When the young man named Smith left Laurence's house after his interview with Richard he was slightly angry and not a little puzzled. The cause of his perplexity was the humorous lines round Richard's eyes and the cause of his anger was his failure to have noted them when first they met in the taxi and travelled home together on the Golders Green tube.

He had remarked on the peculiarity of this circumstance when he found Hipps and Van Diest in the dining room and had received no other comment than a snub from the American for his lack of observation.

These two gentlemen were in a state of exaggerated well being induced by enthusiasm over the capture they had made. Hipps was laying odds that after a course of treatment Anthony Barraclough would not only give away the secret but would breathe his first sweetheart's pet name. Van Diest was more concerned with details for the notation of the future radium company.

They appeared to regard the intrusion of Mr. Smith as a nuisance.

"Seems to me, gentlemen," he said, "there's something queer about the whole business. Barraclough was known to be starting tonight—and instead you succeed in laying him by the heels."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing—except that it was all so infernally easy. Then again the fellow seems in such high spirits."

Van Diest wrinkled his forehead and nodded at this but Hipps waved it aside.

"Take it from me, he's in darn sight lower spirits than he wants us to think. Anthony's a sport and he'll sure pull the cucumber act as long as the cool weather lasts."

"You may be satisfied, gentlemen, but I'm not! You don't think he'd have given the information to anyone else."

Van Diest looked at the young man with a pitying smile.

"If you wass possessed millions and millions of pounds, my friend, iss it very likely you would trust anyone to look after it?"

"Perhaps not——"

"Very well then."

"Still I'm sure there's something fishy. If I might be allowed to investigate——"

But Van Diest negatived this suggestion very heartily. He argued that persons prying about at this stage of the game would bring suspicions on themselves.

"Mr. Torrington and all those peoples are very happy to believe that
Barraclough hass given us the slip. S'no goot to make them miserable."

"Still if—without attracting attention——"

"You run along and play," said Hipps.

And so the interview ended.

Smith was heartily offended to be brushed aside in this fashion. He had served his employers faithfully and with sound intelligence. Practically the entire control of the ring which had prevented Barraclough's escape on the preceding days had been in his hands. Earlier in the night he had received telephone instructions to call off his watchers and having done so he had driven over to Laurence's house to satisfy himself that all was in order.

It was quite absurd he should be assailed by these feelings of doubt. Barraclough had been caught and there the matter ended. But in his own mind it refused to end. Why hadn't Barraclough put up a fight and how had Barraclough grown funny lines round his eyes? These were mysteries which for his own peace he was bound to elucidate.

It was four o'clock when he got to bed but he was up again in good time next morning, roughly sketching out a programme for the day.

At nine fifteen precisely he was standing by the ticket barrier at Liverpool Street station awaiting the arrival of the Woodford train. Presently it steamed alongside the platform and one of the first persons to get out was Nugent Cassis. He was swinging his cane and mirabile dictu he was whistling. In his buttonhole he wore a flower.

From a distance Smith had studied Nugent Cassis on many previous occasions and knew his peculiarities by heart—also he knew that there was no single precedent for this rare display of jauntiness.

Harrison Smith shook his head hopelessly. It was inconceivable with all their immense resources that Torrington's crowd had set no watch on Barraclough's movements over night. Surely they must be aware that his intended flight had been frustrated. Why Barraclough's servant Doran would surely have rung up and informed them. He was confident that somewhere a breakdown had occurred.

As he passed by Nugent Cassis said "good morning" to the ticket collector—a thing he had never done before.

Harrison Smith got into a taxi and drove to Shepherd Street, Mayfair. He sent up his card by the parlour maid with the request that Miss Craven would grant him an interview. He was asked to wait and was kept waiting the best part of three quarters of an hour while Auriole completed her toilet. When at last she entered she did not show the least enthusiasm for his presence but asked rather shortly what he wanted.

"I'm tired," she added, "so be as quick as you can."

"All right," he said. "It's only this. You were an old flame of
Barraclough's?"

"Well?"

"How long is it since last you met?"

"Until last night—four years, I suppose."

"Hm! Had he changed at all?"

"Changed?"

"In appearance—er—manner."

She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Bit more amusing perhaps—less of a prig."

"Ah!" said Smith. "Go on—anything else?"

"He seemed to have learnt how to smile."

Harrison Smith leapt to his feet and paced up and down.

"I knew I was right," he said, "but what the deuce does it mean?
Anything else to tell me?"

"Yes. Sit down, for Heaven's sake. My head's aching and you irritate me walking about."

He obeyed and continued his interrogation.

"In love with him once, weren't you?"

"Once," she replied.

"And you've no very good reason for wishing him well?"

"I've a very particular reason for wishing him ill."

"Hm! His engagement to Miss Irish?"

"Perhaps."

"How did you come to be mixed up in this affair?"

"I happened to know Mr. Hipps and heard what was going on through him. It was my idea—kidnapping Anthony. Doubt if they'd have had the nerve to think of it for themselves."

"D'you think they'll get him to talk?"

"I don't think they will get him to talk," she replied, "but——"

"Yes?"

"But I could. He's a tough proposition among men but a woman can worm a secret out of him—at least——" She stopped and shook her head.

"Yes?"

"That used to be my impression."

"Has it altered then?"

"I'm not quite so certain as I used to be. He was different last night——"

Harrison Smith leant forward.

"Tell me," he said, very earnestly, "did you notice anything queer about his eyes?"

"I don't know."

"Try to remember."

"Four years is a long while."

"But to a woman like you."

"I believe something struck me—they puckered at the corners a bit—rather attractively."

"That's it," said Harrison Smith. "That's exactly it. Lord, I wish I could understand."

"What's troubling you?"

"Just a crazy idea—probably it's nonsense. By the way, I've had orders from our employers to leave it alone so you'd do me a kindness by saying nothing of this visit."

"All right," she replied listlessly. "But I don't see——"

"It's solid in my head that a muddle has been made—and between you and me, I'm going to sift it out."

"I shouldn't," said Auriole. "You won't be thanked for disobeying orders."

"Must take a chance of that," he answered. "Only learnt yesterday what it was all about and the size of the deal has got me gasping."

"Pretty tremendous, isn't it?"

"Big enough to be worth taking some private trouble over. You don't imagine Barraclough would have deputed anyone else to get the concession?"

She shook her head.

"Neither do I. But if it isn't that why does his crowd sit still and grin?"

"I suppose they don't know of his capture."

"Maybe. 'Tany rate, it's what our folk believe. I have my own views."

"Tell me."

"They're a trifle too fantastic for publication yet awhile." He rose and buttoned his gloves. "There's to be a meeting at Lord Almont's flat this morning. I'm going to hang about and study character."

"Better not be seen."

"Trust me. I'll take cover in the motor show rooms on the street level and watch 'em as they come out."

"Hm! Goodbye." And she held out her hand.

"Au 'voir. You look a bit down this morning."

"Don't feel up to much."

He scanned her face quizzically.

"Those tender feelings haven't revived, have they?"

"What do you mean?"

"For friend Barraclough?"

"Idiot," she retorted. "As if I had any feelings."

"He's a decent looking chap."

"Oh, go away," she said.

And he went—smiling.

Auriole waited until the front door closed, then picked up the telephone receiver and gave a number.

"I want to speak to Lord Almont Frayne. Oh, is it? Good morning. Yes, that's right. A. B. was kidnapped last night at twelve thirty. They've taken him to Laurence's house in Totteridge. What? Yes, perfectly satisfied. One of their agents, a man named Harrison Smith, has been here a minute ago. He seems to be suspicious about something. Thinks you all seem too contented. He'll be hanging about outside your flat this morning. Yes, that's all. Oh, Lord Almont, wish you'd explain the situation to me—can't understand it at all. Wouldn't make any difference. No, but what was to be gained by letting Anthony Barraclough be kidnapped? If you won't say it doesn't matter but it seems stupid not to trust one's own side. Oh, Mr. Cassis. I doubt if he'd trust himself. 'Bye!"

She hung up the receiver with a little gesture of annoyance and crossed to the writing table. From a small drawer above the pigeon holes she took a photograph of a man in flannels. It was signed "Yours for keeps, Tony." She read the inscription and smiled—and it was not a very kindly smile.

* * * * * *

Harrison Smith, as a prospective buyer, proved extremely tiresome to the staff of the Motor Show Rooms in Park Lane. He shilly-shallied from one car to another asking rather stupid questions for the best part of two hours. The exquisitely dressed salesman poured forth his eulogies in vain. Nothing could make Mr. Smith decide. He would listen attentively to long recitals of the respective virtues of this make and that and then would gaze out into the street as though lost in contemplation. In the midst of listening to a highly technical discourse on the subject of cantilever springs, without a word of warning he leapt into the interior of a big Siddeley Saloon and closed the door behind him. The salesman looked at Mr. Smith in amazement but Mr. Smith was looking into the street along which three very serious-looking men were slowly progressing. Two of them supported the third who was very old and very bent. His face was set in an expression of acute anguish. They helped him into a waiting automobile, shook their heads at each other and proceeded in different directions. The automobile started up and moved away. The old man's head was sunk upon his chest.

When all three were out of view Harrison Smith emerged from the Siddeley Saloon, glanced at his watch, thanked the salesman, said he would call again and passed out of the showrooms. On the pavement he halted and, like the three gentlemen who had occupied his attention, he too shook his head.

"They seem pretty well in the depths now," he reflected. "Wonder if
I'm making a fool of myself."

He would have wondered even more acutely had he seen Mr. Torrington straighten up and smile as the big ear turned into the Park through Stanhope Gate. Every trace of anguish had gone from the old man's face. To speak the truth he looked extremely well pleased with himself.

Harrison Smith walked slowly down Piccadilly debating in his mind whether or no he should abandon his investigations.

He stopped at the bottom of Clarges Street to allow a taxi, laden with luggage, to pass. The taxi had its cover down and inside he had a glimpse of a girl with a happy, smiling face. The girl was Isabel Irish and the brief glimpse decided him.

"One more cast," he said and jumped into an empty cab that was coming down the slope.

"Follow that chap in front," he cried. "The one with box on top.
Don't lose sight of him whatever happens."

He slammed the door and settled down on the cushions. Pursuer and pursued threaded their way through the traffic to Waterloo Station.