death was very merciful when it took mybeloved from me.
　　"Do you ever see Kara in these days?
　　"Will you tell Mansus to expect me at between ten and half-past,and if he will give instructions to the officer on duty in thehall I will come straight up to his room.
　　"With affectionate regards, my dear fellow, I am, "Yourssincerely,"JOHN LEXMAN."T. X. read the letter over twice and his eyes were troubled.
　　"Poor girl," he said softly, and handed the letter to Mansus. "Heevidently wants to see you because he is afraid of using myfriendship to his advantage. I shall be here, nevertheless.""What will be the formality?" asked Mansus.
　　"There will be no formality," said the other briskly. "I willsecure the necessary pardon from the Home Secretary and in pointof fact I have it already promised, in writing."He walked back to Whitehall, his mind fully occupied with themomentous events of the day. It was a raw February evening, sleetwas falling in the street, a piercing easterly wind drove eventhrough his thick overcoat. In such doorways as offeredprotection from the bitter elements the wreckage of humanity whichclings to the West end of London, as the singed moth fluttersabout the flame that destroys it, were huddled for warmth.
　　T. X. was a man of vast human sympathies.
　　All his experience with the criminal world, all hisdisappointments, all his disillusions had failed to quench thepity for his unfortunate fellows. He made it a rule on suchnights as these, that if, by chance, returning late to his officehe should find such a shivering piece of jetsam sheltering in hisown doorway, he would give him or her the price of a bed.
　　In his own quaint way he derived a certain speculative excitementfrom this practice. If the doorway was empty he regarded himselfas a winner, if some one stood sheltered in the deep recess whichis a feature of the old Georgian houses in this historicthoroughfare, he would lose to the extent of a shilling.
　　He peered forward through the semi-darkness as he neared the doorof his offices.
　　"I've lost," he said, and stripped his gloves preparatory togroping in his pocket for a coin.
　　Somebody was standing in the entrance, but it was obviously a veryrespectable somebody. A dumpy, motherly somebody in a seal-skincoat and a preposterous bonnet.
　　"Hullo," said T. X. in surprise, "are you trying to get in here?""I want to see Mr. Meredith," said the visitor, in the mincingaffected tones of one who excused the vulgar source of herprosperity by frequently reiterated claims to having seen betterdays.
　　"Your longing shall be gratified," said T. X. gravely.
　　He unlocked the heavy door, passed through the uncarpeted passage- there are no frills on Government offices - and led the way upthe stairs to the suite on the first floor which constituted hisbureau.
　　He switched on all the lights and surveyed his visitor, acomfortable person of the landlady type.
　　"A good sort," thought T. X., "but somewhat overweighted withlorgnettes and seal-skin.""You will pardon my coming to see you at this hour of the night,"she began deprecatingly, "but as my dear father used to say, 'Hopisoit qui mal y pense.'""Your dear father being in the garter business?" suggested T. X.
　　humorously. "Won't you sit down, Mrs.- ""Mrs. Cassley," beamed the lady as she seated herself. "He was inthe paper hanging business. But needs must, when the devildrives, as the saying goes.""What particular devil is driving you, Mrs. Cassley?" asked T.
　　X., somewhat at a loss to understand the object of this visit.
　　"I may be doing wrong," began the lady, pursing her lips, "and twoblacks will never make a white.""And all that glitters is not gold," suggested T. X. a littlewearily. "Will you please tell me your business, Mrs. Cassley? Iam a very hungry man.""Well, it's like this, sir," said Mrs. Cassley, dropping hererudition, and coming down to bedrock homeliness; "I've got ayoung lady stopping with me, as respectable a gel as I've had todeal with. And I know what respectability is, I might tell you,for I've taken professional boarders and I have been housekeeperto a doctor.""You are well qualified to speak," said T. X. with a smile. "Andwhat about this particular young lady of yours! By the way whatis your address?""86a Marylebone Road," said the lady.
　　T. X. sat up.
　　"Yes?" he said quickly. "What about your young lady?""She works as far as I can understand," said the loquaciouslandlady, "with a certain Mr. Kara in the typewriting line. Shecame to me four months ago.""Never mind when she came to you," said T. X. impatiently. "Haveyou a message from the lady?""Well, it's like this, sir," said Mrs. Cassley, leaning forwardconfidentially and speaking in the hollow tone which she haddecided should accompany any revelation to a police officer, "thisyoung lady said to me, 'If I don't come any night by 8 o'clock youmust go to T. X. and tell him - '!"She paused dramatically.
　　"Yes, yes," said T. X. quickly, "for heaven's sake go on, woman.""'Tell him,'" said Mrs. Cassley, "'that Belinda Mary - ' "He sprang to his feet.
　　"Belinda Mary!" he breathed, "Belinda Mary!" In a flash he saw itall. This girl with a knowledge of modern Greek, who was workingin Kara's house, was there for a purpose. Kara had something ofher mother's, something that was vital and which he would not partwith, and she had adopted this method of securing that some thing.
　　Mrs. Cassley was prattling on, but her voice was merely a haze ofsound to him. It brought a strange glow to his heart that BelindaMary should have thought of him.
　　"Only as a policeman, of course," said the still, small voice ofhis official self. "Perhaps!" said the human T. X., defiantly.
　　He got on the telephone to Mansus and gave a few instructions.
　　"You stay here," he ordered the astounded Mrs. Cassley; "I amgoing to make a few investigations."Kara was at home, but was in bed. T. X. remembered that thisextraordinary man invariably went to bed early and that it was hispractice to receive visitors in this guarded room of his. He wasadmitted almost at once and found Kara in his silk dressing-gownlying on the bed smoking. The heat of the room was unbearableeven on that bleak February night.
　　"This is a pleasant surprise," said Kara, sitting up; "I hope youdon't mind my dishabille."T. X. came straight to the point.
　　"Where is Miss Holland!" he asked.
　　"Miss Holland?" Kara's eyebrows advertised his astonishment.
　　"What an extraordinary question to ask me, my dear man! At herhome, or at the theatre or in a cinema palace - I don't know howthese people employ their evenings.""She is not at home," said T. X., "and I have reason to believethat she has not left this house.""What a suspicious person you are, Mr. Meredith!" Kara rang thebell and Fisher came in with a cup of coffee on a tray.
　　"Fisher," drawled Kara. "Mr. Meredith) is anxious to know whereMiss Holland is. Will you be good enough to tell him, you knowmore about her movements than I do.""As far as I know, sir," said Fisher deferentially, "she left thehouse about 5.30, her usual hour. She sent me out a little beforefive on a message and when I came back her hat and her coat hadgone, so I presume she had gone also.""Did you see her go?" asked T. X.
　　The man shook his head.
　　"No, sir, I very seldom see the lady come or go. There has beenno restrictions placed upon the young lady and she has been atliberty to move about as she likes. I think I am correct insaying that, sir," he turned to Kara.
　　Kara nodded.
　　"You will probably find her at home."He shook his finger waggishly at T. X.
　　"What a dog you are," he jibed, "I ought to keep the beauties ofmy household veiled, as we do in the East, and especially when Ihave a susceptible policeman wandering at large."T. X. gave jest for jest. There was nothing to be gained bymaking trouble here. After a few amiable commonplaces he took hisdeparture. He found Mrs. Cassley being entertained by Mansus witha wholly fictitious description of the famous criminals he hadarrested.
　　"I can only suggest that you go home," said T. X. "I will send apolice officer with you to report to me, but in all probabilityyou will find the lady has returned. She may have had adifficulty in getting a bus on a night like this."A detective was summoned from Scotland Yard and accompanied by himMrs. Cassley returned to her domicile with a certain importance.
　　T. X. looked at his watch. It was a quarter to ten.
　　"Whatever happens, I must see old Lexman," he said. "Tell thebest men we've got in the department to stand by foreventualities. This is going to be one of my busy days."
Chapter 12
    Kara lay back on his down pillows with a sneer on his face and hisbrain very busy. What started the train of thought he did notknow, but at that moment his mind was very far away. It carriedhim back a dozen years to a dirty little peasant's cabin on thehillside outside Durazzo, to the livid face of a young Albanianchief, who had lost at Kara's whim all that life held for a man,to the hateful eyes of the girl's father, who stood with foldedarms glaring down at the bound and manacled figure on the floor,to the smoke-stained rafters of this peasant cottage and thedancing shadows on the roof, to that terrible hour of waiting whenhe sat bound to a post with a candle flickering and splutteringlower and lower to the little heap of gunpowder that would startthe trail toward the clumsy infernal machine under his chair. Heremembered the day well because it was Candlemas day, and this wasthe anniversary. He remembered other things more pleasant. Thebeat of hoofs on the rocky roadway, the crash of the door fallingin when the Turkish Gendarmes had battered a way to his rescue.
　　He remembered with a savage joy the spectacle of his would-beassassins twitching and struggling on the gallows at Pezara and -he heard the faint tinkle of the front door bell.
　　Had T. X. returned! He slipped from the bed and went to the door,opened it slightly and listened. T. X. with a search warrantmight be a source of panic especially if-he shrugged hisshoulders. He had satisfied T. X. and allayed his suspicions. Hewould get Fisher out of the way that night and make sure.
　　The voice from the hall below was loud and gruff. Who could itbe! Then he heard Fisher's foot on the stairs and the valetentered.
　　"Will you see Mr. Gathercole now!""Mr. Gathercole!"Kara breathed a sigh of relief and his face was wreathed insmiles.
　　"Why, of course. Tell him to come up. Ask him if he minds seeingme in my room.""I told him you were in bed, sir, and he used shocking language,"said Fisher.
　　Kara laughed.
　　"Send him up," he said, and then as Fisher was going out of theroom he called him back.
　　"By the way, Fisher, after Mr. Gathercole has gone, you may go outfor the night. You've got somewhere to go, I suppose, and youneedn't come back until the morning.""Yes, sir," said the servant.
　　Such an instruction was remarkably pleasing to him. There wasmuch that he had to do and that night's freedom would assist himmaterially.
　　"Perhaps" Kara hesitated, "perhaps you had better wait untileleven o'clock. Bring me up some sandwiches and a large glass ofmilk. Or better still, place them on a plate in the hall.""Very good, sir," said the man and withdrew.
　　Down below, that grotesque figure with his shiny hat and hisragged beard was walking up and down the tesselated hallwaymuttering to himself and staring at the various objects in thehall with a certain amused antagonism.
　　"Mr. Kara will see you, sir," said Fisher.
　　"Oh!" said the other glaring at the unoffending Fisher, "that'svery good of him. Very good of this person to see a scholar and agentleman who has been about his dirty business for three years.
　　Grown grey in his service! Do you understand that, my man!""Yes, sir," said Fisher.
　　"Look here!"The man thrust out his face.
　　"Do you see those grey hairs in my beard"The embarrassed Fisher grinned.
　　"Is it grey!" challenged the visitor, with a roar.
　　"Yes, sir," said the valet hastily.
　　"Is it real grey?" insisted the visitor. "Pull one out and see!"The startled Fisher drew back with an apologetic smile.
　　"I couldn't think of doing a thing like that, sir.""Oh, you couldn't," sneered the visitor; "then lead on!"Fisher showed the way up the stairs. This time the travellercarried no books. His left arm hung limply by his side and Fisherprivately gathered that the hand had got loose from the detainingpocket without its owner being aware of the fact. He pushed openthe door and announced, "Mr. Gathercole," and Kara came forwardwith a smile to meet his agent, who, with top hat still on the topof his head, and his overcoat dangling about his heels, must havemade a remarkable picture.
　　Fisher closed the door behind them and returned to his duties inthe hall below. Ten minutes later he heard the door opened andthe booming voice of the stranger came down to him. Fisher wentup the stairs to meet him and found hire addressing the occupantof the room in his own eccentric fashion.
　　"No more Patagonia!" he roared, "no more Tierra del Fuego!" hepaused.
　　"Certainly!" He replied to some question, "but not Patagonia," hepaused again, and Fisher standing at the foot of the stairswondered what had occurred to make the visitor so genial.
　　"I suppose your cheque will be honoured all right?" asked thevisitor sardonically, and then burst into a little chuckle oflaughter as he carefully closed the door.
　　He came down the corridor talking to himself, and greeted Fisher.
　　"Damn all Greeks," he said jovially, and Fisher could do no morethan smile reproachfully, the smile being his very own, thereproach being on behalf of the master who paid him.
　　The traveller touched the other on the chest with his right hand.
　　"Never trust a Greek," he said, "always get your money in advance.
　　Is that clear to you?""Yes, sir," said Fisher, "but I think you will always find thatMr. Kara is always most generous about money.""Don't you believe it, don't you believe it, my poor man," saidthe other, "you - "At that moment there came from Kara's room a faint "clang.""What's that" asked the visitor a little startled.
　　"Mr. Kara's put down his steel latch," said Fisher with a smile,"which means that he is not to be disturbed until - " he looked athis watch, "until eleven o'clock at any rate.""He's a funk!" snapped the other, "a beastly funk!"He stamped down the stairs as though testing the weight of everytread, opened the front door without assistance, slammed it behindhim and disappeared into the night.
　　Fisher, his hands in his pockets, looked after the departingstranger, nodding his head in reprobation.
　　"You're a queer old devil," he said, and looked at his watchagain.
　　It wanted five minutes to ten.
Chapter 13
    "IF you would care to come in, sir, I'm sure Lexman would be gladto see you," said T. X.; "it's very kind of you to take aninterest in the matter."The Chief Commissioner of Police growled something about beingpaid to take an interest in everybody and strolled with T. X. downone of the apparently endless corridors of Scotland Yard.
　　"You won't have any bother about the pardon," he said. "I wasdining to-night with old man Bartholomew and he will fix that upin the morning.""There will be no necessity to detain Lexman in custody?" asked T.
　　X.
　　The Chief shook his head.
　　"None whatever," he said.
　　There was a pause, then,"By the way, did Bartholomew mention Belinda Mary!"The white-haired chief looked round in astonishment.
　　"And who the devil is Belinda Mary?" he asked.
　　T. X. went red.
　　"Belinda Mary," he said a little quickly, "is Bartholomew'sdaughter.""By Jove," said the Commissioner, "now you mention it, he did -she is still in France.""Oh, is she?" said T. X. innocently, and in his heart of hearts hewished most fervently that she was. They came to the room whichMansus occupied and found that admirable man waiting.
　　Wherever policemen meet, their conversation naturally drifts to"shop" and in two minutes the three were discussing with someanimation and much difference of opinion, as far as T. X. wasconcerned, a series of frauds which had been perpetrated in theMidlands, and which have nothing to do with this story.
　　"Your friend is late," said the Chief Commissioner.
　　"There he is," cried T. X., springing up. He heard a familiarfootstep on the flagged corridor, and sprung out of the room tomeet the newcomer.
　　For a moment he stood wringing the hand of this grave man, hisheart too full for words.
　　"My dear chap!" he said at last, "you don't know how glad I am tosee you."John Lexman said nothing, then,"I am sorry to bring you into this business, T. X.," he saidquietly.
　　"Nonsense," said the other, "come in and see the Chief."He took John by the arm and led him into the Superintendent'sroom.
　　There was a change in John Lexman. A subtle shifting of balancewhich was not readily discoverable. His face was older, themobile mouth a little more grimly set, the eyes more deeply lined.
　　He was in evening dress and looked, as T. X. thought, a typical,clean, English gentleman, such an one as any self-respecting valetwould be proud to say he had "turned out."T. X. looking at him carefully could see no great change, savethat down one side of his smooth shaven cheek ran the scar of anold wound; which could not have been much more than superficial.
　　"I must apologize for this kit," said John, taking off hisovercoat and laying it across the back of a chair, "but the factis I was so bored this evening that I had to do something to passthe time away, so I dressed and went to the theatre - and was morebored than ever."T. X. noticed that he did not smile and that when he spoke it wasslowly and carefully, as though he were weighing the value ofevery word.
　　"Now," he went on, "I have come to deliver myself into yourhands.""I suppose you have not seen Kara?" said T. X.
　　"I have no desire to see Kara," was the short reply.
　　"Well, Mr. Lexman," broke in the Chief, "I don't think you aregoing to have any difficulty about your escape. By the way, Isuppose it was by aeroplane?"Lexman nodded.
　　"And you had an assistant?"Again Lexman nodded.
　　"Unless you press me I would rather not discuss the matter forsome little time, Sir George," he said, "there is much that willhappen before the full story of my escape is made known."Sir George nodded.
　　"We will leave it at that," he said cheerily, "and now I hope youhave come back to delight us all with one of your wonderfulplots.""For the time being I have done with wonderful plots," said JohnLexman in that even, deliberate tone of his. "I hope to leaveLondon next week for New York and take up such of the threads oflife as remain. The greater thread has gone."The Chief Commissioner understood.
　　The silence which followed was broken by the loud and insistentringing of the telephone bell.
　　"Hullo," said Mansus rising quickly; "that's Kara's bell"With two quick strides he was at the telephone and lifted down thereceiver.
　　"Hullo," he cried. "Hullo," he cried again. There was no reply,only the continuous buzzing, and when he hung up the receiveragain, the bell continued ringing.
　　The three policemen looked at one another.
　　"There's trouble there," said Mansus.
　　"Take off the receiver," said T. X., "and try again."Mansus obeyed, but there was no response.
　　"I am afraid this is not my affair," said John Lexman gathering uphis coat. "What do you wish me to do, Sir George?""Come along to-morrow morning and see us, Lexman," said SirGeorge, offering his hand.
　　"Where are you staying!" asked T. X.
　　"At the Great Midland," replied the other, "at least my bags havegone on there.""I'll come along and see you to-morrow morning. It's curious thisshould have happened the night you returned," he said, grippingthe other's shoulder affectionately.
　　John Lexman did not speak for the moment.
　　"If anything happened to Kara," he said slowly, "if the worst thatwas possible happened to him, believe me I should not weep."T. X. looked down into the other's eyes sympathetically.
　　"I think he has hurt you pretty badly, old man," he said gently.
　　John Lexman nodded.
　　"He has, damn him," he said between his teeth.
　　The Chief Commissioner's motor car was waiting outside and in thisT. X., Mansus, and a detective-sergeant were whirled off toCadogan Square. Fisher was in the hall when they rung the belland opened the door instantly.
　　He was frankly surprised to see his visitors. Mr. Kara was in hisroom he explained resentfully, as though T. X. should have beenaware of the fact without being told. He had heard no bellringing and indeed had not been summoned to the room.
　　"I have to see him at eleven o'clock," he said, "and I have hadstanding instructions not to go to him unless I am sent for."T. X. led the way upstairs, and went straight to Kara's room. Heknocked, but there was no reply. He knocked again and on thisfailing to evoke any response kicked heavily at the door.
　　"Have you a telephone downstairs!" he asked.
　　"Yes, sir," replied Fisher.
　　T. X. turned to the detective-sergeant.
　　"'Phone to the Yard," he said, "and get a man up with a bag oftools. We shall have to pick this lock and I haven't got my casewith me.""Picking the lock would be no good, sir," said Fisher, aninterested spectator, "Mr. Kara's got the latch down.""I forgot that," said T. X. "Tell him to bring his saw, we'llhave to cut through the panel here."While they were waiting for the arrival of the police officer T.
　　X. strove to attract the attention of the inmates of the room, butwithout success.
　　"Does he take opium or anything!" asked Mansus.
　　Fisher shook his head.
　　"I've never known him to take any of that kind of stuff," he said.
　　T. X. made a rapid survey of the other rooms on that floor. Theroom next to Kara's was the library, beyond that was a dressingroom which, according to Fisher, Miss Holland had used, and at thefarthermost end of the corridor was the dining room.
　　Facing the dining room was a small service lift and by its side astoreroom in which were a number of trunks, including a very largeone smothered in injunctions in three different languages to"handle with care." There was nothing else of interest on thisfloor and the upper and lower floors could wait. In a quarter ofan hour the carpenter had arrived from Scotland Yard, and hadbored a hole in the rosewood panel of Kara's room and was busilyapplying his slender saw.
　　Through the hole he cut T. X. could see no more than that the roomwas in darkness save for the glow of a blazing fire. He insertedhis hand, groped for the knob of the steel latch, which he hadremarked on his previous visit to the room, lifted it and the doorswung open.
　　"Keep outside, everybody," he ordered.
　　He felt for the switch of the electric, found it and instantly theroom was flooded with light. The bed was hidden by the open door.
　　T. X. took one stride into the room and saw enough. Kara waslying half on and half off the bed. He was quite dead and theblood-stained patch above his heart told its own story.
　　T. X. stood looking down at him, saw the frozen horror on the deadman's face, then drew his eyes away and slowly surveyed the room.
　　There in the middle of the carpet he found his clue, a bent andtwisted little candle such as you find on children's Christmastrees.
Chapter 14
    It was Mansus who found the second candle, a stouter affair. Itlay underneath the bed. The telephone, which stood on a fairlylarge-sized table by the side of the bed, was overturned and thereceiver was on the floor. By its side were two books, one beingthe "Balkan Question," by Villari, and the other "Travels andPolitics in the Near East," by Miller. With them was a long,ivory paper-knife.
　　There was nothing else on the bedside-table save a silvercigarette box. T. X. drew on a pair of gloves and examined thebright surface for finger-prints, but a superficial view revealedno such clue.
　　"Open the window," said T. X., "the heat here is intolerable. Bevery careful, Mansus. By the way, is the window fastened?""Very well fastened," said the superintendent after a carefulscrutiny.
　　He pushed back the fastenings, lifted the window and as he did, aharsh bell rang in the basement.
　　"That is the burglar alarm, I suppose," said T. X.; "go down andstop that bell."He addressed Fisher, who stood with a troubled face at the door.
　　When he had disappeared T. X. gave a significant glance to one ofthe waiting officers and the man sauntered after the valet.
　　Fisher stopped the bell and came back to the hall and stood beforethe hall fire, a very troubled man. Near the fire was a big,oaken writing table and on this there lay a small envelope whichhe did not remember having seen before, though it might have beenthere for some time, for he had spent a greater portion of theevening in the kitchen with the cook.
　　He picked up the envelope, and, with a start, recognised that itwas addressed to himself. He opened it and took out a card.
　　There were only a few words written upon it, but they weresufficient to banish all the colour from his face and set hishands shaking. He took the envelope and card and flung them intothe fire.
　　It so happened that, at that moment, Mansus had called fromupstairs, and the officer, who had been told off to keep the valetunder observation, ran up in answer to the summons. For a momentFisher hesitated, then hatless and coatless as he was, he crept tothe door, opened it, leaving it ajar behind him and darting downthe steps, ran like a hare from the house.
　　The doctor, who came a little later, was cautious as to the hourof death.
　　"If you got your telephone message at 10.25, as you say, that wasprobably the hour he was killed," he said. "I could not tellwithin half an hour. Obviously the man who killed him gripped histhroat with his left hand - there are the bruises on his neck -and stabbed him with the right."It was at this time that the disappearance of Fisher was noticed,but the cross-examination of the terrified Mrs. Beale removed anydoubt that T. X. had as to the man's guilt.
　　"You had better send out an 'All Stations' message and pull himin," said T. X. "He was with the cook from the moment the visitorleft until a few minutes before we rang. Besides which it isobviously impossible for anybody to have got into this room or outagain. Have you searched the dead man?"Mansus produced a tray on which Kara's belongings had beendisposed. The ordinary keys Mrs. Beale was able to identify.
　　There were one or two which were beyond her. T. X. recognised oneof these as the key of the safe, but two smaller keys baffled himnot a little, and Mrs. Beale was at first unable to assist him.
　　"The only thing I can think of, sir," she said, "is the winecellar.""The wine cellar?" said T. X. slowly. "That must be - " hestopped.
　　The greater tragedy of the evening, with all its mystifyingaspects had not banished from his mind the thought of the girl -that Belinda Mary, who had called upon him in her hour of dangeras he divined. Perhaps - he descended into the kitchen and wasbrought face to face with the unpainted door.
　　"It looks more like a prison than a wine cellar," he said.
　　"That's what I've always thought, sir," said Mrs. Beale, "andsometimes I've had a horrible feeling of fear."He cut short her loquacity by inserting one of the keys in thelock - it did not turn, but he had more success with the second.
　　The lock snapped back easily and he pulled the door back. Hefound the inner door bolted top and bottom. The bolts slippedback in their well-oiled sockets without any effort. EvidentlyKara used this place pretty frequently, thought T. X.
　　He pushed the door open and stopped with an exclamation ofsurprise. The cellar apartment was brilliantly lit - but it wasunoccupied.
　　"This beats the band," said T. X.
　　He saw something on the table and lifted it up. It was a pair oflong-bladed scissors and about the handle was wound ahandkerchief. It was not this fact which startled him, but thatthe scissors' blades were dappled with blood and blood, too, wason the handkerchief. He unwound the flimsy piece of cambric andstared at the monogram "B. M. B."He looked around. Nobody had seen the weapon and he dropped it inhis overcoat pocket, and walked from the cellar to the kitchenwhere Mrs. Beale and Mansus awaited him.
　　"There is a lower cellar, is there not!" he asked in a strainedvoice.
　　"That was bricked up when Mr. Kara took the house," explained thewoman.
　　"There is nothing more to look for here," he said.
　　He walked slowly up the stairs to the library, his mind in awhirl. That he, an accredited officer of police, sworn to thebusiness of criminal detection, should attempt to screen one whowas conceivably a criminal was inexplicable. But if the girl hadcommitted this crime, how had she reached Kara's room and why hadshe returned to the locked cellar!
　　He sent for Mrs. Beale to interrogate her. She had heard nothingand she had been in the kitchen all the evening. One fact she didreveal, however, that Fisher had gone from the kitchen and hadbeen absent a quarter of an hour and had returned a littleagitated.
　　"Stay here," said T. X., and went down again to the cellar to makea further search.
　　"Probably there is some way out of this subterranean jail," hethought and a diligent search of the room soon revealed it.
　　He found the iron trap, pulled it open, and slipped down thestairs. He, too, was puzzled by the luxurious character of thevault. He passed from room to room and finally came to the innerchamber where a light was burning.
　　The light, as he discovered, proceeded from a small reading lampwhich stood by the side of a small brass bedstead. The bed hadrecently been slept in, but there was no sign of any occupant. T.
　　X. conducted a very careful search and had no difficulty infinding the bricked up door. Other exits there were none.
　　The floor was of wood block laid on concrete, the ventilation wasexcellent and in one of the recesses which had evidently held atso time or other, a large wine bin, there was a prefect electricalcooking plant. In a small larder were a number of baskets,bearing the name of a well-known caterer, one of them containingan excellent assortment of cold and potted meats, preserves, etc.
　　T. X. went back to the bedroom and took the little lamp from thetable by the side of the bed and began a more careful examination.
　　Presently he found traces of blood, and followed an irregulartrail to the outer room. He 1ost it suddenly at the foot ofstairs leading down from the upper cellar. Then he struck itagain. He had reached the end of his electric cord and was nowdepending upon an electric torch he hid taken from his pocket.
　　There were indications of something heavy having been draggedacross the room and he saw that it led to a small bathroom. Hehad made a cursory examination of this well-appointed apartment,and now he proceeded to make a close investigation and was wellrewarded.
　　The bathroom was the only apartment which possess anythingresembling a door - a two-fold screen and - as he pressed thisback, he felt some thing which prevented its wider extension. Heslipped into the room and flashed his lamp in the space behind thescreen. There stiff in death with glazed eyes and lolling tonguelay a great gaunt dog, his yellow fangs exposed in a last grimace.
　　About the neck was a collar and attached to that, a few links ofbroken chain. T. X. mounted the steps thoughtfully and passed outto the kitchen.
　　Did Belinda Mary stab Kara or kill the dog? That she killed onehound or the other was certain. That she killed both waspossible.
Chapter 15
    After a busy and sleepless night he came down to report to theChief Commissioner the next morning. The evening newspaper billswere filled with the "Chelsea Sensation" but the information givenwas of a meagre character.
　　Since Fisher had disappeared, many of the details which could havebeen secured by the enterprising pressmen were missing. There wasno reference to the visit of Mr. Gathercole and in self-defencethe press had fallen back upon a statement, which at an earlierperiod had crept into the newspapers in one of those chattyparagraphs which begin "I saw my friend Kara at Giros" and endwith a brief but inaccurate summary of his hobbies. The paragraphhad been to the effect that Mr. Kara had been in fear of his lifefor some time, as a result of a blood feud which existed betweenhimself and another Albanian family. Small wonder, therefore, themurder was everywhere referred to as "the political crime of thecentury.""So far," reported T. X. to his superior, "I have been unable totrace either Gathercole or the valet. The only thing we knowabout Gathercole is that he sent his article to The Times with hiscard. The servants of his Club are very vague as to hiswhereabouts. He is a very eccentric man, who only comes inoccasionally, and the steward whom I interviewed says that itfrequently happened that Gathercole arrived and departed withoutanybody being aware of the fact. We have been to his old lodgingsin Lincoln's Inn, but apparently he sold up there before he wentaway to the wilds of Patagonia and relinquished his tenancy.
　　"The only clue I have is that a man answering to some extent tohis description left by the eleven o'clock train for Paris lastnight.""You have seen the secretary of course," said the Chief.
　　It was a question which T. X. had been dreading.
　　"Gone too," he answered shortly; "in fact she has not been seensince 5:30 yesterday evening."Sir George leant back in his chair and rumpled his thick greyhair.
　　"The only person who seems to have remained," he said with heavysarcasm, "was Kara himself. Would you like me to put somebodyelse on this case - it isn't exactly your job - or will you carryit on?""I prefer to carry it on, sir," said T. X. firmly.
　　"Have you found out anything more about Kara?"T. X. nodded.
　　"All that I have discovered about him is eminently discreditable,"he said. "He seems to have had an ambition to occupy a veryimportant position in Albania. To this end he had bribed andsubsidized the Turkish and Albanian officials and had a fairlylarge following in that country. Bartholomew tells me that Karahad already sounded him as to the possibility of the BritishGovernment recognising a fait accompli in Albania and had beeninducing him to use his influence with the Cabinet to recognizethe consequence of any revolution. There is no doubt whateverthat Kara has engineered all the political assassinations whichhave been such a feature in the news from Albania during this pastyear. We also found in the house very large sums of money anddocuments which we have handed over to the Foreign Office fordecoding."Sir George thought for a long time.
　　Then he said, "I have an idea that if you find your secretary youwill be half way to solving the mystery."T. X. went out from the office in anything but a joyous mood. Hewas on his way to lunch when he remembered his promise to callupon John Lexman.
　　Could Lexman supply a key which would unravel this tragic tangle?
　　He leant out of his taxi-cab and redirected the driver. Ithappened that the cab drove up to the door of the Great MidlandHotel as John Lexman was coming out.
　　"Come and lunch with me," said T. X. "I suppose you've heard allthe news.""I read about Kara being killed, if that's what you mean," saidthe other. "It was rather a coincidence that I should have beendiscussing the matter last night at the very moment when histelephone bell rang - I wish to heaven you hadn't been in this,"he said fretfully.
　　"Why?" asked the astonished Assistant Commissioner, "and what doyou mean by 'in it'?""In the concrete sense I wish you had not been present when Ireturned," said the other moodily, "I wanted to be finished withthe whole sordid business without in any way involving myfriends.""I think you are too sensitive," laughed the other, clapping himon the shoulder. "I want you to unburden yourself to me, my dearchap, and tell me anything you can that will help me to clear upthis mystery."John Lexman looked straight ahead with a worried frown.
　　"I would do almost anything for you, T. X.," he said quietly, "themore so since I know how good you were to Grace, but I can't helpyou in this matter. I hated Kara living, I hate him dead," hecried, and there was a passion in his voice which wasunmistakable; "he was the vilest thing that ever drew the breathof life. There was no villainy too despicable, no cruelty sohorrid but that he gloried in it. If ever the devil wereincarnate on earth he took the shape and the form of RemingtonKara. He died too merciful a death by all accounts. But if thereis a God, this man will suffer for his crimes in hell through alleternity."T. X. looked at him in astonishment. The hate in the man's facetook his breath away. Never before had he experienced orwitnessed such a vehemence of loathing.
　　"What did Kara do to you?" he demanded.
　　The other looked out of the window.
　　"I am sorry," he said in a milder tone; "that is my weakness.
　　Some day I will tell you the whole story but for the moment itwere better that it were not told. I will tell you this," heturned round and faced the detective squarely, "Kara tortured andkilled my wife."T. X. said no more.
　　Half way through lunch he returned indirectly to the subject.
　　"Do you know Gathercole?" he asked.
　　T. X. nodded.
　　"I think you asked me that question once before, or perhaps it wassomebody else. Yes, I know him, rather an eccentric man with anartificial arm.""That's the cove," said T. X. with a little sigh; "he's one of thefew men I want to meet just now.""Why?""Because he was apparently the last man to see Kara alive."John Lexman looked at the other with an impatient jerk of hisshoulders.
　　"You don't suspect Gathercole, do you?" he asked.
　　"Hardly," said the other drily; "in the first place the man thatcommitted this murder had two hands and needed them both. No, Ionly want to ask that gentleman the subject of his conversation.
　　I also want to know who was in the room with Kara when Gathercolewent in.""H'm," said John Lexman.
　　"Even if I found who the third person was, I am still puzzled asto how they got out and fastened the heavy latch behind them. Nowin the old days, Lexman," he said good humouredly, "you would havemade a fine mystery story out of this. How would you have madeyour man escape?"Lexman thought for a while.
　　"Have you examined the safe!" he asked.
　　"Yes," said the other.
　　"Was there very much in it?"T. X. looked at him in astonishment.
　　"Just the ordinary books and things. Why do you ask?""Suppose there were two doors to that safe, one on the outside ofthe room and one on the inside, would it be possible to passthrough the safe and go down the wall?""I have thought of that," said T. X.
　　"Of course," said Lexman, leaning back and toying with asalt-spoon, "in writing a story where one hasn't got to deal withthe absolute possibilities, one could always have made Kara have asafe of that character in order to make his escape in the event ofdanger. He might keep a rope ladder stored inside, open the backdoor, throw out his ladder to a friend and by some trickarrangement could detach the ladder and allow the door to swing toagain.""A very ingenious idea," said T. X., "but unfortunately it doesn'twork in this case. I have seen the makers of the safe and thereis nothing very eccentric about it except the fact that it ismounted as it is. Can you offer another suggestion?"John Lexman thought again.
　　"I will not suggest trap doors, or secret panels or anything sobanal," he said, "nor mysterious springs in the wall which, whentouched, reveal secret staircases."He smiled slightly.
　　"In my early days, I must confess I, was rather keen upon thatsort of thing, but age has brought experience and I havediscovered the impossibility of bringing an architect to one's wayof thinking even in so commonplace a matter as the position of ascullery. It would be much more difficult to induce him toconstruct a house with double walls and secret chambers."T. X. waited patiently.
　　"There is a possibility, of course," said Lexman slowly, "that thesteel latch may have been raised by somebody outside by someingenious magnetic arrangement and lowered in a similar manner.""I have thought about it," said T. X. triumphantly, "and I havemade the most elaborate tests only this morning. It is quiteimpossible to raise the steel latch because once it is dropped itcannot be raised again except by means of the knob, the pulling ofwhich releases the catch which holds the bar securely in itsplace. Try another one, John."John Lexman threw back his head in a noiseless laugh.
　　"Why I should be helping you to discover the murderer of Kara isbeyond my understanding," he said, "but I will give you anothertheory, at the same time warning you that I may be putting you offthe track. For God knows I have more reason to murder Kara thanany man in the world."He thought a while.
　　"The chimney was of course impossible?""There was a big fire burning in the grate," explained T. X.; "sobig indeed that the room was stifling."John Lexman nodded.
　　"That was Kara's way," he said; "as a matter of fact I know thesuggestion about magnetism in the steel bar was impossible,because I was friendly with Kara when he had that bar put in andpretty well know the mechanism, although I had forgotten it forthe moment. What is your own theory, by the way?"T. X. pursed his lips.
　　"My theory isn't very clearly formed," he said cautiously, "but sofar as it goes, it is that Kara was lying on the bed probablyreading one of the books which were found by the bedside when hisassailant suddenly came upon him. Kara seized the telephone tocall for assistance and was promptly killed."Again there was silence.
　　"That is a theory," said John Lexman. with his curiousdeliberation of speech, "but as I say I refuse to be definite -have you found the weapon?"T. X. shook his head.
　　"Were there any peculiar features about the room which astonishedyou, and which you have not told me?"T. X. hesitated.
　　"There were two candles," he said, "one in the middle of the roomand one under the bed. That in the middle of the room was a smallChristmas candle, the one under the bed was the ordinary candle ofcommerce evidently roughly cut and probably cut in the room. Wefound traces of candle chips on the floor and it is evident to methat the portion which was cut off was thrown into the fire, forhere again we have a trace of grease."Lexman nodded.
　　"Anything further?" he asked.
　　"The smaller candle was twisted into a sort of corkscrew shape.""The Clue of the Twisted Candle," mused John Lexman "that's a verygood title - Kara hated candles.""Why?"Lexman leant back in his chair, selected a cigarette from a silvercase.
　　"In my wanderings," he said, "I have been to many strange places.
　　I have been to the country which you probably do not know, andwhich the traveller who writes books about countries seldomvisits. There are queer little villages perched on the spurs ofthe bleakest hills you ever saw. I have lived with communitieswhich acknowledge no king and no government. These have theirlaws handed down to them from father to son - it is a nationwithout a written language. They administer their laws rigidlyand drastically. The punishments they award are cruel - inhuman.
　　I have seen, the woman taken in adultery stoned to death as in thebest Biblical traditions, and I have seen the thief blinded."T. X. shivered.
　　"I have seen the false witness stand up in a barbaric market placewhilst his tongue was torn from him. Sometimes the Turks or thepiebald governments of the state sent down a few gendarmes andtried a sort of sporadic administration of the country. Itusually ended in the representative of the law lapsing intobarbarism, or else disappearing from the face of the earth, with awhole community of murderers eager to testify, with singularunanimity, to the fact that he had either committed suicide or hadgone off with the wife of one of the townsmen.
　　"In some of these communities the candle plays a big part. It isnot the candle of commerce as you know it, but a dip made frommutton fat. Strap three between the fingers of your hands andkeep the hand rigid with two flat pieces of wood; then let thecandles burn down lower and lower - can you imagine? Or set acandle in a gunpowder trail and lead the trail to a well-oiledheap of shavings thoughtfully heaped about your naked feet. Or acandle fixed to the shaved head of a man - there are hundreds ofvariations and the candle plays a part in all of them. I don'tknow which Kara had cause to hate the worst, but I know one or twothat he has employed.""Was he as bad as that?" asked T. X.
　　John Lexman laughed.
　　"You don't know how bad he was," he said.
　　Towards the end of the luncheon the waiter brought a note in to T.
　　X. which had been sent on from his office.
　　"Dear Mr. Meredith,"In. answer to your enquiry I believe my daughter is in London,but I did not know it until this morning. My banker informs methat my daughter called at the bank this morning and drew aconsiderable sum of money from her private account, but where shehas gone and what she is doing with the money I do not know. Ineed hardly tell you that I am very worried about this matter andI should be glad if you could explain what it is all about."It was signed "William Bartholomew."T. X. groaned.
　　"If I had only had the sense to go to the bank this morning, Ishould have seen her," he said. "I'm going to lose my job overthis."The other looked troubled.
　　"You don't seriously mean that""Not exactly," smiled T. X., "but I don't think the Chief is verypleased with me just now. You see I have butted into thisbusiness without any authority - it isn't exactly in mydepartment. But you have not given me your theory about thecandles.""I have no theory to offer," said the other, folding up hisserviette; "the candles suggest a typical Albanian murder. I donot say that it was so, I merely say that by their presence theysuggest a crime of this character."With this T. X. had to be content.
　　If it were not his business to interest himself in commonplacemurder - though this hardly fitted such a description - it waspart of the peculiar function which his department exercised torestore to Lady Bartholomew a certain very elaborate snuff-boxwhich he discovered in the safe.
　　Letters had been found amongst his papers which made clear thepart which Kara had played. Though he had not been a vulgarblackmailer he had retained his hold, not only upon thisparticular property of Lady Bartholomew, but upon certain otherarticles which were discovered, with no other object, apparently,than to compel influence from quarters likely to be of assistanceto him in his schemes.
　　The inquest on the murdered man which the Assistant Commissionerattended produced nothing in the shape of evidence and thecoroner's verdict of "murder against some person or personsunknown" was only to be expected.
　　T. X. spent a very busy and a very tiring week tracing elusiveclues which led him nowhere. He had a letter from John Lexmanannouncing the fact that he intended leaving for the UnitedStates. He had received a very good offer from a firm of magazinepublishers in New York and was going out to take up theappointment.
　　Meredith's plans were now in fair shape. He had decided upon theline of action he would take and in the pursuance of this heinterviewed his Chief and the Minister of Justice.
　　"Yes, I have heard from my daughter," said that great manuncomfortably, "and really she has placed me in a mostembarrassing position. I cannot tell you, Mr. Meredith, exactlyin what manner she has done this, but I can assure you she has.""Can I see her letter or telegram?" asked T. X.
　　"I am afraid that is impossible," said the other solemnly; "shebegged me to keep her communication very secret. I have writtento my wife and asked her to come home. I feel the constant strainto which I am being subjected is more than human man can endure.""I suppose," said T. X. patiently, "it is impossible for you totell me to what address you have replied?""To no address," answered the other and corrected himselfhurriedly; "that is to say I only received the telegram - themessage this morning and there is no address - to reply to.""I see," said T. X.
　　That afternoon he instructed his secretary.
　　"I want a copy of all the agony advertisements in to-morrow'spapers and in the last editions of the evening papers - have themready for me tomorrow morning when I come."They were waiting for him when he reached the office at nineo'clock the next day and he went through them carefully.
　　Presently he found the message he was seeking.
　　B. M. You place me awkward position. Very thoughtless. Havereceived package addressed your mother which have placed inmother's sitting-room. Cannot understand why you want me to goaway week-end and give servants holiday but have done so. Shallrequire very full explanation. Matter gone far enough. Father.
　　"This," said T. X. exultantly, as he read the advertisement, "iswhere I get busy."
Chapter 16
    February as a rule is not a month of fogs, but rather a month oftempestuous gales, of frosts and snowfalls, but the night ofFebruary 17th, 19--, was one of calm and mist. It was not thetypical London fog so dreaded by the foreigner, but one of thoselittle patchy mists which smoke through the streets, nowenshrouding and making the nearest object invisible, now clearingaway to the finest diaphanous filament of pale grey.
　　Sir William Bartholomew had a house in Portman Place, which is awide thoroughfare, filled with solemn edifices of unlovely andforbidding exterior, but remarkably comfortable within. Shortlybefore eleven on the night of February 17th, a taxi drew up at thejunction of Sussex Street and Portman Place, and a girl alighted.
　　The fog at that moment was denser than usual and she hesitated amoment before she left the shelter which the cab afforded.
　　She gave the driver a few instructions and walked on with a firmstep, turning abruptly and mounting the steps of Number 173. Veryquickly she inserted her key in the lock, pushed the door open andclosed it behind her. She switched on the hall light. The housesounded hollow and deserted, a fact which afforded herconsiderable satisfaction. She turned the light out and found herway up the broad stairs to the first floor, paused for a moment toswitch on another light which she knew would not be observablefrom the street outside and mounted the second flight.
　　Miss Belinda Mary Bartholomew congratulated herself upon thesuccess of her scheme, and the only doubt that was in her mind nowwas whether the boudoir had been locked, but her father was rathercareless in such matters and Jacks the butler was one of thosedear, silly, old men who never locked anything, and, inconsequence, faced every audit with a long face and a longer taleof the peculations of occasional servants.
　　To her immense relief the handle turned and the door opened to hertouch. Somebody had had the sense to pull down the blinds and thecurtains were drawn. She switched on the light with a sigh ofrelief. Her mother's writing table was covered with unopenedletters, but she brushed these aside in her search for the littleparcel. It was not there and her heart sank. Perhaps she had putit in one of the drawers. She tried them all without result.
　　She stood by the desk a picture of perplexity, biting a fingerthoughtfully.
　　"Thank goodness!" she said with a jump, for she saw the parcel onthe mantel shelf, crossed the room and took it down.
　　With eager hands she tore off the covering and came to thefamiliar leather case. Not until she had opened the padded lidand had seen the snuffbox reposing in a bed of cotton wool did sherelapse into a long sigh of relief.
　　"Thank heaven for that," she said aloud.
　　"And me," said a voice.
　　She sprang up and turned round with a look of terror.
　　"Mr. - Mr. Meredith," she stammered.
　　T. X. stood by the window curtains from whence he had made hisdramatic entry upon the scene.
　　"I say you have to thank me also, Miss Bartholomew," he saidpresently.
　　"How do you know my name?" she asked with some curiosity.
　　"I know everything in the world," he answered, and she smiled.
　　Suddenly her face went serious and she demanded sharply"Who sent you after me - Mr. Kara?""Mr. Kara?" he repeated, in wonder.
　　"He threatened to send for the police," she went on rapidly, "andI told him he might do so. I didn't mind the police - it was KaraI was afraid of. You know what I went for, my mother's property."She held the snuff-box in her outstretched hand.
　　"He accused me of stealing and was hateful, and then he put medownstairs in that awful cellar and - ""And?" suggested T. X.
　　"That's all," she replied with tightened lips; "what are you goingto do now?""I am going to ask you a few questions if I may," he said. "Inthe first place have you not heard anything about Mr. Kara sinceyou went away?"She shook her head.
　　"I have kept out of his way," she said grimly.
　　"Have you seen the newspapers?" he asked.
　　She nodded.
　　"I have seen the advertisement column - I wired asking Papa toreply to my telegram.""I know - I saw it," he smiled; "that is what brought me here.""I was afraid it would," she said ruefully; "father is awfullyloquacious in print - he makes speeches you know. All I wantedhim to say was yes or no. What do you mean about the newspapers?"she went on. "Is anything wrong with mother?"He shook his head.
　　"So far as I know Lady Bartholomew is in the best of health and ison her way home.""Then what do you mean by asking me about the newspapers!" shedemanded; "why should I see the newspapers - what is there for meto see?""About Kara?" he suggested.
　　She shook her head in bewilderment.
　　"I know and want to know nothing about Kara. Why do you say thisto me?""Because," said T. X. slowly, "on the night you disappeared fromCadogan Square, Remington Kara was murdered.""Murdered," she gasped.
　　He nodded.
　　"He was stabbed to the heart by some person or persons unknown."T. X. took his hand from his pocket and pulled something out whichwas wrapped in tissue paper. This he carefully removed and thegirl watched with fascinated gaze, and with an awful sense ofapprehension. Presently the object was revealed. It was a pairof scissors with the handle wrapped about with a smallhandkerchief dappled with brown stains. She took a step backward,raising her hands to her cheeks.
　　"My scissors," she said huskily; "you won't think - "She stared up at him, fear and indignation struggling for mastery.
　　"I don't think you committed the murder," he smiled; "if that'swhat you mean to ask me, but if anybody else found those scissorsand had identified this handkerchief you would have been in rathera fix, my young friend."She looked at the scissors and shuddered.
　　"I did kill something," she said in a low voice, "an awful dog ...
　　I don't know how I did it, but the beastly thing jumped at me andI just stabbed him and killed him, and I am glad," she nodded manytimes and repeated, "I am glad.""So I gather - I found the dog and now perhaps you'll explain whyI didn't find you?"Again she hesitated and he felt that she was hiding something fromhim.
　　"I don't know why you didn't find me," she said; "I was there.""How did you get out?""How did you get out?" she challenged him boldly.
　　"I got out through the door," he confessed; "it seems aridiculously commonplace way of leaving but that's the only way Icould see.""And that's how I got out," she answered, with a little smile.
　　"But it was locked."She laughed.
　　"I see now," she said; "I was in the cellar. I heard your key inthe lock and bolted down the trap, leaving those awful scissorsbehind. I thought it was Kara with some of his friends and thenthe voices died away and I ventured to come up and found you hadleft the door open. So - so I - "These queer little pauses puzzled T. X. There was something shewas not telling him. Something she had yet to reveal.
　　"So I got away you see," she went on. "I came out into thekitchen; there was nobody there, and I passed through the areadoor and up the steps and just round the corner I found a taxicab,and that is all."She spread out her hands in a dramatic little gesture.
　　"And that is all, is it?" said T. X.
　　"That is all," she repeated; "now what are you going to do?"T. X. looked up at the ceiling and stroked his chin.
　　"I suppose that I ought to arrest you. I feel that something isdue from me. May I ask if you were sleeping in the beddownstairs?""In the lower cellar?" she demanded, - a little pause and then,"Yes, I was sleeping in the cellar downstairs."There was that interval of hesitation almost between each word.
　　"What are you going to do?" she asked again.
　　She was feeling more sure of herself and had suppressed the panicwhich his sudden appearance had produced in her. He rumpled hishair, a gross imitation, did she but know it, of one of hischief's mannerisms and she observed that his hair was very thickand inclined to curl. She saw also that he was passably goodlooking, had fine grey eyes, a straight nose and a most firm chin.
　　"I think," she suggested gently, "you had better arrest me.""Don't be silly," he begged.
　　She stared at him in amazement.
　　"What did you say?" she asked wrathfully.
　　"I said 'don't be silly,'" repeated the calm young man.
　　"Do you know that you're being very rude?" she asked.
　　He seemed interested and surprised at this novel view of hisconduct.
　　"Of course," she went on carefully smoothing her dress andavoiding his eye, "I know you think I am silly and that I've got amost comic name.""I have never said your name was comic," he replied coldly; "Iwould not take so great a liberty.""You said it was 'weird' which was worse," she claimed.
　　"I may have said it was 'weird,"' he admitted, "but that's ratherdifferent to saying it was 'comic.' There is dignity in weirdthings. For example, nightmares aren't comic but they're weird.""Thank you," she said pointedly.
　　"Not that I mean your name is anything approaching a nightmare."He made this concession with a most magnificent sweep of hand asthough he were a king conceding her the right to remain covered inhis presence. "I think that Belinda Ann - ""Belinda Mary," she corrected.
　　"Belinda Mary, I was going to say, or as a matter of fact," hefloundered, "I was going to say Belinda and Mary.""You were going to say nothing of the kind," she corrected him.
　　"Anyway, I think Belinda Mary is a very pretty name.""You think nothing of the sort."She saw the laughter in his eyes and felt an insane desire tolaugh.
　　"You said it was a weird name and you think it is a weird name,but I really can't be bothered considering everybody's views. Ithink it's a weird name, too. I was named after an aunt," sheadded in self-defence.
　　"There you have the advantage of me," he inclined his headpolitely; "I was named after my father's favourite dog.""What does T. X. stand for?" she asked curiously.
　　"Thomas Xavier," he said, and she leant back in the big chair onthe edge of which a few minutes before she had perched herself intrepidation and dissolved into a fit of immoderate laughter.
　　"It is comic, isn't it?" he asked.
　　"Oh, I am sorry I'm so rude," she gasped. "Fancy being calledTommy Xavier - I mean Thomas Xavier.""You may call me Tommy if you wish - most of my friends do.""Unfortunately I'm not your friend," she said, still smiling andwiping the tears from her eyes, "so I shall go on calling you Mr.
　　Meredith if you don't mind."She looked at her watch.
　　"If you are not going to arrest me I'm going," she said.
　　"I have certainly no intention of arresting you," said he, "but Iam going to see you home!"She jumped up smartly.
　　"You're not," she commanded.
　　She was so definite in this that he was startled.
　　"My dear child," he protested.
　　"Please don't 'dear child' me," she said seriously; "you're goingto be a good little Tommy and let me go home by myself."She held out her hand frankly and the laughing appeal in her eyeswas irresistible.
　　"Well, I'll see you to a cab," he insisted.
　　"And listen while I give the driver instructions where he is totake me?"She shook her head reprovingly.
　　"It must be an awful thing to be a policeman."He stood back with folded arms, a stern frown on his face.
　　"Don't you trust me?" he asked.
　　"No," she replied.
　　"Quite right," he approved; "anyway I'll see you to the cab andyou can tell the driver to go to Charing Cross station and on yourway you can change your direction.""And you promise you won't follow me?" she asked.
　　"On my honour," he swore; "on one condition though.""I will make no conditions," she replied haughtily.
　　"Please come down from your great big horse," he begged, "andlisten to reason. The condition I make is that I can always bringyou to an appointed rendezvous whenever I want you. Honestly,this is necessary, Belinda Mary.""Miss Bartholomew," she corrected, coldly.
　　"It is necessary," he went on, "as you will understand. Promiseme that, if I put an advertisement in the agonies of either anevening paper which I will name or in the Morning Port, you willkeep the appointment I fix, if it is humanly possible."She hesitated a moment, then held out her hand.
　　"I promise," she said.
　　"Good for you, Belinda Mary," said he, and tucking her arm in hishe led her out of the room switching off the light and racing herdown the stairs.
　　If there was a lot of the schoolgirl left in Belinda MaryBartholomew, no less of the schoolboy was there in thisCommissioner of Police. He would have danced her through the fog,contemptuous of the proprieties, but he wasn't so very anxious toget her to her cab and to lose sight of her.
　　"Good-night," he said, holding her hand.
　　"That's the third time you've shaken hands with me to-night," sheinterjected.
　　"Don't let us have any unpleasantness at the last," he pleaded,"and remember.""I have promised," she replied.
　　"And one day," he went on, "you will tell me all that happened inthat cellar.""I have told you," she said in a low voice.
　　"You have not told me everything, child."He handed her into the cab. He shut the door behind her and leantthrough the open window.
　　"Victoria or Marble Arch?" he asked politely.
　　"Charing Cross," she replied, with a little laugh.
　　He watched the cab drive away and then suddenly it stopped and afigure lent out from the window beckoning him frantically. He ranup to her.
　　"Suppose I want you," she asked.
　　"Advertise," he said promptly, "beginning your advertisement 'DearTommy."'
　　"I shall put 'T. X.,' " she said indignantly.
　　"Then I shall take no notice of your advertisement," he repliedand stood in the middle of the street, his hat in his hand, to theintense annoyance of a taxi-cab driver who literally all but ranhim down and in a figurative sense did so until T. X. was out ofearshot.
Chapter 17
    Thomas Xavier Meredith was a shrewd young man. It was said of himby Signor Paulo Coselli, the eminent criminologist, that he had agift of intuition which was abnormal. Probably the mystery of thetwisted candle was solved by him long before any other person inthe world had the dimmest idea that it was capable of solution.
　　The house in Cadogan Square was still in the hands of the police.
　　To this house and particularly to Kara's bedroom T. X. from timeto time repaired, and reproduced as far as possible the conditionswhich obtained on the night of the murder. He had the samestifling fire, the same locked door. The latch was dropped in itssocket, whilst T. X., with a stop watch in his hand, madeelaborate calculations and acted certain parts which he did notreveal to a soul.
　　Three times, accompanied by Mansus, he went to the house, threetimes went to the death chamber and was alone on one occasion foran hour and a half whilst the patient Mansus waited outside.
　　Three times he emerged looking graver on each occasion, and afterthe third visit he called into consultation John Lexman.
　　Lexman had been spending some time in the country, having deferredhis trip to the United States.
　　"This case puzzles me more and more, John," said T. X., troubledout of his usual boisterous self, "and thank heaven it worriesother people besides me. De Mainau came over from France theother day and brought all his best sleuths, whilst O'Grady of theNew York central office paid a flying visit just to get hold ofthe facts. Not one of them has given me the real solution, thoughthey've all been rather ingenious. Gathercole has vanished and isprobably on his way to some undiscoverable region, and our peoplehave not yet traced the valet.""He should be the easiest for you," said John Lexman,reflectively.
　　"Why Gathercole should go off I can't understand," T. X.
　　continued. "According to the story which was told me by Fisher,his last words to Kara were to the effect that he was expecting acheque or that he had received a cheque. No cheque has beenpresented or drawn and apparently Gathercole has gone off withoutwaiting for any payment. An examination of, Kara's books shownothing against the Gathercole account save the sum of 600 poundswhich was originally advanced, and now to upset all mycalculations, look at this."He took from his pocketbook a newspaper cutting and pushed itacross the table, for they were dining together at the Carlton.
　　John Lexman picked up the slip and read. It was evidently from aNew York paper:
　　"Further news has now come to hand by the Antarctic TradingCompany's steamer, Cyprus, concerning the wreck of the City of theArgentine. It is believed that this ill-fated vessel, whichcalled at South American ports, lost her propellor and driftedsouth out of the track of shipping. This theory is now confirmed.
　　Apparently the ship struck an iceberg on December 23rd andfoundered with all aboard save a few men who were able to launch aboat and who were picked up by the Cyprus. The following is thepassenger list."John Lexman ran down the list until he came upon the name whichwas evidently underlined in ink by T. X. That name was GeorgeGathercole and after it in brackets (Explorer).
　　"If that were true, then, Gathercole could not have come toLondon.""He may have taken another boat," said T. X., "and I cabled to theSteamship Company without any great success. ApparentlyGathercole was an eccentric sort of man and lived in terror ofbeing overcrowded. It was a habit of his to make provisionalbookings by every available steamer. The company can tell me nomore than that he had booked, but whether he shipped on the Cityof the Argentine or not, they do not know.""I can tell you this about Gathercole," said John slowly andthoughtfully, "that he was a man who would not hurt a fly. He wasincapable of killing any man, being constitutionally averse totaking life in any shape. For this reason he never madecollections of butterflies or of bees, and I believe has nevershot an animal in his life. He carried his principles to such anextent that he was a vegetarian - poor old Gathercole!" he said,with the first smile which T. X. had seen on his face since hecame back.
　　"If you want to sympathize with anybody," said T. X. gloomily,"sympathize with me."On the following day T. X. was summoned to the Home Office andwent steeled for a most unholy row. The Home Secretary, a largeand worthy gentleman, given to the making of speeches on everyexcuse, received him, however, with unusual kindness.
　　"I've sent for you, Mr. Meredith," he said, "about thisunfortunate Greek. I've had all his private papers looked intoand translated and in some cases decoded, because as you areprobably aware his diaries and a great deal of his correspondencewere in a code which called for the attention of experts."T. X. had not troubled himself greatly about Kara's private papersbut had handed them over, in accordance with instructions, to theproper authorities.
　　"Of course, Mr. Meredith," the Home Secretary went on, beamingacross his big table, "we expect you to continue your search forthe murderer, but I must confess that your prisoner when yousecure him will have a very excellent case to put to a jury.""That I can well believe, sir," said T. X.
　　"Seldom in my long career at the bar," began the Home Secretary inhis best oratorical manner, "have I examined a record so utterlydiscreditable as that of the deceased man."Here he advanced a few instances which surprised even T. X.
　　"The men was a lunatic," continued the Home Secretary, a vicious,evil man who loved cruelty for cruelty's sake. We have in thisdiary alone sufficient evidence to convict him of three separatemurders, one of which was committed in this country."T. X. looked his astonishment.
　　"You will remember, Mr. Meredith, as I saw in one of your reports,that he had a chauffeur, a Greek named Poropulos."T. X. nodded.
　　"He went to Greece on the day following the shooting ofVassalaro," he said.
　　The Home Secretary shook his head"He was killed on the same night," said the Minister, "and youwill have no difficulty in finding what remains of his body in thedisused house which Kara rented for his own purpose on thePortsmouth Road. That he has killed a number of people in Albaniayou may well suppose. Whole villages have been wiped out toprovide him with a little excitement. The man was a Nero withoutany of Nero's amiable weaknesses. He was obsessed with the ideathat he himself was in danger of assassination, and saw an enemyeven in his trusty servant. Undoubtedly the chauffeur Poropuloswas in touch with several Continental government circles. Youunderstand," said the Minister in conclusion, "that I am tellingyou this, not with the idea of expecting you, to relax yourefforts to find the murderer and clear up the mystery, but inorder that you may know something of the possible motive for thisman's murder."T. X. spent an hour going over the decoded diary and documents andleft the Home Office a little shakily. It was inconceivable,incredible. Kara was a lunatic, but the directing genius was adevil.
　　T. X. had a flat in Whitehall Gardens and thither he repaired tochange for dinner. He was half dressed when the evening paperarrived and he glanced as was his wont first at the news' page andthen at the advertisement column. He looked down the columnmarked "Personal" without expecting to find anything of particularinterest to himself, but saw that which made him drop the paperand fly round the room in a frenzy to complete his toilet.
　　"Tommy X.," ran the brief announcement, "most urgent, Marble Arch8."He had five minutes to get there but it seemed like five hours.
　　He was held up at almost every crossing and though he might haveused his authority to obtain right of way, it was a step which hiscurious sense of honesty prevented him taking. He leapt out ofthe cab before it stopped, thrust the fare into the driver's handsand looked round for the girl. He saw her at last and walkedquickly towards her. As he approached her, she turned about andwith an almost imperceptible beckoning gesture walked away. Hefollowed her along the Bayswater Road and gradually drew level.
　　"I am afraid I have been watched," she said in a low voice. "Willyou call a cab?"He hailed a passing taxi, helped her in and gave at random thefirst place that suggested itself to him, which was Finsbury Park.
　　"I am very worried," she said, "and I don't know anybody who canhelp me except you.""Is it money?" he asked.
　　"Money," she said scornfully, "of course it isn't money. I wantto show you a letter," she said after a while.
　　She took it from her bag and gave it to him and he struck a matchand read it with difficulty.
　　It was written in a studiously uneducated hand.
　　"Dear Miss,"I know who you are. You are wanted by the police but I will notgive you away. Dear Miss. I am very hard up and 20 pounds willbe very useful to me and I shall not trouble you again. DearMiss. Put the money on the window sill of your room. I know yousleep on the ground floor and I will come in and take it. And ifnot - well, I don't want to make any trouble.
　　"Yours truly,"A FRIEND.""When did you get this?" he asked.
　　"This morning," she replied. "I sent the Agony to the paper bytelegram, I knew you would come.""Oh, you did, did you?" he said.
　　Her assurance was very pleasing to him. The faith that her wordsimplied gave him an odd little feeling of comfort and happiness.
　　"I can easily get you out of this," he added; "give me youraddress and when the gentleman comes - ""That is impossible," she replied hurriedly. "Please don't thinkI'm ungrateful, and don't think I'm being silly - you do think I'mbeing silly, don't you!""I have never harboured such an unworthy thought," he saidvirtuously.
　　"Yes, you have," she persisted, "but really I can't tell you whereI am living. I have a very special reason for not doing so. It'snot myself that I'm thinking about, but there's a life involved."This was a somewhat dramatic statement to make and she felt shehad gone too far.
　　"Perhaps I don't mean that," she said, "but there is some one Icare for - " she dropped her voice.
　　"Oh," said T. X. blankly.
　　He came down from his rosy heights into the shadow and darkness ofa sunless valley.
　　"Some one you care for," he repeated after a while.
　　"Yes."There was another long silence, then,"Oh, indeed," said T. X.
　　Again the unbroken interval of quiet and after a while she said ina low voice, "Not that way.""Not what way!" asked T. X. huskily, his spirits doing a littlemountaineering.
　　"The way you mean," she said.
　　"Oh," said T. X.
　　He was back again amidst the rosy snows of dawn, was in factclimbing a dizzy escalier on the topmost height of hope's MontBlanc when she pulled the ladder from under him.
　　"I shall, of course, never marry," she said with a certain primdecision.
　　T. X. fell with a dull sickening thud, discovering that his rosysnows were not unlike cold, hard ice in their lack of resilience.
　　"Who said you would?" he asked somewhat feebly, but in selfdefence.
　　"You did," she said, and her audacity took his breath away.
　　"Well, how am I to help you!" he asked after a while.
　　"By giving me some advice," she said; "do you think I ought to putthe money there!""Indeed I do not," said T. X., recovering some of his naturaldominance; "apart from the fact that you would be compounding afelony, you would merely be laying out trouble for yourself in thefuture. If he can get 20 pounds so easily, he will come for 40pounds. But why do you stay away, why don't you return home?
　　There's no charge and no breath of suspicion against you.""Because I have something to do which I have set my mind to," shesaid, with determination in her tones.
　　"Surely you can trust me with your address," he urged her, "afterall that has passed between us, Belinda Mary - after all the yearswe have known one another.""I shall get out and leave you," she said steadily.
　　"But how the dickens am I going to help you?" he protested.
　　"Don't swear," she could be very severe indeed; "the only way youcan help me is by being kind and sympathetic.""Would you like me to burst into tears?" he asked sarcastically.
　　"I ask you to do nothing more painful or repugnant to your naturalfeelings than to be a gentleman," she said.
　　"Thank you very kindly," said T. X., and leant back in the cabwith an air of supreme resignation.
　　"I believe you're making faces in the dark," she accused him.
　　"God forbid that I should do anything so low," said he hastily;"what made you think that?""Because I was putting my tongue out at you," she admitted, andthe taxi driver heard the shrieks of laughter in the cab behindhim above the wheezing of his asthmatic engine.
　　At twelve that night in a certain suburb of London an overcoatedman moved stealthily through a garden. He felt his way carefullyalong the wall of the house and groped with hope, but with nogreat certainty, along the window sill. He found an envelopewhich his fingers, somewhat sensitive from long employment innefarious uses, told him contained nothing more substantial than aletter.
　　He went back through the garden and rejoined his companion, whowas waiting under an adjacent lamp-post.
　　"Did she drop?" asked the other eagerly.
　　"I don't know yet," growled the man from the garden.
　　He opened the envelope and read the few lines.
　　"She hasn't got the money," he said, "but she's going to get it.
　　I must meet her to-morrow afternoon at the corner of Oxford Streetand Regent Street.""What time!" asked the other.
　　"Six o'clock," said the first man. "The chap who takes the moneymust carry a copy of the Westminster Gazette in his hand.""Oh, then it's a plant," said the other with conviction.
　　The other laughed.
　　"She won't work any plants. I bet she's scared out of her life."The second man bit his nails and looked up and down the road,apprehensively.
　　"It's come to something," he said bitterly; "we went out to makeour thousands and we've come down to 'chanting' for 20 pounds.""It's the luck," said the other philosophically, "and I haven'tdone with her by any means. Besides we've still got a chance ofpulling of the big thing, Harry. I reckon she's good for ahundred or two, anyway."At six o'clock on the following afternoon, a man dressed in a darkovercoat, with a soft felt hat pulled down over his eyes stoodnonchalantly by the curb near where the buses stop at RegentStreet slapping his hand gently with a folded copy of theWestminster Gazette.
　　That none should mistake his Liberal reading, he stood as near aspossible to a street lamp and so arranged himself and his attitudethat the minimum of light should fall upon his face and themaximum upon that respectable organ of public opinion. Soon aftersix he saw the girl approaching, out of the tail of his eye, andstrolled off to meet her. To his surprise she passed him by andhe was turning to follow when an unfriendly hand gripped him bythe arm.
　　"Mr. Fisher, I believe," said a pleasant voice.
　　"What do you mean?" said the man, struggling backward.
　　"Are you going quietly!" asked the pleasant Superintendent Mansus,"or shall I take my stick to you'?"Mr. Fisher thought awhile.
　　"It's a cop," he confessed, and allowed himself to be hustled intothe waiting cab.
　　He made his appearance in T. X.'s office and that urbane gentlemangreeted him as a friend.
　　"And how's Mr. Fisher!" he asked; "I suppose you are Mr. Fisherstill and not Mr. Harry Gilcott, or Mr. George Porten."Fisher smiled his old, deferential, deprecating smile.
　　"You will always have your joke, sir. I suppose the young ladygave me away.""You gave yourself away, my poor Fisher," said T. X., and put astrip of paper before him; "you may disguise your hand, and inyour extreme modesty pretend to an ignorance of the Britishlanguage, which is not creditable to your many attainments, butwhat you must be awfully careful in doing in future when you writesuch epistles," he said, "is to wash your hands.""Wash my hands!" repeated the puzzled Fisher.
　　T. X. nodded.
　　"You see you left a little thumb print, and we are rather whaleson thumb prints at Scotland Yard, Fisher.""I see. What is the charge now, sir!""I shall make no charge against you except the conventional one ofbeing a convict under license and failing to report."Fisher heaved a sigh.
　　"That'll only mean twelve months. Are you going to charge me withthis business?" he nodded to the paper.
　　T. X. shook his head.
　　"I bear you no ill-will although you tried to frighten MissBartholomew. Oh yes, I know it is Miss Bartholomew, and haveknown all the time. The lady is there for a reason which is nobusiness of yours or of mine. I shall not charge you with attemptto blackmail and in reward for my leniency I hope you are going totell me all you know about the Kara murder. You wouldn't like meto charge you with that, would you by any chance!"Fisher drew a long breath.
　　"No, sir, but if you did I could prove my innocence," he saidearnestly. "I spent the whole of the evening in the kitchen.""Except a quarter of an hour," said T. X.
　　The man nodded.
　　"That's true, sir, I went out to see a pal of mine.""The man who is in this!" asked T. X.
　　Fisher hesitated.
　　"Yes, sir. He was with me in this but there was nothing wrongabout the business - as far as we went. I don't mind admittingthat I was planning a Big Thing. I'm not going to blow on it, ifit's going to get me into trouble, but if you'll promise me thatit won't, I'll tell you the whole story.""Against whom was this coup of yours planned?""Against Mr. Kara, sir," said Fisher.
　　"Go on with your story," nodded T. X.
　　The story was a short and commonplace one. Fisher had met a manwho knew another man who was either a Turk or an Albanian. Theyhad learnt that Kara was in the habit of keeping large sums ofmoney in the house and they had planned to rob him. That was thestory in a nutshell. Somewhere the plan miscarried. It was whenhe came to the incidents that occurred on the night of the murderthat T. X. followed him with the greatest interest.
　　"The old gentleman came in," said Fisher, "and I saw him up to theroom. I heard him coming out and I went up and spoke to him whilehe was having a chat with Mr. Kara at the open door.""Did you hear Mr. Kara speak?""I fancy I did, sir," said Fisher; "anyway the old gentleman wasquite pleased with himself.""Why do you say 'old gentleman'!" asked T. X.; "he was not an oldman.""Not exactly, sir," said Fisher, "but he had a sort of fussyirritable way that old gentlemen sometimes have and I somehow gotit fixed in my mind that he was old. As a matter of fact, he wasabout forty-five, he may have been fifty.""You have told me all this before. Was there anything peculiarabout him!"Fisher hesitated.
　　"Nothing, sir, except the fact that one of his arms was a gameone.""Meaning that it was - ""Meaning that it was an artificial one, sir, so far as I can makeout.""Was it his right or his left arm that was game!" interrupted T.
　　X.
　　"His left arm, sir.""You're sure?""I'd swear to it, sir.""Very well, go on.""He came downstairs and went out and I never saw him again. Whenyou came and the murder was discovered and knowing as I did that Ihad my own scheme on and that one of your splits might pinch me, Igot a bit rattled. I went downstairs to the hall and the firstthing I saw lying on the table was a letter. It was addressed tome."He paused and T. X. nodded.
　　"Go on," he said again.
　　"I couldn't understand how it came to be there, but as I'd been inthe kitchen most of the evening except when I was seeing my paloutside to tell him the job was off for that night, it might havebeen there before you came. I opened the letter. There were onlya few words on it and I can tell you those few words made my heartjump up into my mouth, and made me go cold all over.""What were they!" asked T. X.
　　"I shall not forget them, sir. They're sort of permanently fixedin my brain," said the man earnestly; "the note started with justthe figures 'A. C. 274.' ""What was that!" asked T. X.
　　"My convict number when I was in Dartmoor Prison, sir.""What did the note say?""'Get out of here quick' - I don't know who had put it there, butI'd evidently been spotted and I was taking no chances. That'sthe whole story from beginning to end. I accidentally happened tomeet the young lady, Miss Holland - Miss Bartholomew as she is -and followed her to her house in Portman Place. That was thenight you were there."T. X. found himself to his intense annoyance going very red.
　　"And you know no more?" he asked.
　　"No more, sir - and if I may be struck dead - ""Keep all that sabbath talk for the chaplain," commended T. X.,and they took away Mr. Fisher, not an especially dissatisfied man.
　　That night T. X. interviewed his prisoner at Cannon Row policestation and made a few more enquiries.
　　"There is one thing I would like to ask you," said the girl whenhe met her next morning in Green Park.
　　"If you were going to ask whether I made enquiries as to whereyour habitation was," he warned her, "I beg of you to refrain."She was looking very beautiful that morning, he thought. The keenair had brought a colour to her face and lent a spring to hergait, and, as she strode along by his side with the free andcareless swing of youth, she was an epitome of the life which evennow was budding on every tree in the park.
　　"Your father is back in town, by the way," he said, "and he ismost anxious to see you."She made a little grimace.
　　"I hope you haven't been round talking to father about me.""Of course I have," he said helplessly; "I have also had all thereporters up from Fleet Street and given them a full descriptionof your escapades."She looked round at him with laughter in her eyes.
　　"You have all the manners of an early Christian martyr," she said.
　　"Poor soul! Would you like to be thrown to the lions?""I should prefer being thrown to the demnition ducks and drakes,"he said moodily.
　　"You're such a miserable man," she chided him, "and yet you haveeverything to make life worth living.""Ha, ha!" said T. X.
　　"You have, of course you have! You have a splendid position.
　　Everybody looks up to you and talks about you. You have got awife and family who adore you - "He stopped and looked at her as though she were some strangeinsect.
　　"I have a how much?" he asked credulously.
　　"Aren't you married?" she asked innocently.
　　He made a strange noise in his throat.
　　"Do you know I have always thought of you as married," she wenton; "I often picture you in your domestic circle reading to thechildren from the Daily Megaphone those awfully interestingstories about Little Willie Waterbug."He held on to the railings for support.
　　"May we sit down" he asked faintly.
　　She sat by his side, half turned to him, demure and whollyadorable.
　　"Of course you are right in one respect," he said at last, "butyou're altogether wrong about the children.""Are you married!" she demanded with no evidence of amusement.
　　"Didn't you know?" he asked.
　　She swallowed something.
　　"Of course it's no business of mine and I'm sure I hope you arevery happy.""Perfectly happy," said T. X. complacently. "You must come outand see me one Saturday afternoon when I am digging the potatoes.
　　I am a perfect devil when they let me loose in the vegetablegarden.""Shall we go on?" she said.
　　He could have sworn there were tears in her eyes and manlike hethought she was vexed with him at his fooling.
　　"I haven't made you cross, have I?" he asked.
　　"Oh no," she replied.
　　"I mean you don't believe all this rot about my being married andthat sort of thing?""I'm not interested," she said, with a shrug of her shoulders,"not very much. You've been very kind to me and I should be anawful boor if I wasn't grateful. Of course, I don't care whetheryou're married or not, it's nothing to do with me, is it?""Naturally it isn't," he replied. "I suppose you aren't marriedby any chance?""Married," she repeated bitterly; "why, you will make my fourth!"She had hardy got the words out of her mouth before she realizedher terrible error. A second later she was in his arms and he waskissing her to the scandal of one aged park keeper, one small anddirty-faced little boy and a moulting duck who seemed to sneer atthe proceedings which he watched through a yellow and malignanteye.
　　"Belinda Mary," said T. X. at parting, "you have got to give upyour little country establishment, wherever it may be and comeback to the discomforts of Portman Place. Oh, I know you can'tcome back yet. That 'somebody' is there, and I can pretty wellguess who it is.""Who?" she challenged.
　　"I rather fancy your mother has come back," he suggested.
　　A look of scorn dawned into her pretty face.
　　"Good lord, Tommy!" she said in disgust, "you don't think I shouldkeep mother in the suburbs without her telling the world all aboutit!""You're an undutiful little beggar," he said.
　　They had reached the Horse Guards at Whitehall and he was sayinggood-bye to her.
　　"If it comes to a matter of duty," she answered, "perhaps you willdo your duty and hold up the traffic for me and let me cross thisroad.""My dear girl," he protested, "hold up the traffic?""Of course," she said indignantly, "you're a policeman.""Only when I am in uniform," he said hastily, and piloted heracross the road.
　　It was a new man who returned to the gloomy office in Whitehall.
　　A man with a heart that swelled and throbbed with the pride andjoy of life's most precious possession.
Chapter 18
    T. X. sat at his desk, his chin in his hands, his mind remarkablybusy. Grave as the matter was which he was considering, he rosewith alacrity to meet the smiling girl who was ushered through thedoor by Mansus, preternaturally solemn and mysterious.
　　She was radiant that day. Her eyes were sparkling with an unusualbrightness.
　　"I've got the most wonderful thing to tell you," she said, "and Ican't tell you.""That's a very good beginning," said T. X., taking her muff fromher hand.
　　"Oh, but it's really wonderful," she cried eagerly, "morewonderful than anything you have ever heard about.""We are interested," said T. X. blandly.
　　"No, no, you mustn't make fun," she begged, "I can't tell you now,but it is something that will make you simply - "she was at a lossfor a simile.
　　"Jump out of my skin?" suggested T. X.
　　"I shall astonish you," she nodded her head solemnly.
　　"I take a lot of astonishing, I warn you," he smiled; "to know youis to exhaust one's capacity for surprise.""That can be either very, very nice or very, very nasty," she saidcautiously.
　　"But accept it as being very, very nice," he laughed. "Now come,out with this tale of yours."She shook her head very vigorously.
　　"I can't possibly tell you anything," she said.
　　"Then why the dickens do you begin telling anything for?" hecomplained, not without reason.
　　"Because I just want you to know that I do know something.""Oh, Lord!" he groaned. "Of course you know everything. BelindaMary, you're really the most wonderful child."He sat on the edge of her arm-chair and laid his hand on hershoulder.
　　"And you've come to take me out to lunch!""What were you worrying about when I came in?" she asked.
　　He made a little gesture as if to dismiss the subject.
　　"Nothing very much. You've heard me speak of John Lexman?"She bent her head.
　　"Lexman's the writer of a great many mystery stories, but you'veprobably read his books."She nodded again, and again T. X. noticed the suppressed eagernessin her eyes.
　　"You're not ill or sickening for anything, are you?" he askedanxiously; "measles, or mumps or something?""Don't be silly," she said; "go on and tell me something about Mr.
　　Lexman.""He's going to America," said T. X., "and before he goes he wantsto give a little lecture.""A lecture 7""It sounds rum, doesn't it, but that's just what he wants to do.""Why is he doing it!" she asked.
　　T. X. made a gesture of despair.
　　"That is one of the mysteries which may never be revealed to me,except " he pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the girl.
　　"There are times," he said, "when there is a great struggle goingon inside a man between all the human and better part of him andthe baser professional part of him. One side of me wants to hearthis lecture of John Lexman's very much, the other shrinks fromthe ordeal.""Let us talk it over at lunch," she said practically, and carriedhim off.
Chapter 19
    One would not readily associate the party of top-booted sewermenwho descend nightly to the subterranean passages of London withthe stout viceconsul at Durazzo. Yet it was one unimaginative manwho lived in Lambeth and had no knowledge that there was such aplace as Durazzo who was responsible for bringing this comfortableofficial out of his bed in the early hours of the morning causinghim - albeit reluctantly and with violent and insubordinatelanguage - to conduct certain investigations in the crowdedbazaars.
　　At first he was unsuccessful because there were many HusseinEffendis in Durazzo. He sent an invitation to the American Consulto come over to tiffin and help him.
　　"Why the dickens the Foreign Office should suddenly be interestedin Hussein Effendi, I cannot for the life of me understand.""The Foreign Department has to be interested in something, youknow," said the genial American. "I receive some of the quaintestrequests from Washington; I rather fancy they only wire you tofind if they are there.""Why are you doing this!""I've seen Hakaat Bey," said the English official. "I wonder whatthis fellow has been doing? There is probably a wigging for me inthe offing."At about the same time the sewerman in the bosom of his own familywas taking loud and noisy sips from a big mug of tea.
　　"Don't you be surprised," he said to his admiring better half, "ifI have to go up to the Old Bailey to give evidence.""Lord! Joe!" she said with interest, "what has happened!"The sewer man filled his pipe and told the story with a wealth oframbling detail. He gave particulars of the hour he had descendedthe Victoria Street shaft, of what Bill Morgan had said to him asthey were going down, of what he had said to Harry Carter as theysplashed along the low-roofed tunnel, of how he had a funnyfeeling that he was going to make a discovery, and so on and soforth until he reached his long delayed climax.
　　T. X. waited up very late that night and at twelve o'clock hispatience was rewarded, for the Foreign Office' messenger brought atelegram to him. It was addressed to the Chief Secretary and ran:
　　"No. 847. Yours 63952 of yesterday's date. Begins. HusseinEffendi a prosperous merchant of this city left for Italy to placehis daughter in convent Marie Theressa, Florence Hussein beingChristian. He goes on to Paris. Apply Ralli Theokritis et Cie.,Rue de 1'Opera. Ends."Half an hour later T. X. had a telephone connection through toParis and was instructing the British police agent in that city.
　　He received a further telephone report from Paris the next morningand one which gave him infinite satisfaction. Very slowly butsurely he was gathering together the pieces of this bafflingmystery and was fitting them together. Hussein Effendi wouldprobably supply the last missing segments.
　　At eight o'clock that night the door opened and the man whorepresented T. X. in Paris came in carrying a travelling ulster onhis arm. T. X. gave him a nod and then, as the newcomer stoodwith the door open, obviously waiting for somebody to follow him,he said,"Show him in - I will see him alone."There walked into his office, a tall man wearing a frock coat anda red fez. He was a man from fifty-five to sixty, powerfullybuilt, with a grave dark face and a thin fringe of white beard.
　　He salaamed as he entered.
　　"You speak French, I believe," said T. X. presently.
　　The other bowed.
　　"My agent has explained to you," said T. X. in French, "that Idesire some information for the purpose of clearing up a crimewhich has been committed in this country. I have given you myassurance, if that assurance was necessary, that you would come tono harm as a result of anything you might tell me.""That I understand, Effendi," said the tall Turk; "the Americansand the English have always been good friends of mine and I havebeen frequently in London. Therefore, I shall be very pleased tobe of any help to you."T. X. walked to a closed bookcase on one side of the room,unlocked it, took out an object wrapped in white tissue paper. Helaid this on the table, the Turk watching the proceedings with animpassive face. Very slowly the Commissioner unrolled the littlebundle and revealed at last a long, slim knife, rusted andstained, with a hilt, which in its untarnished days had evidentlybeen of chased silver. He lifted the dagger from the table andhanded it to the Turk.
　　"This is yours, I believe," he said softly.
　　The man turned it over, stepping nearer the table that he mightsecure the advantage of a better light. He examined the bladenear the hilt and handed the weapon back to T. X.
　　"That is my knife," he said.
　　T. X. smiled.
　　"You understand, of course, that I saw 'Hussein Effendi ofDurazzo' inscribed in Arabic near the hilt."The Turk inclined his head.
　　"With this weapon," T. X. went on, speaking with slow emphasis, "amurder was committed in this town."There was no sign of interest or astonishment, or indeed of anyemotion whatever.
　　"It is the will of God," he said calmly; "these things happen evenin a great city like London.""It was your knife," suggested T. X.
　　"But my hand was in Durazzo, Effendi," said the Turk.
　　He looked at the knife again.
　　"So the Black Roman is dead, Effendi.""The Black Roman" asked T. X., a little puzzled.
　　"The Greek they call Kara," said the Turk; "he was a very wickedman."T. X. was up on his feet now, leaning across the table and lookingat the other with narrowed eyes.
　　"How did you know it was Karat" he asked quickly.
　　The Turk shrugged his shoulders.
　　"Who else could it be?" he said; "are not your ne newspapersfilled with the story?"T. X. sat back again, disappointed and a little an with himself.
　　"That is true, Hussein Effendi, but I did not think you read thepapers.""Neither do I, master," replied the other coolly, "nor did I knowthat Kara had been killed until I saw this knife. How came thisin your possession!""It was found in a rain sewer," said T. X., "into which themurderer had apparently dropped it. But if you have not read thenewspapers, Effendi, then you admit that you know who committedthis murder."The Turk raised his hands slowly to a level with his shoulders.
　　"Though I am a Christian," he said, "there are many wise sayingsof my father's religion which I remember. And one of these,Effendi, was, 'the wicked must die in the habitations of the just,by the weapons of the worthy shall the wicked perish.' YourExcellency, I am a worthy man, for never have I done a dishonestthing in my life. I have traded fairly with Greeks, withItalians, have with Frenchmen and with Englishmen, also with Jews.
　　I have never sought to rob them nor to hurt them. If I havekilled men, God knows it was not because I desired their death,but because their lives were dangerous to me and to mine. Ask theblade all your questions and see what answer it gives. Until itspeaks I am as dumb as the blade, for it is also written that 'thesoldier is the servant of his sword,' and also, 'the wise servantis dumb about his master's affairs.' "T. X. laughed helplessly.
　　"I had hoped that you might be able to help me, hoped and feared,"he said; "if you cannot speak it is not my business to force youeither by threat or by act. I am grateful to you for having comeover, although the visit has been rather fruitless so far as I amconcerned."He smiled again and offered his hand.
　　"Excellency," said the old Turk soberly, "there are some things inlife that are well left alone and there are moments when justiceshould be so blind that she does not see guilt here is such amoment."And this ended the interview, one on which T. X. had set very highhopes. His gloom carried to Portman Place, where he had arrangedto meet Belinda Mary.
　　"Where is Mr. Lexman going to give this famous lecture of his?"was the question with which she greeted him, "and, please, what isthe subject?""It is on a subject which is of supreme interest to me;" he saidgravely; "he has called his lecture 'The Clue of the TwistedCandle.' There is no clearer brain being employed in the businessof criminal detection than John Lexman's. Though he uses hisgenius for the construction of stories, were it employed in thelegitimate business of police work, I am certain he would make amark second to none in the world. He is determined on giving thislecture and he has issued a number of invitations. These includethe Chiefs of the Secret Police of nearly all the civilizedcountries of the world. O'Grady is on his way from America, hewirelessed me this morning to that effect. Even the Chief of theRussian police has accepted the invitation, because, as you know,this murder has excited a great deal of interest in police circleseverywhere. John Lexman is not only going to deliver thislecture," he said slowly, "but he is going to tell us whocommitted the murder and how it was committed."She thought a moment.
　　"Where will it be delivered!""I don't know," he said in astonishment; "does that matter?""It matters a great deal," she said emphatically, "especially if Iwant it delivered in a certain place. Would you induce Mr.
　　Lexman to lecture at my house?""At Portman Place!" he asked.
　　She shook her head.
　　"No, I have a house of my own. A furnished house I have rented atBlackheath. Will you induce Mr. Lexman to give the lecturethere?""But why?" he asked.
　　"Please don't ask questions," she pleaded, "do this for me,Tommy."He saw she was in earnest.
　　"I'll write to old Lexman this afternoon," ht promised.
　　John Lexman telephoned his reply.
　　"I should prefer somewhere out of London," he said, "and sinceMiss Bartholomew has some interest in the matter, may I extend myinvitation to her? promise she shall not be any more shocked thana good woman need be."And so it came about that the name of Belinda Mary Bartholomew wasadded to the selected list of police chiefs, who were making forLondon at that moment to hear from the man who had guaranteed thesolution of the story of Kara and his killing; the unravelment ofthe mystery which surrounded his death, and the significance ofthe twisted candles, which at that moment were reposing in theBlack Museum at Scotland Yard.
Chapter 20
    The room was a big one and most of the furniture had been clearedout to admit the guests who had come from the ends of the earth tolearn the story of the twisted candles, and to test John Lexman'stheory by their own.
　　They sat around chatting cheerfully of men and crimes, of greatcoups planned and frustrated, of strange deeds committed andundetected. Scraps of their conversation came to Belinda Mary asshe stood in the chintz-draped doorway which led from thedrawing-room to the room she used as a study.
　　". . . do you remember, Sir George, the Bolbrook case! I took theman at Odessa . . . ."". . . the curious thing was that I found no money on the body,only a small gold charm set with a single emerald, so I knew itwas the girl with the fur bonnet who had . . ."". . . Pinot got away after putting three bullets into me, but Idragged myself to the window and shot him dead - it was a realgood shot . . . !"They rose to meet her and T. X. introduced her to the men. It wasat that moment that John Lexman was announced.
　　He looked tired, but returned the Commissioner's greeting with acheerful mien. He knew all the men present by name, as they knewhim. He had a few sheets of notes, which he laid on the littletable which had been placed for him, and when the introductionswere finished he went to this and with scarcely any preliminarybegan.
Chapter 21
    "I am, as you may all know, a writer of stories which depend fortheir success upon the creation and unravelment of criminologicalmysteries. The Chief Commissioner has been good enough to tellyou that my stories were something more than a mere seeking aftersensation, and that I endeavoured in the course of thosenarratives to propound obscure but possible situations, and, withthe ingenuity that I could command, to offer to those problems asolution acceptable, not only to the general reader, but to thepolice expert.
　　"Although I did not regard my earlier work with any greatseriousness and indeed only sought after exciting situations andincidents, I can see now, looking back, that underneath the workwhich seemed at the time purposeless, there was something verymuch like a scheme of studies.
　　"You must forgive this egotism in me because it is necessary thatI should make this explanation and you, who are in the main policeofficers of considerable experience and discernment, shouldappreciate the fact that as I was able to get inside the minds ofthe fictitious criminals I portrayed, so am I now able to followthe mind of the man who committed this murder, or if not to followhis mind, to recreate the psychology of the slayer of RemingtonKara.
　　"In the possession of most of you are the vital facts concerningthis man. You know the type of man he was, you have instances ofhis terrible ruthlessness, you know that he was a blot upon God'searth, a vicious wicked ego, seeking the gratification of thatstrange blood-lust and pain-lust, which is to be found in so fewcriminals."John Lexman went on to describe the killing of Vassalaro.
　　"I know now how that occurred," he said. "I had received on theprevious Christmas eve amongst other presents, a pistol from anunknown admirer. That unknown admirer was Kara, who had plannedthis murder some three months ahead. He it was, who sent me theBrowning, knowing as he did that I had never used such a weaponand that therefore I would be chary about using it. I might haveput the pistol away in a cupboard out of reach and the whole ofhis carefully thought out plan would have miscarried.
　　"But Kara was systematic in all things. Three weeks after Ireceived the weapon, a clumsy attempt was made to break into myhouse in the middle of the night. It struck me at the time it wasclumsy, because the burglar made a tremendous amount of noise anddisappeared soon after he began his attempt, doing no more damagethan to break a window in my dining-room. Naturally my mind wentto the possibility of a further attempt of this kind, as my housestood on the outskirts of the village, and it was only naturalthat I should take the pistol from one of my boxes and put itsomewhere handy. To make doubly sure, Kara came down the next dayand heard the full story of the outrage.
　　"He did not speak of pistols, but I remember now, though I did notremember at the time, that I mentioned the fact that I had a handyweapon. A fortnight later a second attempt was made to enter thehouse. I say an attempt, but again I do not believe that theintention was at all serious. The outrage was designed to keepthat pistol of mine in a get-at-able place.
　　"And again Kara came down to see us on the day following theburglary, and again I must have told him, though I have nodistinct recollection of the fact, of what had happened theprevious night. It would have been unnatural if I had notmentioned the fact, as it was a matter which had formed a subjectof discussion between myself, my wife and the servants.
　　"Then came the threatening letter, with Kara providentially athand. On the night of the murder, whilst Kara was still in myhouse, I went out to find his chauffeur. Kara remained a fewminutes with my wife and then on some excuse went into thelibrary. There he loaded the pistol, placing one cartridge in thechamber, and trusting to luck that I did not pull the triggeruntil I had it pointed at my victim. Here he took his biggestchance, because, before sending the weapon to me, he had had thespring of the Browning so eased that the slightest touch set itoff and, as you know, the pistol being automatic, the explosion ofone cartridge, reloading and firing the next and so on, it wasprobably that a chance touch would have brought his scheme tonought - probably me also.
　　"Of what happened on that night you are aware."He went on to tell of his trial and conviction and skimmed overthe life he led until that morning on Dartmoor.
　　"Kara knew my innocence had been proved and his hatred for mebeing his great obsession, since I had the thing he had wanted butno longer wanted, let that be understood - he saw the misery hehad planned for me and my dear wife being brought to a sudden end.
　　He had, by the way; already planned and carried his plan intoexecution, a system of tormenting her.
　　"You did not know," he turned to T. X., "that scarcely a monthpassed, but some disreputable villain called at her flat, with astory that he had been released from Portland or Wormwood Scrubbsthat morning and that he had seen me. The story each messengerbrought was one sufficient to break the heart of any but thebravest woman. It was a story of ill-treatment by brutalofficials, of my illness, of my madness, of everything calculatedto harrow the feelings of a tender-hearted and faithful wife.
　　"That was Kara's scheme. Not to hurt with the whip or with theknife, but to cut deep at the heart with his evil tongue, to cutto the raw places of the mind. When he found that I was to bereleased, - he may have guessed, or he may have discovered by someunderhand method; that a pardon was about to be signed, - heconceived his great plan. He had less than two days to executeit.
　　"Through one of his agents he discovered a warder who had been insome trouble with the authorities, a man who was avaricious andwas even then on the brink of being discharged from the servicefor trafficking with prisoners. The bribe he offered this man wasa heavy one and the warder accepted.
　　"Kara had purchased a new monoplane and as you know he was anexcellent aviator. With this new machine he flew to Devon andarrived at dawn in one of the unfrequented parts of the moor.
　　"The story of my own escape needs no telling. My narrative reallybegins from the moment I put my foot upon the deck of the Mpret.
　　The first person I asked to see was, naturally, my wife. Kara,however, insisted on my going to the cabin he had prepared andchanging my clothes, and until then I did not realise I was stillin my convict's garb. A clean change was waiting for me, and theluxury of soft shirts and well-fitting garments after the prisonuniform I cannot describe.
　　"After I was dressed I was taken by the Greek steward to thelarger stateroom and there I found my darling waiting for me."His voice sank almost to a whisper, and it was a minute or twobefore he had mastered his emotions.
　　"She had been suspicious of Kara, but he had been very insistent.
　　He had detailed the plans and shown her the monoplane, but eventhen she would not trust herself on board, and she had beenwaiting in a motor-boat, moving parallel with the yacht, until shesaw the landing and realized, as she thought, that Kara was notplaying her false. The motor-boat had been hired by Kara and thetwo men inside were probably as well-bribed as the warder.
　　"The joy of freedom can only be known to those who have sufferedthe horrors of restraint. That is a trite enough statement, butwhen one is describing elemental things there is no room forsubtlety. The voyage was a fairly eventless one. We saw verylittle of Kara, who did not intrude himself upon us, and our mainexcitement lay in the apprehension that we should be held up by aBritish destroyer or, that when we reached Gibraltar, we should besearched by the Brit's authorities. Kara had foreseen thatpossibility and had taken in enough coal to last him for the run.
　　"We had a fairly stormy passage in the Mediterranean, but afterthat nothing happened until we arrived at Durazzo. We had to goashore in disguise, because Kara told us that the English Consulmight see us and make some trouble. We wore Turkish dresses,Grace heavily veiled and I wearing a greasy old kaftan which, withmy somewhat emaciated face and my unshaven appearance, passed mewithout comment.
　　"Kara's home was and is about eighteen miles from Durazzo. It isnot on the main road, but it is reached by following one of therocky mountain paths which wind and twist among the hills to thesouth-east of the town. The country is wild and mainlyuncultivated. We had to pass through swamps and skirt hugelagoons as we mounted higher and higher from terrace to terraceand came to the roads which crossed the mountains.
　　"Kara's, palace, you could call it no less, is really built withinsight of the sea. It is on the Acroceraunian Peninsula near CapeLinguetta. Hereabouts the country is more populated and bettercultivated. We passed great slopes entirely covered with mulberryand olive trees, whilst in the valleys there were fields of maizeand corn. The palazzo stands on a lofty plateau. It isapproached by two paths, which can be and have been well defendedin the past against the Sultan's troops or against the bands whichhave been raised by rival villages with the object of storming andplundering this stronghold.
　　"The Skipetars, a blood-thirsty crowd without pity or remorse,were faithful enough to their chief, as Kara was. He paid them sowell that it was not profitable to rob him; moreover he kept theirown turbulent elements fully occupied with the little raids whichhe or his agents organized from time to time. The palazzo wasbuilt rather in the Moorish than in the Turkish style.
　　"It was a sort of Eastern type to which was grafted an Italianarchitecture - a house of white-columned courts, of big pavedyards, fountains and cool, dark rooms.
　　"When I passed through the gates I realized for the first timesomething of Kara's importance.
　　There were a score of servants, all Eastern, perfectly trained,silent and obsequious. He led us to his own room.
　　"It was a big apartment with divans running round the wall, themost ornate French drawing room suite and an enormous Persiancarpet, one of the finest of the kind that has ever been turnedout of Shiraz. Here, let me say, that throughout the trip hisattitude to me had been perfectly friendly and towards Grace allthat I could ask of my best friend, considerate and tactful.
　　"'We had hardly reached his room before he said to me with thatbonhomie which he had observed throughout the trip, 'You wouldlike to see your room?'
　　"I expressed a wish to that effect. He clapped his hands and abig Albanian servant came through the curtained doorway, made theusual salaam, and Kara spoke to him a few words in a languagewhich I presume was Turkish.
　　"'He will show you the way,' said Kara with his most genial smile.
　　"I followed the servant through the curtains which had hardlyfallen behind me before I was seized by four men, flung violentlyon the ground, a filthy tarbosch was thrust into my mouth andbefore I knew what was happening I was bound hand and foot.
　　"As I realised the gross treachery of the man, my first franticthoughts were of Grace and her safety. I struggled with thestrength of three men, but they were too many for me and I wasdragged along the passage, a door was opened and I was flung intoa bare room. I must have been lying on the floor for half an hourwhen they came for me, this time accompanied by a middle-aged mannamed Savolio, who was either an Italian or a Greek.
　　"He spoke English fairly well and he made it clear to me that Ihad to behave myself. I was led back to the room from whence Ihad come and found Kara sitting in one of those big armchairswhich he affected, smoking a cigarette. Confronting him, still inher Turkish dress, was poor Grace. She was not bound I waspleased to see, but when on my entrance she rose and made as if tocome towards me, she was unceremoniously thrown back by theguardian who stood at her side.
　　"'Mr. John Lexman,' drawled Kara, 'you are at the beginning of agreat disillusionment. I have a few things to tell you which willmake you feel rather uncomfortable.' It was then that I heard forthe first time that my pardon had been signed and my innocencediscovered.
　　"'Having taken a great deal of trouble to get you in prison,' saidKara, 'it isn't likely that I'm going to allow all my plans to beundone, and my plan is to make you both extremely uncomfortable.'
　　"He did not raise his voice, speaking still in the sameconversational tone, suave and half amused.
　　"'I hate you for two things,' he said, and ticked them off on hisfingers: 'the first is that you took the woman that I wanted. Toa man of my temperament that is an unpardonable crime. I havenever wanted women either as friends or as amusement. I am one ofthe few people in the world who are self-sufficient. It happenedthat I wanted your wife and she rejected me because apparently shepreferred you.'
　　"He looked at me quizzically.
　　"'You are thinking at this moment,' he went on slowly, "that Iwant her now, and that it is part of my revenge that I shall puther straight in my harem. Nothing is farther from my desires ormy thoughts. The Black Roman is not satisfied with the leavingsof such poor trash as you. I hate you both equally and for bothof you there is waiting an experience more terrible than even yourelastic imagination can conjure. You understand what that means!'
　　he asked me still retaining his calm.
　　"I did not reply. I dared not look at Grace, to whom he turned.
　　"'I believe you love your husband, my friend,' he said; 'your lovewill be put to a very severe test. You shall see him the merewreckage of the man he is. You shall see him brutalized below thelevel of the cattle in the field. I will give you both no joys,no ease of mind. From this moment you are slaves, and worse thanslaves.'
　　"He clapped his hands. The interview was ended and from thatmoment I only saw Grace once."John Lexman stopped and buried his face in his hands.
　　"They took me to an underground dungeon cut in the solid rock. Inmany ways it resembled the dungeon of the Chateau of Chillon, inthat its only window looked out upon a wild, storm-swept lake andits floor was jagged rock. I have called it underground, asindeed it was on that side, for the palazzo was built upon a steepslope running down from the spur of the hills.
　　"They chained me by the legs and left me to my own devices. Oncea day they gave me a little goat flesh and a pannikin of water andonce a week Kara would come in and outside the radius of my chainhe would open a little camp stool and sitting down smoke hiscigarette and talk. My God! the things that man said! The thingshe described! The horrors he related! And always it was Gracewho was the centre of his description. And he would relate thestories he was telling to her about myself. I cannot describethem. They are beyond repetition."John Lexman shuddered and closed his eyes.
　　"That was his weapon. He did not confront me with the torture ofmy darling, he did not bring tangible evidence of her suffering -he just sat and talked, describing with a remarkable clarity oflanguage which seemed incredible in a foreigner, the 'amusements'
　　which he himself had witnessed.
　　"I thought I should go mad. Twice I sprang at him and twice thechain about my legs threw me headlong on that cruel floor. Oncehe brought the jailer in to whip me, but I took the whipping withsuch phlegm that it gave him no satisfaction. I told you I hadseen Grace only once and this is how it happened.
　　"It was after the flogging, and Kara, who was a veritable demon inhis rage, planned to have his revenge for my indifference. Theybrought Grace out upon a boat and rowed the boat to where I couldsee it from my window. There the whip which had been applied tome was applied to her. I can't tell you any more about that," hesaid brokenly, "but I wish, you don't know how fervently, that Ihad broken down and given the dog the satisfaction he wanted. MyGod! It was horrible!
　　"When the winter came they used to take me out with chains on mylegs to gather in wood from the forest. There was no reason why Ishould be given this work, but the truth was, as I discovered fromSalvolio, that Kara thought my dungeon was too warm. It wassheltered from the winds by the hill behind and even on thecoldest days and nights it was not unbearable. Then Kara wentaway for some time. I think he must have gone to England, and hecame back in a white fury. One of his big plans had gone wrongand the mental torture he inflicted upon me was more acute thanever.
　　"In the old days he used to come once a weeks now he came almostevery day. He usually arrived in the afternoon and I wassurprised one night to be awakened from my sleep to see himstanding at the door, a lantern in his hand, his inevitablecigarette in his mouth. He always wore the Albanian costume whenhe was in the country, those white kilted skirts and zouavejackets which the hillsmen affect and, if anything, it added tohis demoniacal appearance. He put down the lantern and leantagainst the wall.
　　"'I'm afraid that wife of yours is breaking up, Lexman,' hedrawled; 'she isn't the good, stout, English stuff that I thoughtshe was.'
　　"I made no reply. I had found by bitter experience that if Iintruded into the conversation, I should only suffer the more.
　　"'I have sent down to Durazzo to get a doctor,' he went on;'naturally having taken all this trouble I don't want to lose youby death. She is breaking up,' he repeated with relish and yetwith an undertone of annoyance in his voice; "she asked for youthree times this morning.'
　　"I kept myself under control as I had never expected that a man sodesperately circumstanced could do.
　　"'Kara,' I said as quietly as I could, 'what has she done that sheshould deserve this hell in which she has lived?'
　　"He sent out a long ring of smoke and watched its progress acrossthe dungeon.
　　"'What has she done?' he said, keeping his eye on the ring - Ishall always remember every look, every gesture, and everyintonation of his voice. 'Why, she has done all that a woman cando for a man like me. She has made me feel little. Until I had arebuff from her, I had all the world at my feet, Lexman. I did asI liked. If I crooked my little finger, people ran after me andthat one experience with her has broken me. Oh, don't think,' hewent on quickly, 'that I am broken in love. I never loved hervery much, it was just a passing passion, but she killed myself-confidence. After then, whenever I came to a crucial momentin my affairs, when the big manner, the big certainty wasabsolutely necessary for me to carry my way, whenever I was mostconfident of myself and my ability and my scheme, a vision of thisdamned girl rose and I felt that momentary weakening, that memoryof defeat, which made all the difference between success andfailure.
　　"'I hated her and I hate her still,' he said with vehemence; 'ifshe dies I shall hate her more because she will remaineverlastingly unbroken to menace my thoughts and spoil my schemesthrough all eternity.'
　　"He leant forward, his elbows on his knees, his clenched fistunder his chin - how well I can see him! - and stared at me.
　　"'I could have been king here in this land,' he said, waving hishand toward the interior, 'I could have bribed and shot my way tothe throne of Albania. Don't you realize what that means to a manlike me? There is still a chance and if I could keep your wifealive, if I could see her broken in reason and in health, a poor,skeleton, gibbering thing that knelt at my feet when I came nearher I should recover the mastery of myself. Believe me,' he said,nodding his head, 'your wife will have the best medical advicethat it is possible to obtain.'
　　"Kara went out and I did not see him again for a very long time.
　　He sent word, just a scrawled note in the morning, to say my wifehad died."John Lexman rose up from his seat, and paced the apartment, hishead upon his breast.
　　"From that moment," he said, "I lived only for one thing, topunish Remington Kara. And gentlemen, I punished him."He stood in the centre of the room and thumped his broad chestwith his clenched hand.
　　"I killed Remington Kara," he said, and there was a little gasp ofastonishment from every man present save one. That one was T. X.
　　Meredith, who had known all the time.
Chapter 22
    "I told you that there was a man at the palazzo named Salvolio.
　　Salvolio was a man who had been undergoing a life sentence in oneof the prisons of southern Italy. In some mysterious fashion heescaped and got across the Adriatic in a small boat. How Karafound him I don't know. Salvolio was a very uncommunicativeperson. I was never certain whether he was a Greek or an Italian.
　　All that I am sure about is that he was the most unmitigatedvillain next to his master that I have ever met.
　　"He was a quick man with his knife and I have seen him kill one ofthe guards whom he had thought was favouring me in the matter ofdiet with less compunction than you would kill a rat.
　　"It was he who gave me this scar," John Lexman pointed to hischeek. "In his master's absence he took upon himself the task ofconducting a clumsy imitation of Kara's persecution. He gave me,too, the only glimpse I ever had of the torture poor Graceunderwent. She hated dogs, and Kara must have come to know thisand in her sleeping room - she was apparently better accommodatedthan I - he kept four fierce beasts so chained that they couldalmost reach her.
　　"Some reference to my wife from this low brute maddened me beyondendurance and I sprang at him. He whipped out his knife andstruck at me as I fell and I escaped by a miracle. He evidentlyhad orders not to touch me, for he was in a great panic of mind,as he had reason to be, because on Kara's return he discovered thestate of my face, started an enquiry and had Salvolio taken to thecourtyard in the true eastern style and bastinadoed until his feetwere pulp.
　　"You may be sure the man hated me with a malignity which almostrivalled his employer's. After Grace's death Kara went awaysuddenly and I was left to the tender mercy of this man.
　　Evidently he had been given a fairly free hand. The principalobject of Kara's hate being dead, he took little further interestin me, or else wearied of his hobby. Salvolio began hispersecutions by reducing my diet. Fortunately I ate very little.
　　Nevertheless the supplies began to grow less and less, and I wasbeginning to feel the effects of this starvation system when therehappened a thing which changed the whole course of my life andopened to me a way to freedom and to vengeance.
　　"Salvolio did not imitate the austerity of his master and inKara's absence was in the habit of having little orgies of hisown. He would bring up dancing girls from Durazzo for hisamusement and invite prominent men in the neighbourhood to hisfeasts and entertainments, for he was absolutely lord of thepalazzo when Kara was away and could do pretty well as he liked.
　　On this particular night the festivities had been more thanusually prolonged, for as near as I could judge by the day-lightwhich was creeping in through my window it was about four o'clockin the morning when the big steel-sheeted door was opened andSalvolio came in, more than a little drunk. He brought with him,as I judged, one of his dancing girls, who apparently wasprivileged to see the sights of the palace.
　　"For a long time he stood in the doorway talking incoherently in alanguage which I think must have been Turkish, for I caught one ortwo words.
　　"Whoever the girl was, she seemed a little frightened, I could seethat, because she shrank back from him though his arm was abouther shoulders and he was half supporting his weight upon her.
　　There was fear, not only in the curious little glances she shot atme from time to time, but also in the averted face. Her story Iwas to learn. She was not of the class from whence Salvolio foundthe dancers who from time to time came up to the palace for hisamusement and the amusement of his guests. She was the daughterof a Turkish merchant of Scutari who had been received into theCatholic Church.
　　"Her father had gone down to Durazzo during the first Balkan warand then Salvolio had seen the girl unknown to her parent, andthere had been some rough kind of courtship which ended in herrunning away on this very day and joining her ill-favoured loverat the palazzo. I tell you this because the fact had some bearingon my own fate.
　　"As I say, the girl was frightened and made as though to go fromthe dungeon. She was probably scared both by the unkempt prisonerand by the drunken man at her side. He, however, could not leavewithout showing to her something of his authority. He camelurching over near where I lay, his long knife balanced in hishand ready for emergencies, and broke into a string ofvituperations of the character to which I was quite hardened.
　　"Then he took a flying kick at me and got home in my ribs, butagain I experienced neither a sense of indignity nor any greathurt. Salvolio had treated me like this before and I had survivedit. In the midst of the tirade, looking past him, I was a newwitness to an extraordinary scene.
　　"The girl stood in the open doorway, shrinking back against thedoor, looking with distress and pity at the spectacle whichSalvolio's brutality afforded. Then suddenly there appearedbeside her a tall Turk. He was grey-bearded and forbidding. Shelooked round and saw him, and her mouth opened to utter a cry, butwith a gesture he silenced her and pointed to the darknessoutside.
　　"Without a word she cringed past him, her sandalled feet making nonoise. All this time Salvolio was continuing his stream of abuse,but he must have seen the wonder in my eyes for he stopped andturned.
　　"The old Turk took one stride forward, encircled his body with hisleft arm, and there they stood grotesquely like a couple who weregoing to start to waltz. The Turk was a head taller than Salvolioand, as I could see, a man of immense strength.
　　"They looked at one another, face to face, Salvolio rapidlyrecovering his senses . . . and then the Turk gave him a gentlepunch in the ribs. That is what it seemed like to me, butSalvolio coughed horribly, went limp in the other's arms anddropped with a thud to the ground. The Turk leant down soberlyand wiped his long knife on the other's jacket before he put itback in the sash at his waist.
　　"Then with a glance at me he turned to go, but stopped at the doorand looked back thoughtfully. He said something in Turkish whichI could not understand, then he spoke in French.
　　"'Who are you?' he asked.
　　"In as few words as possible I explained. He came over and lookedat the manacle about my leg and shook his head.
　　"'You will never be able to get that undone,' he said.
　　"He caught hold of the chain, which was a fairly long one, boundit twice round his arm and steadying his arm across his thigh, heturned with a sudden jerk. There was a smart 'snap' as the chainparted. He caught me by the shoulder and pulled me to my feet.
　　" 'Put the chain about your waist, Effendi,' he said, and he tooka revolver from his belt and handed it to me.
　　"'You may need this before we get back to Durazzo,' he said. Hisbelt was literally bristling with weapons - I saw three revolversbeside the one I possessed - and he had, evidently come preparedfor trouble. We made our way from the dungeon into theclean-smelling world without.
　　"It was the second time I had been in the open air for eighteenmonths and my knees were trembling under me with weakness andexcitement. The old man shut the prison door behind us and walkedon until we came up to the girl waiting for us by the lakeside.
　　She was weeping softly and he spoke to her a few words in a lowvoice and her weeping ceased.
　　"'This daughter of mine will show us the way,' he said, 'I do notknow this part of the country - she knows it too well.'
　　"To cut a long story short," said Lexman, "we reached Durazzo inthe afternoon. There was no attempt made to follow us up andneither my absence nor the body of Salvolio were discovered untillate in the afternoon. You must remember that nobody but Salvoliowas allowed into my prison and therefore nobody had the courage tomake any investigations.
　　"The old man got me to his house without being observed, andbrought a brother-in-law or some relative of his to remove theanklet. The name of my host was Hussein Effendi.
　　"That same night we left with a little caravan to visit some ofthe old man's relatives. He was not certain what would be theconsequence of his act, and for safety's sake took this trip,which would enable him if need be to seek sanctuary with some ofthe wilder Turkish tribes, who would give him protection.
　　"In that three months I saw Albania as it is - it was anexperience never to be forgotten!
　　"If there is a better man in God's world than Hiabam HusseinEffendi, I have yet to meet him. It was he who provided me withmoney to leave Albania. I begged from him, too, the knife withwhich he had killed Salvolio. He had discovered that Kara was inEngland and told me something of the Greek's occupation which Ihad not known before. I crossed to Italy and went on to Milan.
　　There it was that I learnt that an eccentric Englishman who hadarrived a few days previously on one of the South American boatsat Genoa, was in my hotel desperately ill.
　　"My hotel I need hardly tell you was not a very expensive one andwe were evidently the only two Englishmen in the place. I coulddo no less than go up and see what I could do for the poor fellowwho was pretty well gone when I saw him. I seemed to rememberhaving seen him before and when looking round for someidentification I discovered his name I readily recalled thecircumstance.
　　"It was George Gathercole, who had returned from South America.
　　He was suffering from malarial fever and blood poisoning and for aweek, with an Italian doctor, I fought as hard as any man couldfight for his life. He was a trying patient," John Lexman smiledsuddenly at the recollection, "vitriolic in his language,impatient and imperious in his attitude to his friends. He was,for example, terribly sensitive about his lost arm and would notallow either the doctor or my-self to enter the room until he wascovered to the neck, nor would he eat or drink in our presence.
　　Yet he was the bravest of the brave, careless of himself and onlyfretful because he had not time to finish his new book. Hisindomitable spirit did not save him. He died on the 17th ofJanuary of this year. I was in Genoa at the time, having gonethere at his request to save his belongings. When I returned hehad been buried. I went through his papers and it was then that Iconceived my idea of how I might approach Kara.
　　"I found a letter from the Greek, which had been addressed toBuenos Ayres, to await arrival, and then I remembered in a flash,how Kara had told me he had sent George Gathercole to SouthAmerica to report upon possible gold formations. I was determinedto kill Kara, and determined to kill him in such a way that Imyself would cover every trace of my complicity.
　　"Even as he had planned my downfall, scheming every step andcovering his trail, so did I plan to bring about his death that nosuspicion should fall on me.
　　"I knew his house. I knew something of his habits. I knew thefear in which he went when he was in England and away from thefeudal guards who had surrounded him in Albania. I knew of hisfamous door with its steel latch and I was planning to circumventall these precautions and bring to him not only the death hedeserved, but a full knowledge of his fate before he died.
　　"Gathercole had some money, - about 140 pounds - I took 100pounds of this for my own use, knowing that I should havesufficient in London to recompense his heirs, and the remainder ofthe money with all such documents as he had, save those whichidentified him with Kara, I handed over to the British Consul.
　　"I was not unlike the dead man. My beard had grown wild and Iknew enough of Gathercole's eccentricities to live the part. Thefirst step I took was to announce my arrival by inference. I am afairly good journalist with a wide general knowledge and withthis, corrected by reference to the necessary books which I foundin the British Museum library, I was able to turn out a veryrespectable article on Patagonia.
　　"This I sent to The Times with one of Gathercole's cards and, asyou know, it was printed. My next step was to find suitablelodgings between Chelsea and Scotland Yard. I was fortunate inbeing able to hire a furnished flat, the owner of which was goingto the south of France for three months. I paid the rent inadvance and since I dropped all the eccentricities I had assumedto support the character of Gathercole, I must have impressed theowner, who took me without references.
　　"I had several suits of new clothes made, not in London," hesmiled, "but in Manchester, and again I made myself as trim aspossible to avoid after-identification. When I had got thesetogether in my flat, I chose my day. In the morning I sent twotrunks with most of my personal belongings to the Great MidlandHotel.
　　"In the afternoon I went to Cadogan Square and hung about until Isaw Kara drive off. It was my first view of him since I had leftAlbania and it required all my self-control to prevent mespringing at him in the street and tearing at him with my hands.
　　"Once he was out of sight I went to the house adopting all thestyle and all the mannerisms of poor Gathercole. My beginning wasunfortunate for, with a shock, I recognised in the valet afellow-convict who had been with me in the warder's cottage on themorning of my escape from Dartmoor. There was no mistaking him,and when I heard his voice I was certain. Would he recognise me Iwondered, in spite of my beard and my eye-glasses?
　　"Apparently he did not. I gave him every chance. I thrust myface into his and on my second visit challenged him, in theeccentric way which poor old Gathercole had, to test the grey ofmy beard. For the moment however, I was satisfied with my briefexperiment and after a reasonable interval I went away, returningto my place off Victoria Street and waiting till the evening.
　　"In my observation of the house, whilst I was waiting for Kara todepart, I had noticed that there were two distinct telephone wiresrunning down to the roof. I guessed, rather than knew, that oneof these telephones was a private wire and, knowing something ofKara's fear, I presumed that that wire would lead to a policeoffice, or at any rate to a guardian of some kind or other. Karahad the same arrangement in Albania, connecting the palazzo withthe gendarme posts at Alesso. This much Hussein told me.
　　"That night I made a reconnaissance of the house and saw Kara'swindow was lit and at ten minutes past ten I rang the bell and Ithink it was then that I applied the test of the beard. Kara wasin his room, the valet told me, and led the way upstairs. I hadcome prepared to deal with this valet for I had an especial reasonfor wishing that he should not be interrogated by the police. Ona plain card I had written the number he bore in Dartmoor and hadadded the words, 'I know you, get out of here quick.'
　　"As he turned to lead the way upstairs I flung the envelopecontaining the card on the table in the hall. In an insidepocket, as near to my body as I could put them, I had the twocandles. How I should use them both I had already decided. Thevalet ushered me into Kara's room and once more I stood ins thepresence of the man who had killed my girl and blotted out allthat was beautiful in life for me."There was a breathless silence when he paused. T. X. leaned backin his chair, his head upon his breast, his arms folded, his eyeswatching the other intently.
　　The Chief Commissioner, with a heavy frown and pursed lips, satstroking his moustache and looking under his shaggy eyebrows atthe speaker. The French police officer, his hands thrust deep inhis pockets, his head on one side, was taking in every wordeagerly. The sallow-faced Russian, impassive of face, might havebeen a carved ivory mask. O'Grady, the American, the stump of adead cigar between his teeth, shifted impatiently with every pauseas though he would hurry forward the denouement.
　　Presently John Lexman went on.
　　"He slipped from the bed and came across to meet me as I closedthe door behind me.
　　"'Ah, Mr. Gathercole,' he said, in that silky tone of his, andheld out his hand.
　　"I did not speak. I just looked at him with a sort of fierce joyin my heart the like of which I had never before experienced.
　　"'And then he saw in my eyes the truth and half reached for thetelephone.
　　"But at that moment I was on him. He was a child in my hands.
　　All the bitter anguish he had brought upon me, all the hardshipsof starved days and freezing nights had strengthened and hardenedme. I had come back to London disguised with a false arm and thisI shook free. It was merely a gauntlet of thin wood which I hadhad made for me in Paris.
　　"I flung him back on the bed and half knelt, half laid on him.
　　"'Kara,' I said, 'you are going to die, a more merciful death thanmy wife died.'
　　"He tried to speak. His soft hands gesticulated wildly, but I washalf lying on one arm and held the other.
　　"I whispered in his ear:
　　"'Nobody will know who killed you, Kara, think of that! I shallgo scot free - and you will be the centre of a fine mystery! Allyour letters will be read, all your life will be examined and theworld will know you for what you are!'
　　"I released his arm for just as long as it took to draw my knifeand strike. I think he died instantly," John Lexman said simply.
　　"I left him where he was and went to the door. I had not muchtime to spare. I took the candles from my pocket. They werealready ductile from the heat of my body.
　　"I lifted up the steel latch of the door and propped up the latchwith the smaller of the two candles, one end of which was on themiddle socket and the other beneath the latch. The heat of theroom I knew would still further soften the candle and let thelatch down in a short time.
　　"I was prepared for the telephone by his bedside though I did notknow to whither it led. The presence of the paper-knife decidedme. I balanced it across the silver cigarette box so that one endcame under the telephone receiver; under the other end I put thesecond candle which I had to cut to fit. On top of thepaper-knife at the candle end I balanced the only two books Icould find in the room, and fortunately they were heavy.
　　"I had no means of knowing how long it would take to melt thecandle to a state of flexion which would allow the full weight ofthe books to bear upon the candle end of the paper-knife and flingoff the receiver. I was hoping that Fisher had taken my warningand had gone. When I opened the door softly, I heard hisfootsteps in the hall below. There was nothing to do but tofinish the play.
　　"I turned and addressed an imaginary conversation to Kara. It washorrible, but there was something about it which aroused in me acurious sense of humour and I wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh!
　　"I heard the man coming up the stairs and closed the doorgingerly. What length of time would it take for the candle tobend!
　　"To completely establish the alibi I determined to hold Fisher inconversation and this was all the easier since apparently he hadnot seen the envelope I had left on the table downstairs. I hadnot long to wait for suddenly with a crash I heard the steel latchfall in its place. Under the effect of the heat the candle hadbent sooner than I had expected. I asked Fisher what was themeaning of the sound and he explained. I passed down the stairstalking all the time. I found a cab at Sloane Square and drove tomy lodgings. Underneath my overcoat I was partly dressed inevening kit.
　　"Ten minutes after I entered the door of my flat I came out abeardless man about town, not to be distinguished from thethousand others who would be found that night walking thepromenade of any of the great music-halls. From Victoria Street Idrove straight to Scotland Yard. It was no more than acoincidence that whilst I should have been speaking with you all,the second candle should have bent and the alarm be given in thevery office in which I was sitting.
　　"I assure you all in all earnestness that I did not suspect thecause of that ringing until Mr. Mansus spoke.
　　"There, gentlemen, is my story!" He threw out his arms.
　　"You may do with me as you will. Kara was a murderer, dyed ahundred times in innocent blood. I have done all that I setmyself to do - that and no more - that and no less. I had thoughtto go away to America, but the nearer the day of my departureapproached, the more vivid became the memory of the plans whichshe and I had formed, my girl . . . my poor martyred girl!"He sat at the little table, his hands clasped before him, his facelined and white.
　　"And that is the end!" he said suddenly, with a wry smile.
　　"Not quite!" T. X. swung round with a gasp. It was Belinda Marywho spoke.
　　"I can carry it on," she said.
　　She was wonderfully self-possessed, thought T. X., but then T. X.
　　never thought anything of her but that she was "wonderfully"something or the other.
　　"Most of your story is true, Mr. Lexman," said this astonishinggirl, oblivious of the amazed eyes that were staring at her, "butKara deceived you in one respect.""What do you mean?" asked John Lexman, rising unsteadily to hisfeet.
　　For answer she rose and walked back to the door with the chintzcurtains and flung it open: There was a wait which seemed aneternity, anal then through the doorway came a girl, slim andgrave and beautiful.
　　"My God!" whispered T. X. "Grace Lexman!"
Chapter 23
    They went out and left them alone, two people who found in thismoment a heaven which is not beyond the reach of humanity, butwhich is seldom attained to. Belinda Mary had an eager audienceall to her very self.
　　"Of course she didn't die," she said scornfully. "Kara wasplaying on his fears all the time. He never even harmed her - inthe way Mr. Lexman feared. He told Mrs. Lexman that her husbandwas dead just as he told John Lexman his wife was gone. Whathappened was that he brought her back to England - ""Who?" asked T. X., incredulously.
　　"Grace Lexman," said the girl, with a smile. "You wouldn't thinkit possible, but when you realize that he had a yacht of his ownand that he could travel up from whatever landing place he choseto his house in Cadogan Square by motorcar and that he could takeher straight away into his cellar without disturbing hishousehold, you'll understand that the only difficulty he had wasin landing her. It was in the lower cellar that I found her.""You found her in the cellar?" demanded the Chief Commissioner.
　　The girl nodded.
　　"I found her and the dog - you heard how Kara terrified her - andI killed the dog with my own hands," she said a little proudly,and then shivered. "It was very beastly," she admitted.
　　"And she's been living with you all this time and you've saidnothing!" asked T. X., incredulously. Belinda Mary nodded.
　　"And that is why you didn't want me to know where you wereliving?" She nodded again.
　　"You see she was very ill," she said, "and I had to nurse her up,and of course I knew that it was Lexman who had killed Kara and Icouldn't tell you about Grace Lexman without betraying him. Sowhen Mr. Lexman decided to tell his story, I thought I'd bettersupply the grand de denouement."The men looked at one another.
　　"What are you going to do about Lexman?" asked the ChiefCommissioner, "and, by the way, T. X., how does all this fit yourtheories!""Fairly well," replied T. X. coolly; "obviously the man whocommitted the murder was the man introduced into the room asGathercole and as obviously it was not Gathercole, although to allappearance, he had lost his left arm.""Why obvious?" asked the Chief Commissioner.
　　"Because," answered T. X. Meredith, "the real Gathercole had losthis right arm - that was the one error Lexman made.""H'm," the Chief pulled at his moustache and looked enquiringlyround the room, "we have to make up our minds very quickly aboutLexman," he said. "What do you think, Carlneau?"The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.
　　"For my part I should not only importune your Home Secretary topardon him, but I should recommend him for a pension," he saidflippantly.
　　"What do you think, Savorsky?"The Russian smiled a little.
　　"It is a very impressive story," he said dispassionately; "itoccurs to me that if you intend bringing your M. Lexman tojudgment you are likely to expose some very pretty scandals.
　　Incidentally," he said, stroking his trim little moustache, "Imight remark that any exposure which drew attention to the lawlessconditions of Albania would not be regarded by my government withfavour."The Chief Commissioner's eyes twinkled and he nodded.
　　"That is also my view," said the Chief of the Italian bureau;"naturally we are greatly interested in all that happens on theAdriatic littoral. It seems to me that Kara has come to a verymerciful end and I am not inclined to regard a prosecution of Mr.
　　Lexman with equanimity.""Well, I guess the political aspect of the case doesn't affect usvery much," said O'Grady, "but as one who was once mighty nearasphyxiated by stirring up the wrong kind of mud, I should leavethe matter where it is."The Chief Commissioner was deep in thought and Belinda Mary eyedhim anxiously.
　　"Tell them to come in," he said bluntly.
　　The girl went and brought John Lexman and his wife, and they camein hand in hand supremely and serenely happy whatever the futuremight hold for them. The Chief Commissioner cleared his throat.
　　"Lexman, we're all very much obliged to you," he said, "for a veryinteresting story and a most interesting theory. What you havedone, as I understand the matter," he proceeded deliberately, "isto put yourself in the murderer's place and advance a theory notonly as to how the murder was actually committed, but as to themotive for that murder. It is, I might say, a remarkable piece ofreconstruction," he spoke very deliberately, and swept away JohnLexman's astonished interruption with a stern hand, "please waitand do not speak until I am out of hearing," he growled. "Youhave got into the skin of the actual assassin and have spoken mostconvincingly. One might almost think that the man who killedRemington Kara was actually standing before us. For that piece ofimpersonation we are all very grateful;" he glared round over hisspectacles at his understanding colleagues and they murmuredapprovingly.
　　He looked at his watch.
　　"Now I am afraid I must be off," he crossed the room and put outhis hand to John Lexman. "I wish you good luck," he said, andtook both Grace Lexman's hands in his. "One of these days," hesaid paternally, "I shall come down to Beston Tracey and yourhusband shall tell me another and a happier story."He paused at the door as he was going out and looking back caughtthe grateful eyes of Lexman.
　　"By the way, Mr. Lexman," he said hesitatingly, "I don't think Ishould ever write a story called 'The Clue of the Twisted Candle,'
　　if I were you."John Lexman shook his head.
　　"It will never be written," he said, " - by me."