At the flat in Albemarle Street Anthony Barraclough sat alone devouring a grilled steak. He was reticent of speech and every now and then he shot a glance at the clock. In the golden shadows beyond the rays of the table lamp, Doran, his servant, stood in silent attention to his master's wants.

Doran was a person of understanding and one of the few people in the world who shared a measure of Barraclough's confidence. A late corporal of the Black Watch, he had reverted to act as Barraclough's batman throughout the major portion of the war. Rather a curious mixture was Doran. He had a light hand for an omelette and a heavy fist in a mix up, a sense of humour in adversity and a seriousness in ordinary affairs of daily life, a shrewd observer, a flawless servant and a staunch ally. Very little got past Frederic Doran.

Barraclough shook his head at a bundle of cheese straws and lit a cigarette.

"Get those things for me?" he asked.

"They're in the dressing room, sir."

"Let's have a look."

Doran retired and returned almost immediately with a complete fireman's outfit. Barraclough tried on the helmet and nodded approvingly.

"Good enough. Stick 'em somewhere out of sight." And while Doran obeyed he added, "Damn silly idea, isn't it?"

"I haven't heard it, sir."

"Oh, it has its points, I suppose. See, I've got to get clear of here tonight and if—well—another scheme fails—I'm going to have a shot at it this way. At eleven forty-five you'll go out and ring up some fire engines."

"Just so, sir."

"I shall burn brown paper in that grate with the register closed. Windows open at the bottom—plenty of smoke—effect of flames produced by switching off and on the electric light. It ought to be good for a crowd of about ten thousand. Soon as the engines roll up I go out dressed as a fireman. Car at the top of St. James's Street. Coal train in a siding at Addison Road which pulls out at twelve five. Me under a tarpaulin somewhere. Whoosh! Gone!"

"And after that, sir?"

"Ah!" said Barraclough, "that's another story."

"Do you fancy it much yourself, sir?"

"Lord knows! The crowd ought to help. Reduces the odds in my favour a bit."

"At quarter to twelve, sir?"

"Um. That'll be after the gentlemen have gone. Clear away this stuff and put out some drinks. They'll be here at ten thirty. I'm going to change into something thinner, that won't brush up under that fireman gear. Got those notes?"

"Here, sir."

Doran produced a bulky package of bank notes.

"Good man."

He nodded and entered the bedroom to which there was a door below the fireplace.

A little later the bell rang imperatively, followed by a tattoo on the knocker.

"Who's that?" came from Barraclough's voice behind the closed door.

"Don't know, sir."

"What's time?"

"Ten past."

"They can't have arrived yet. Say I'm out."

Doran withdrew and returned almost immediately.

"Sir, there's——"

Barraclough threw open the door and came into the room. He was in trousers and a shirt and was fastening a tie.

"Well?"

"It's Miss Irish, sir. I said you were out but she didn't believe me.
Insisted on coming in."

"Lord, that's awkward. Where did you leave her?"

"The smoking room."

"Say what she wanted?"

"To see you, sir—very imperative."

Barraclough bit his moustache and glanced at the clock.

"Hm! I've ten minutes. Yes, all right. If the gentlemen arrive meanwhile put 'em in the smoking room. Get a coat. Shan't be a second."

He disappeared into the bedroom and Doran went out to fetch Isabel.

"If you'll take a chair, miss, he won't keep you a moment. The evening paper?"

"No," she said, "no."

It was a very different Isabel from the curled up little person who sat on the cushions. Her face was white and tense—her mouth drawn in a line of determination. She shook her head at the offer of a chair and waved Doran to go away.

"Tony," she called as soon as the door had closed. "Tony."

He came into the room buttoning his coat.

"I say, my dear, you shouldn't have come here—really—really you shouldn't," he said.

"I had to—had to," she repeated.

"You mustn't stay—these people'll be here directly."

"Horrible money people," she returned, "and you'd send me away for them."

"I told you——" he began.

"You told me they'd found an easy way for you to get out—a safe way.
It isn't true."

"How do you know?" was startled from him.

"I found out tonight from Lord Almont. Danced with him—made a fool of him—pretended I knew all about it—pretended I was sorry there was not going to be any excitement in the thing. Said I really only cared for men who tackled danger. Looked at him as though I thought he was wonderful."

"I'll smash that fellow's head," said Barraclough grimly.

"You needn't—he's loyal enough. Thought he was doing you a good turn—both of us a good turn. Said it wasn't going to be quite so easy as you'd expected. So now I know you see—know it's going to be horridly, hideously dangerous."

"Oh, my dear," he said, "why didn't you leave it alone?"

"I'm not the sort," she answered. "Where I love, Tony, I—I protect."

"You've a life time ahead to protect me in," he said.

"I'm going to do it now," said she. "You're not going, Tony."

"Listen," said Barraclough very earnestly, "there can't be any interference in this. A false move now might ruin everything. If they knew I was making a dash tonight——"

"They will know."

"How?"

"I shall tell them."

He shook his head. "Hardly, my dear. Besides I don't think you know who to tell."

"You forget the letter you showed me. Mr. Van Diest might be interested."

"I showed you that letter in confidence. You wouldn't betray——"

"Oh, wouldn't I? I'd betray any confidence that would keep you safe."

"It's lovely of you," he began.

"And I shall do it too," she cut in.

"Oh, very well," said Barraclough coldly.

Her arms went round his neck and drew his cheek to hers.

"Would you stop loving me if I did?"

"I couldn't stop loving you whatever happened."

"Oh, Tony, take me with you. I wouldn't mind then. I've promised to share my life with you—aren't I good to share a single danger?"

"Much too good."

She released her hold and stood away.

"So it's as grave as all that," said she. "Very well, if you refuse I shan't marry you."

"You don't mean that?"

"Give me a bible—I'll swear it."

"Isabel!"

"You have two alternatives. Take me with you or tell me where this place is."

"What use would the knowledge be to you?"

"All the use. If they got you I know very well they'd never make you speak. You—you wouldn't."

He nodded gravely at that.

"But I should. It 'ud give me the power to bail you out. Do you understand now?"

"I understand I should be every sort of a coward if I told you on those terms."

"Oh, you man—you man," she cried. "Well, you've the choice."

"To tell or lose you?"

"Yes."

In the silence that followed an electric bell rang sharply.

"There they are," he exclaimed.

"Be quick, I'm waiting," she said.

"Can't you accept my word that it's better you shouldn't know?"

"You've the choice," she repeated.

Anthony Barraclough looked round him desperately, then he spoke very fast.

"If I tell you you'll do nothing—say nothing till eleven o'clock this day three weeks?"

"I promise."

The words that followed rattled out like a hail of shrapnel.

"Brewster's Series nineteen. Map twenty-four. Square F. North twenty-seven. West thirty-three."

"I'll write it down."

"No, no, you won't," he cried. "I've fulfilled my part of the bargain and you've forgotten it already."

She fixed him with her clear blue eyes, square lidded and earnest.

"Brewster's Series nineteen. Map twenty-four. Square F. North twenty-seven. West thirty-three," she said.

He looked at her in sheer amazement.

"You wonder! You absolute wonder!" he gasped.

"If I were dead I should remember that," she said. "It's stuck for good." She touched her forehead, then quite suddenly her body went limp and tilted against him. "Oh, but if only it were over," she whispered huskily. "If only it were all—all over. Kiss me, please."

"Never fear," he said, his arms tightening round her. "Never fear. I couldn't fail with you waiting for me."

He kissed her again and again.

"Dear blessed beautiful little love of mine! Look, I'll take one of your flowers as a mascot."

"Hedge rose," she said and started. "It means hope, Tony."

"Hope it is, my dear. God bless you."

They stood apart as the door opened and Doran came in to announce the arrival of the gentlemen.

"All right. Attend to the front door. Miss Irish is going."

Doran went out and Barraclough turned to Isabel.

"Will you grin for me just once?" he begged.

The small face went pluckily into lines of humour.

"Not a very nice grin, Tony."

"The best in the world," said he and hugged her close.

They passed out of the room together.

When Barraclough returned Mr. Torrington was leaning on his arm.
Nugent Cassis and Lord Almont Frayne followed in the rear.

"I was sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Torrington," he apologised.

"Waiting? No, no. We were early. My train arrived at Waterloo this morning one minute ahead of time. It has put me out all day." The old gentleman lowered himself by sections into an elbow chair. "Heard from Cranbourne?"

Barraclough shook his head.

"Never expected you would," said Cassis shortly. "The whole scheme was waste of time. We don't live in Ruritania where doubles walk about arm in arm. Cranbourne has a bee in his bonnet."

"A whole hive," Lord Almont interjected.

"Perhaps," Mr. Torrington smiled, "but let us at least do him the justice to admit that they buzz very merrily."

Cassis shrugged his shoulders.

"Buzzing is of no value in the present circumstances."

Mr. Torrington continued to smile.

"Except so far as it helps our young friend here to buzz off," he said.

The modern slang on the lips of the octogenarian made Barraclough laugh. But the nerves of Nugent Cassis were frayed and laughter was an irritant.

"Let us keep to the point," he insisted. "Did you follow out those instructions I suggested?"

Barraclough nodded. The idea of the false fire came from Cassis and, like most of his schemes, suffered from complexity of detail. He began enumerating the points to be sure that all was in order.

Mr. Torrington shook his head and interrupted.

"A silly idea," he said, "clever but silly."

"If you have a better——"

Mr. Torrington put his fingers together and continued slowly.

"My method would be to go out through the main entrance wearing no hat and carrying a few letters for the post. There might be a cab waiting at the pillar box—to be exact there is, I ordered one."

"That's the idea," cried Almont. "Sweet and simple."

"That cab would dodge about the streets a while and eventually make its way to Wimbledon. At Wimbledon it would deposit Barraclough at Number 14a, Medina Road. He would enter the house and change into running shorts and a vest having appointed himself underneath with rather a large pneumatic stomach. Also he would wear a beard and a perfectly bald head. This done he would emerge from the house and start running in the middle of the road in whatever direction he likes with a man on a push bicycle pedalling behind him.

"But I can't see——" Cassis began.

"Precisely," said Mr. Torrington, "and nor could anyone else. Nobody sees the extraordinary individuals who run at night, they only laugh at them."

"If you ask me," said Cassis, drumming his fingers on the mantelpiece, "I am of opinion that we are merely losing time with all this talk and the sooner we get Barraclough away the better."

Mr. Torrington's eyes looked him coldly up and down.

"You should know me well enough, Cassis, to realise that when I lose time I lose it purposely. I am waiting for Cranbourne."

"Cranbourne's ideas are altogether too fantastic."

"We agreed to do nothing until eleven o'clock and it wants ten minutes to the hour."

"Not a very substantial margin to find Barraclough's double."

"It is as easy to find a man in ten minutes as in ten years—a mere matter of chance. For my own part I always favoured indifferent odds."

"By Jove, sir," exclaimed Barraclough, "you're my man. Damn the opposition. Damn the odds. We'll do it, what."

A measure of his enthusiasm infected the old man.

"We'll have a damn good try anyway."

"And if it comes to a rough and tumble——"

"Hit first and hit hardest."

An electric bell swizzed.

"He's there."

"Failed," grunted Cassis.

But Mr. Torrington's eyes were on the clock.

"Since he is five minutes ahead of time I imagine he has succeeded."

Doran came in.

"Mr. Cranbourne, sir."

"Alone?" Cassis rapped out the question like a pistol shot, but before there was time to answer Cranbourne burst into the room, his face aglow with excitement.

"I've done it," he said. "It's all right—terrific."

Lord Almont sprang to his feet.

"You don't mean?"

"Yes, I do."

"The real Mackay?"

"Alike as two postage stamps."

"Where've you got him?"

"Here, in your bathroom—changing."

"Changing?"

"Of course. Couldn't bring him as he was. They'd have spotted him for certain. So I draped him in a nurse's cloak and cap over his ordinary gear. Looked fine under a veil with his face painted pretty and pink. He's washing it off now."

"Is he like me?" said Barraclough.

"Like you!"

"How's he talk?"

"As you do. I'd have been here earlier only he was hungry—devilish hungry. He'd not eaten for best part of three days."

"But you saw him at the Berkeley."

"I know, that made it a bit difficult."

"Come on," said Barraclough, "let's hear all about it."

"Take too long. Had almost given up hope this morning, then I had a stroke of luck—hit a red hot trail—spent the day chasing through the West End staring at every man I saw. Got a glimpse of him at last in Clarges Street 'bout nine o'clock. Taxi with a heap of luggage drove up to a house and this chap came racing after it."

Cassis threw up his hands.

"Good heavens," he exclaimed, "a cab runner."

"Not he—down and out, that's all. I might easily have missed him for he'd grown a bit of a scrub on his chin during the last few days but when I saw the way he had of standing and that same trick of the head you've got I was sure enough. He's a sportsman, that chap, for he was wanting food and yet some decent restraint stopped him coming forward to help with the boxes. He'd meant to but at the last moment he shirked it. I could see him wrestling with himself—a step forward, then hesitating. At last the driver asked him to lend a hand with the biggest trunk and he shouldered it and carried it into the house. When he came out the fare was fumbling in his pocket for six-pences. It must have been the sight of this cut into his pride. He hadn't a cent of his own but something inside him rebelled. 'No, I'll be damned if I can,' he said and made off down the street. I picked him up on the bench by the cabbies' shelter ten minutes later. Made myself affable and asked if he'd care to turn an honest fifty. In fact I gave fifty as a bona fide. Told him to get himself shaved and roll round to Clarkson's to be fixed up in the nurse's gear—and get some food too."

"That was risky," remarked Lord Almont, "you might never have seen the jolly old bird again."

"I told you he was a gentleman, didn't I?"

Mr. Torrington leaned forward.

"Does he know what we want of him?"

"Roughly. I said it was to occupy a flat for three weeks."

"Ah! Barraclough, I am disposed to think you would do wisely to retire into the next room while we interview this young gentleman. The less he knows the better."

"Quite."

"There isn't a cupboard, I suppose, where you could fix yourself up with an easy chair until—well until the kidnapping is over."

"There's a wine cupboard."

"Excellent. We'll have a word together before you go."

There was a knock and Doran came in and addressed Cranbourne.

"The gentleman wishes to have a word with you, sir."

"Half a second," said Barraclough. "I'll slip out through the bedroom.
There's a second door into the hall. Righto, Doran."

He disappeared, closing the door after him.

"The gentleman, sir," Doran announced.

Richard Frencham Altar came into the room. The privations of the preceding three days had paled him a trifle. His eyes glittered brightly and there was a hint of nervousness in the tenseness of his lower lip.

Doran went out. Richard closed the door and turned to face the company. Mr. Torrington leaned forward and as though by accident twitched down the table lamp shade that the light might be thrown on the newcomer's face. Lord Almont gasped and even Cassis was startled by the phenomenal likeness. Mr. Torrington nodded approval.

Richard's eyes went quickly from one to another. Then his hand moved to his throat and covered the empty space where his tie should have been. No one spoke and under the battery of glances his muscles tightened resentfully and his head jerked slightly to one side.

"Anything so very peculiar about my appearance?" he demanded.

Mr. Torrington was first to recover his composure and he rose with difficulty.

"You justly reproach our manners, Mr.—er——"

"Anything you like," said Richard, then with a flash of memory, "Oh, my name is Tidd—John Tidd."

"By gad, it's amazing," gasped Lord Almont.

Mr. Torrington waved his hand toward a chair but Richard shook his head.

"No, thanks—won't sit down. I came because I promised this gentleman to do so—but——"

"I find it a little trying to stand," said Mr. Torrington.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. For a minute then."

With an air of unwillingness he occupied a chair.

"A little whiskey and soda?" Lord Almont suggested.

"Not for me."

"Cigarette?"

"Ah! I'm a pernicious smoker." He lighted a cigarette, turned to Mr.
Torrington and nodded over his shoulder in the direction of Cranbourne.
"I'm afraid, sir, this gentleman took me at a disadvantage. To be
frank, I was hungry."

Mr. Torrington shook his head despondently.

"As the senior member of a firm of dyspeptics, established for over fifty years, I envy you."

"You needn't, sir,—it was pretty crucial. He offered me fifty quid to occupy this flat for twenty-one days and to say 'no' to any question that might be asked. I wasn't myself at the time—I accepted. Since then I've had a good meal and that alters things. I hope, gentleman, I shall cause you no inconvenience if I recall my promise." No one replied and he went on. "My grub cost three and a bender and I spent a bob in cigarettes." He fished some notes and silver from his pocket and planked them on the table. "That's your change, gentlemen, if someone would be good enough to count it over. You don't mind, I hope, if I return the margin when I'm in a better position to do so. Goodnight, gentlemen." He rose, nodded to the company and walked to the door.

Mr. Torrington did not look in his direction. He spoke gently as though addressing an electric fitting on the wall facing him.

"I am sorry, Mr. Tidd, you are indisposed to remain. My friend had no thought of offending when he offered the temporary accommodation you have just returned. It was our intention to reward the services of whoever assisted us in this matter with a sum that a gentleman might have no embarrassment in accepting. We should have been pleased to place five thousand pounds to your account."

Richard span round sharply.

"Five thousand—for being a caretaker—you—you're joking—rather unkindly."

"On the contrary I am speaking very earnestly indeed." The tone of voice was sincere.

Again Richard looked from one to another.

"You're a funny crowd," he laughed. "Ha! damn funny. S'pose you're getting some sort of satisfaction out of it, but a man with a hole in the sole of his boot doesn't much fancy having his leg pulled. Goodnight."

But Nugent Cassis intervened between Richard and the door.

"We give you our word, Mr. Tidd, the sum mentioned will be at your disposal tomorrow three weeks if you agree to remain."

"Your words," said Richard with a touch of irony. "I suppose you wouldn't care to give me your names as a guarantee?"

"Assuredly," Mr. Torrington replied. "It was a mere oversight that we have hitherto neglected to do so." And in the courtliest manner he introduced the company by name.

"The devil," said Richard, "I knew who you were all right, but I didn't imagine you'd tell me. That—that makes a difference." He hesitated, then sat down abruptly. "Well, come along, gentlemen, what is it you want me to do?"

Nugent Cassis, as the specialist of detail, briefly outlined their requirements. He spoke coldly and without emphasis. The programme was simple. Mr. Tidd would assume the name of Barraclough, he would occupy these chambers, or wherever else circumstance might happen to take him, for a period of three weeks. At the end of that time he might reveal his identity or not as he pleased. It was understood, was it not, that he would refuse to answer any questions that might be put to him. This was a point of considerable importance since there was a likelihood that pressure might be employed to induce him to speak.

"I'm pretty close when I mean to be," said Richard. "But what is the answer?"

"As to that," Cassis replied, "I must ask you to contain your curiosity."

"Well, it shouldn't be hard to say I don't know."

Cassis hoped so devoutly.

"To tell the truth," said Mr. Torrington very sweetly, "we don't know the answer ourselves."

Richard shot a doubtful glance at him, but the seamed old face betrayed nothing of the purpose it concealed.

"It's all very mysterious," said Richard, "and I'm not sure I like the look of it."

"If you are nervous——" began Cassis icily.

"Nervous be damned," he retorted. "I'm not easily scared, but I'd like you to know this. I may have slipped down the ladder a bit, gentlemen, but I'm not altogether an outsider."

Lord Almont and Mr. Torrington made a duet with "My dear fellar!" and
"We have already realised that, Mr. Tidd."

"So, if there's anything shady in the transaction?"

"Nothing."

Richard fixed on Cranbourne. "Political?"

"No."

"You've stirred my curiosity, gentlemen."

Mr. Torrington leant forward and laid a hand on his arm,

"To this extent we can satisfy it," he said. "We three are engaged upon an operation of considerable magnitude."

"I guessed that much, sir. When three men like yourselves forgather one can generally look for balloons in the sky."

"Just so. A gentleman in whom we are interested requires latitude to conduct certain important activities with freedom from observation. To provide latitude it is necessary we should persuade our opponents that the gentleman is peaceably residing at his own home."

"Half a minute. You want to get Barraclough out of the country or somewhere and I'm to fill his place."

Mr. Torrington nodded. "Am I like Barraclough?"

"Remarkably so."

Suddenly Richard sprang to his feet and brought his hands together. "Tell me," he cried. "These opponents—have they made a blockade—to prevent him getting away."

"A most effectual blockade."

Richard threw up his head and laughed.

"Lord, so that was it. They tried to stop me at Earl's Court Station day before yesterday. Oh, this is great, gentlemen. Come on, I'm your man."

"You consent?"

"I consent all right."

The three men exchanged glances of satisfaction.

"Then if you will kindly ring the bell," said Cassis, "your servant,
Doran, will correct the details of your wardrobe."

"So I have a servant."

"You have everything this flat contains and five thousand pounds at the end of three weeks."

"Oh, what a lark," said Richard gaily.

"I only hope it will prove so," said Mr. Torrington.

"Was wondering where I'd sleep tonight."

"I wonder where you will."

"All right, gentlemen, you can leave it to me. I shan't let you down. If you'll excuse me I'm going to have a bath. In the event of our not meeting again you might post that cheque to care of Porters, Confectioners, 106b, Earl's Court Road—my town address." He stopped at the room door and grinned. "Please help yourselves to a drink or anything you fancy. My entire resources are at your disposal. Goodnight."

The door closed and a moment later came the sound of water splashing into the bath.

"Well, what do you think?" Cranbourne demanded enthusiastically.

"A nice boy," Mr. Torrington returned. "Straight. I'm wondering how much he will have to go through in the next three weeks."

"Yes, but from our point of view?"

"Ah, from our point of view I think we might declare a dividend. If you would lend me an arm, Lord Almont, we will speak a word of farewell to Barraclough through the wine cellar door."