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diff --git a/old/69788-0.txt b/old/69788-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 77025ef..0000000 --- a/old/69788-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9066 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Avenger, by Edgar Wallace - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Avenger - -Author: Edgar Wallace - -Release Date: January 14, 2023 [eBook #69788] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed - Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AVENGER *** - - - - - - - THE NOVELS OF - EDGAR WALLACE - - The _Daily Mail_ says: “It is impossible not to be - thrilled by Edgar Wallace. Mr. Wallace has, in an - exceptional degree, the capacity to keep his readers on - tenter-hooks. His plots are always clever; his resources - of imagination unrivalled.” - - CAPTAINS OF SOULS - THE MISSING MILLION - ROOM 13 - THE FACE IN THE NIGHT - A KING BY NIGHT - THE MAN FROM MOROCCO - THE AVENGER - - _Other new long representative novels by_ - _Edgar Wallace will appear through the House_ - _of_ JOHN LONG, LTD. LONDON - - - - - THE AVENGER - - - By - EDGAR WALLACE - - - [Illustration] - - TENTH EDITION - - - - London - John Long, Limited - 12, 13 & 14 Norris Street, Haymarket - [_All Rights Reserved_] - - - - - Made and Printed - in Great Britain - Copyright, 1926, by - John Long, Limited - All Rights Reserved - - - - - CONTENTS - - I. THE HEAD-HUNTER - II. MR. SAMPSON LONGVALE CALLS - III. THE NIECE - IV. THE LEADING LADY - V. MR. LAWLEY FOSS - VI. THE MASTER OF GRIFF - VII. THE SWORDS AND BHAG - VIII. BHAG - IX. THE ANCESTOR - X. THE OPEN WINDOW - XI. THE MARK ON THE WINDOW - XII. A CRY FROM A TOWER - XIII. THE TRAP THAT FAILED - XIV. MENDOZA MAKES A FIGHT - XV. TWO FROM THE YARD - XVI. THE BROWN MAN FROM NOWHERE - XVII. MR. FOSS MAKES A SUGGESTION - XVIII. THE FACE IN THE PICTURE - XIX. THE MIDNIGHT VISIT - XX. A NARROW ESCAPE - XXI. THE ERASURE - XXII. THE HEAD - XXIII. CLUES AT THE TOWER - XXIV. THE MARKS OF THE BEAST - XXV. THE MAN IN THE CAR - XXVI. THE HAND - XXVII. THE CAVES - XXVIII. THE TOWER - XXIX. BHAG’S RETURN - XXX. THE ADVERTISEMENT - XXXI. JOHN PERCIVAL LIGGITT - XXXII. GREGORY’S WAY - XXXIII. THE TRAP THAT FAILED - XXXIV. THE SEARCH - XXXV. WHAT HAPPENED TO ADELE - XXXVI. THE ESCAPE - XXXVII. AT THE TOWER AGAIN - XXXVIII. THE CAVERN OF BONES - XXXIX. MICHAEL KNOWS FOR SURE - XL. “THE WIDOW” - XLI. THE DEATH - XLII. CAMERA! - - - - - The Avenger - - - - - CHAPTER I - THE HEAD-HUNTER - - -CAPTAIN MIKE BRIXAN had certain mild and innocent superstitions. He -believed, for example, that if he saw a green crow in a field he would -certainly see another green crow before the day was out. And when, at -the bookstand on Aix la Chapelle station, he saw and purchased a dime -novel that was comprehensively intituled “Only an Extra, or the Pride of -Hollywood,” he was less concerned as to how this thrilling and dog-eared -romance came to be on offer at half a million marks (this was in the -days when marks were worth money) than as to the circumstances in which -he would again hear or read the word “extras” in the sense of a -supernumerary and unimportant screen actress. - -The novel did not interest him at all. He read one page of superlatives -and turned for relief to the study of a Belgian time-table. He was -bored, but not so bored that he could interest himself in the -sensational rise of the fictitious Rosa Love from modest obscurity to a -press agent and wealth. - -But “extra” was a new one on Michael, and he waited for the day to bring -its inevitable companion. - -To say that he was uninterested in crime, that burglars were less -thrilling than golf scores, and the record of murders hardly worth the -reading, might convey a wrong impression to those who knew him as the -cleverest agent in the Foreign Office Intelligence Department. - -His official life was spent in meeting queer continentals in obscure -restaurants and, in divers rôles, to learn of the undercurrents that -were drifting the barques of diplomacy to unsuspected ports. He had -twice roamed through Europe in the guise of an open-mouthed tourist; had -canoed many hundred miles through the gorges of the Danube to discover, -in little riverside beer-houses, the inward meanings of secret -mobilizations. These were tasks wholly to his liking. - -Therefore he was not unnaturally annoyed when he was withdrawn from -Berlin at a moment when, as it seemed, the mystery of the Slovak Treaty -was in a way to being solved, for he had secured, at a cost, a rough but -accurate draft. - -“I should have had a photograph of the actual document if you had left -me another twenty-four hours,” he reproached his chief, Major George -Staines, when he reported himself at Whitehall next morning. - -“Sorry,” replied that unrepentant man, “but the truth is, we’ve had a -heart to heart talk with the Slovakian Prime Minister, and he has -promised to behave and practically given us the text of the treaty—it -was only a commercial affair. Mike, did you know Elmer?” - -The Foreign Office detective sat down on the edge of the table. - -“Have you brought me from Berlin to ask me that?” he demanded bitterly. -“Have you taken me from my favourite café on Unter den Linden—by the -way, the Germans are making small arm ammunition by the million at a -converted pencil factory in Bavaria—to discuss Elmer? He’s a clerk, -isn’t he?” - -Major Staines nodded. - -“He _was_,” he said, “in the Accountancy Department. He disappeared from -view three weeks ago, and an examination of his books showed that he had -been systematically stealing funds which were under his control.” - -Mike Brixan made a little face. - -“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “He seemed to be a fairly quiet and -inoffensive man. But surely you don’t want me to go after him? That is a -job for Scotland Yard.” - -“I don’t want you to go after him,” said Staines slowly, “because—well, -he has been found.” - -There was something very significant and sinister in his tone, and -before he could take the little slip of paper from the portfolio on the -desk, Michael Brixan knew what was coming. - -“Not the Head-Hunter?” he gasped. Even Michael knew about the -Head-Hunter. - -Staines nodded. - -“Here’s the note.” - -He handed the typewritten slip across to his subordinate, and Michael -read: - - “You will find a box in the hedge by the railway arch at Esher. - - “THE HEAD-HUNTER.” - -“The Head-Hunter!” repeated Michael mechanically, and whistled. - -“We found the box, and of course we found the unfortunate Elmer’s head, -sliced neatly from his body,” said Staines. “This is the twelfth head in -seven years,” Staines went on, “and in almost every case—in fact, in -every case except two—the victim has been a fugitive from justice. Even -if the treaty question had not been settled, Mike, I should have brought -you back.” - -“But this is a police job,” said the young man, troubled. - -“Technically you’re a policeman,” interrupted his chief, “and the -Foreign Secretary wishes you to take this case in hand, and he does this -with the full approval of the Secretary of State, who of course controls -Scotland Yard. So far, the death of Francis Elmer and the discovery of -his gruesome remains have not been given out to the press. There was -such a fuss last time that the police want to keep this quiet. They have -had an inquest—I guess the jury was picked, but it would be high -treason to say so—and the usual verdict has been returned. The only -information I can give you is that Elmer was seen by his niece a week -ago in Chichester. We discovered this before the man’s fate was known. -The girl, Adele Leamington, is working for the Knebworth Film -Corporation, which has its studio in Chichester. Old Knebworth is an -American and a very good sort. The girl is a sort of super-chorus-extra, -that’s the word——” - -Michael gasped. - -“Extra! I knew that infernal word would turn up again. Go on, sir—what -do you wish me to do?” - -“Go along and see her,” said the chief. “Here is the address.” - -“Is there a Mrs. Elmer?” asked Michael as he put the slip into his -pocket. - -The other nodded. - -“Yes, but she can throw no light upon the murder. She, by the way, is -the only person who knows he is dead. She had not seen her husband for a -month, and apparently they had been more or less separated for years. -She benefits considerably by his death, for he was well insured in her -favour.” - -Michael read again the gruesome note from the Head-Hunter. - -“What is your theory about this?” he asked curiously. - -“The general idea is that he is a lunatic who feels called upon to mete -out punishment to defaulters. But the two exceptions disturb that theory -pretty considerably.” - -Staines lay back in his chair, a puzzled frown on his face. - -“Take the case of Willitt. His head was found on Clapham Common two -years ago. Willitt was a well-off man, the soul of honesty, well liked, -and he had a very big balance at his bank. Crewling, the second -exception, who was one of the first of the Hunter’s victims, was also -above suspicion, though in his case there is no doubt he was mentally -unbalanced a few weeks before his death. - -“The typewritten notification has invariably been typed out on the same -machine. In every case you have the half-obliterated ‘u,’ the faint ‘g,’ -and the extraordinary alignment which the experts are unanimous in -ascribing to a very old and out-of-date Kost machine. Find the man who -uses that typewriter and you have probably found the murderer. But it is -very unlikely that he will ever be found that way, for the police have -published photographs pointing out the peculiarities of type, and I -should imagine that Mr. Hunter does not use this machine except to -announce the demise of his victims.” - -Michael Brixan went back to his flat, a little more puzzled and a little -more worried by his unusual commission. He moved and had his being in -the world of high politics. The finesses of diplomacy were his peculiar -study, and the normal abnormalities of humanity, the thefts and murders -and larcenies which occupied the attention of the constabulary, did not -come into his purview. - -“Bill,” said he, addressing the small terrier that lay on the hearth-rug -before the fireless grate of his sitting-room, “this is where I fall -down. But whether I do or not, I’m going to meet an extra—ain’t that -grand?” - -Bill wagged his tail agreeably. - - - - - CHAPTER II - MR. SAMPSON LONGVALE CALLS - - -ADELE LEAMINGTON waited till the studio was almost empty before she came -to where the white-haired man sat crouched in his canvas chair, his -hands thrust into his trousers pockets, a malignant scowl on his -forehead. - -It was not a propitious moment to approach him: nobody knew that better -than she. - -“Mr. Knebworth, may I speak to you?” - -He looked up slowly. Ordinarily he would have risen, for this -middle-aged American in normal moments was the soul of courtesy. But -just at that moment, his respect for womanhood was something below zero. -His look was blank, though the director in him instinctively approved -her values. She was pretty, with regular features, a mop of brown hair -in which the sunshine of childhood still lingered. Her mouth firm, -delicately shaped, her figure slim—perfect in many ways. - -Jack had seen many beautiful extras in his career, and had passed -through stages of enthusiasm and despair as he had seen them translated -to the screen—pretty wooden figures without soul or expression, gauche -of movement, hopeless. Too pretty to be clever, too conscious of their -beauty to be natural. Dolls without intelligence or initiative—just -“extras” who could wear clothes in a crowd, who could smile and dance -mechanically, fit for extras and nothing else all the days of their -lives. - -“Well?” he asked brusquely. - -“Is there a part I could play in this production, Mr. Knebworth?” she -asked. - -His shaven lips curled. - -“Aren’t you playing a part, Miss—can’t remember your name—Leamington, -is it?” - -“I’m certainly playing—I’m one of the figures in the background,” she -smiled. “I don’t want a big part, but I’m sure I could do better than I -have done.” - -“I’m mighty sure you couldn’t do worse than some people,” he growled. -“No, there’s no part for you, friend. There’ll be no story to shoot -unless things alter. That’s what!” - -She was going away when he recalled her. - -“Left a good home, I guess?” he said. “Thought picture-making meant a -million dollars a year an’ a new automobile every Thursday? Or maybe you -were holding down a good job as a stenographer and got it under your -toque that you’d make Hollywood feel small if you got your chance? Go -back home, kid, and tell the old man that a typewriter’s got a sunlight -arc beaten to death as an instrument of commerce.” - -The girl smiled faintly. - -“I didn’t come into pictures because I was stage-struck, if that is what -you mean, Mr. Knebworth. I came in knowing just how hard a life it might -be. I have no parents.” - -He looked up at her curiously. - -“How do you live?” he asked. “There’s no money in ‘extra’ work—not on -this lot, anyway. Might be if I was one of those billion dollar -directors who did pictures with chariot races. But I don’t. My ideal -picture has got five characters.” - -“I have a little income from my mother, and I write,” said the girl. - -She stopped as she saw him looking past her to the studio entrance, and, -turning her head, saw a remarkable figure standing in the doorway. At -first she thought it was an actor who had made up for a film test. - -The newcomer was an old man, but his great height and erect carriage -would not have conveyed that impression at a distance. The tight-fitting -tail-coat, the trousers strapped to his boots, the high collar and black -satin stock belonged to a past age, though they were newly made. The -white linen bands that showed at his wrists were goffered, his -double-breasted waistcoat of grey velvet was fastened by golden buttons. -He might have stepped from a family portrait of one of those dandies of -the ’fifties. He held a tall hat in one gloved hand, a hat with a curly -brim, and in the other a gold-topped walking-stick. The face, deeply -lined, was benevolent and kind, and he seemed unconscious of his -complete baldness. - -Jack Knebworth was out of his chair in a second and walked toward the -stranger. - -“Why, Mr. Longvale, I am glad to see you—did you get my letter? I can’t -tell you how much obliged I am to you for the loan of your house.” - -Sampson Longvale, of the Dower House! She remembered now. He was known -in Chichester as “the old-fashioned gentleman,” and once, when she was -out on location, somebody had pointed out the big, rambling house, with -its weed-grown garden and crumbling walls, where he lived. - -“I thought I would come over and see you,” said the big man. - -His voice was rich and beautifully modulated. She did not remember -having heard a voice quite as sweet, and she looked at the eccentric -figure with a new interest. - -“I can only hope that the house and grounds are suitable to your -requirements. I am afraid they are in sad disorder, but I cannot afford -to keep the estate in the same condition as my grandfather did.” - -“Just what I want, Mr. Longvale. I was afraid you might be offended when -I told you——” - -The old gentleman interrupted him with a soft laugh. - -“No, no, I wasn’t offended, I was amused. You needed a haunted house: I -could even supply that quality, though I will not promise you that my -family ghost will walk. The Dower House has been haunted for hundreds of -years. A former occupant in a fit of frenzy murdered his daughter there, -and the unhappy lady is supposed to walk. I have never seen her, though -many years ago one of my servants did. Fortunately, I am relieved of -that form of annoyance: I no longer keep servants in the house,” he -smiled, “though, if you care to stay the night, I shall be honoured to -entertain five or six of your company.” - -Knebworth heaved a sigh of relief. He had made diligent inquiries and -found that it was almost impossible to secure lodgings in the -neighbourhood, and he was most anxious to take night pictures, and for -one scene he particularly desired the peculiar light value which he -could only obtain in the early hours of the morning. - -“I’m afraid that would give you a lot of trouble, Mr. Longvale,” he -said. “And here and now I think we might discuss that delicate subject -of——” - -The old man stopped him with a gesture. - -“If you are going to speak of money, please don’t,” he said firmly. “I -am interested in cinematography; in fact, I am interested in most modern -things. We old men are usually prone to decry modernity, but I find my -chiefest pleasure in the study of those scientific wonders which this -new age has revealed to us.” - -He looked at the director quizzically. - -“Some day you shall take a picture of me in the one rôle in which I -think I should have no peer—a picture of me in the rôle of my -illustrious ancestor.” - -Jack Knebworth stared, half amused, half startled. It was no unusual -experience to find people who wished to see themselves on the screen, -but he never expected that little piece of vanity from Mr. Sampson -Longvale. - -“I should be glad,” he said formally. “Your people were pretty well -known, I guess?” - -Mr. Longvale sighed. - -“It is my regret that I do not come from the direct line that included -Charles Henry, the most historic member of my family. He was my -great-uncle. I come from the Bordeaux branch of Longvales, which has -made history, sir.” He shook his head regretfully. - -“Are you French, Mr. Longvale?” asked Jack. - -Apparently the old man did not hear him. He was staring into space. -Then, with a start: - -“Yes, yes, we were French. My great-grandfather married an English lady -whom he met in peculiar circumstances. We came to England in the days of -the directorate.” - -Then, for the first time, he seemed aware of Adele’s presence, and bowed -toward her. - -“I think I must go,” he said, taking a huge gold watch from his fob -pocket. - -The girl watched them as they passed out of the hall, and presently she -saw the “old-fashioned gentleman” pass the window, driving the -oldest-fashioned car she had ever seen. It must have been one of the -first motor-cars ever introduced into the country, a great, upstanding, -cumbersome machine, that passed with a thunderous sound and at no great -speed down the gravel drive out of sight. - -Presently Jack Knebworth came slowly back. - -“This craze for being screened certainly gets ’em—old or young,” he -said. “Good night, Miss—forget your name—Leamington, ain’t it? Good -night.” - -She was half-way home before she realized that the conversation that she -had plucked up such courage to initiate had ended unsatisfactorily for -her, and she was as far away from her small part as ever. - - - - - CHAPTER III - THE NIECE - - -ADELE LEAMINGTON occupied a small room in a small house, and there were -moments when she wished it were smaller, that she might be justified in -plucking up her courage to ask from the stout and unbending Mrs. Watson, -her landlady, a reduction of rent. The extras on Jack Knebworth’s lot -were well paid but infrequently employed; for Jack was one of those -clever directors who specialized in domestic stories. - -She was dressing when Mrs. Watson brought in her morning cup of tea. - -“There’s a young fellow been hanging round outside since I got up,” said -Mrs. Watson. “I saw him when I took in the milk. Very polite he was, but -I told him you weren’t awake.” - -“Did he want to see me?” asked the astonished girl. - -“That’s what he said,” said Mrs. Watson grimly. “I asked him if he came -from Knebworth, and he said no. If you want to see him, you can have the -use of the parlour, though I don’t like young men calling on young -girls. I’ve never let theatrical lodgings before, and you can’t be too -careful. I’ve always had a name for respectability and I want to keep -it.” - -Adele smiled. - -“I cannot imagine anything more respectable than an early morning -caller, Mrs. Watson,” she said. - -She went downstairs and opened the door. The young man was standing on -the side-walk with his back to her, but at the sound of the door opening -he turned. He was good-looking and well-dressed, and his smile was quick -and appealing. - -“I hope your landlady did not bother to wake you up? I could have -waited. You are Miss Adele Leamington, aren’t you?” - -She nodded. - -“Will you come in, please?” she asked, and took him into the stuffy -little front parlour, and, closing the door behind her, waited. - -“I am a reporter,” he said untruthfully, and her face fell. - -“You’ve come about Uncle Francis? Is anything really wrong? They sent a -detective to see me a week ago. Have they found him?” - -“No, they haven’t found him,” he said carefully. “You knew him very -well, of course, Miss Leamington?” - -She shook her head. - -“No, I have only seen him twice in my life. My dear father and he -quarrelled before I was born, and I only saw him once after daddy died, -and once before mother was taken with her fatal illness.” - -She heard him sigh, and sensed his relief, though why he should be -relieved that her uncle was almost a stranger to her, she could not -fathom. - -“You saw him at Chichester, though?” he said. - -She nodded. - -“Yes, I saw him. I was on my way to Goodwood Park—a whole party of us -in a char-à-banc—and I saw him for a moment walking along the -side-walk. He looked desperately ill and worried. He was just coming out -of a stationer’s shop when I saw him; he had a newspaper under his arm -and a letter in his hand.” - -“Where was the store?” he asked quickly. - -She gave him the address, and he jotted it down. - -“You didn’t see him again?” - -She shook her head. - -“Is anything really very badly wrong?” she asked anxiously. “I’ve often -heard mother say that Uncle Francis was very extravagant, and a little -unscrupulous. Has he been in trouble?” - -“Yes,” admitted Michael, “he has been in trouble, but nothing that you -need worry about. You’re a great film actress, aren’t you?” - -In spite of her anxiety she laughed. - -“The only chance I have of being a great film actress is for you to say -so in your paper.” - -“My what?” he asked, momentarily puzzled. “Oh yes, my newspaper, of -course!” - -“I don’t believe you’re a reporter at all,” she said with sudden -suspicion. - -“Indeed I am,” he said glibly, and dared to pronounce the name of that -widely-circulated sheet upon which the sun seldom sets. - -“Though I’m not a great actress, and fear I never shall be, I like to -believe it is because I’ve never had a chance—I’ve a horrible suspicion -that Mr. Knebworth knows instinctively that I am no good.” - -Mike Brixan had found a new interest in the case, an interest which, he -was honest enough to confess to himself, was not dissociated from the -niece of Francis Elmer. He had never met anybody quite so pretty and -quite so unsophisticated and natural. - -“You’re going to the studio, I suppose?” - -She nodded. - -“I wonder if Mr. Knebworth would mind my calling to see you?” - -She hesitated. - -“Mr. Knebworth doesn’t like callers.” - -“Then maybe I’ll call on him,” said Michael, nodding. “It doesn’t matter -whom I call on, does it?” - -“It certainly doesn’t matter to me,” said the girl coldly. - -“In the vulgar language of the masses,” thought Mike as he strode down -the street, “I have had the bird!” - -His inquiries did not occupy very much of his time. He found the little -news shop, and the proprietor, by good fortune, remembered the coming of -Mr. Francis Elmer. - -“He came for a letter, though it wasn’t addressed to Elmer,” said the -shopkeeper. “A lot of people have their letters addressed here. I make a -little extra money that way.” - -“Did he buy a newspaper?” - -“No, sir, he did not buy a newspaper; he had one under his arm—the -_Morning Telegram_. I remember that, because I noticed that he’d put a -blue pencil mark round one of the agony advertisements on the front -page, and I was wondering what it was all about. I kept a copy of that -day’s _Morning Telegram_: I’ve got it now.” - -He went into the little parlour at the back of the shop and returned -with a dingy newspaper, which he laid on the counter. - -“There are six there, but I don’t know which one it was.” - -Michael examined the agony advertisements. There was one frantic message -from a mother to her son, asking him to return and saying that “all -would be forgiven.” There was a cryptogram message, which he had not -time to decipher. A third, which was obviously the notice of an -assignation. The fourth was a thinly veiled advertisement for a new -hair-waver, and at the fifth he stopped. It ran: - - “Troubled. Final directions at address I - gave you. Courage. Benefactor.” - -“Some ‘benefactor,’” said Mike Brixan. “What was he like—the man who -called? Was he worried?” - -“Yes, sir: he looked upset—all distracted like. He seemed like a chap -who’d lost his head.” - -“That seems a fair description,” said Mike. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - THE LEADING LADY - - -IN the studio of the Knebworth Picture Corporation the company had been -waiting in its street clothes for the greater part of an hour. - -Jack Knebworth sat in his conventional attitude, huddled up in his -canvas chair, fingering his long chin and glaring from time to time at -the clock above the studio manager’s office. - -It was eleven when Stella Mendoza flounced in, bringing with her the -fragrance of wood violets and a small, unhappy Peke. - -“Do you work to summer-time?” asked Knebworth slowly. “Or maybe you -thought the call was for afternoon? You’ve kept fifty people waiting, -Stella.” - -“I can’t help their troubles,” she said with a shrug of shoulder. “You -told me you were going on location, and naturally I didn’t expect there -would be any hurry. I had to pack my things.” - -“Naturally you didn’t think there was any hurry!” - -Jack Knebworth reckoned to have three fights a year. This was the third. -The first had been with Stella, and the second had been with Stella, and -the third was certainly to be with Stella. - -“I wanted you to be here at ten. I’ve had these boys and girls waiting -since a quarter of ten.” - -“What do you want to shoot?” she asked with an impatient jerk of her -head. - -“You mostly,” said Jack slowly. “Get into No. 9 outfit and don’t forget -to leave your pearl ear-rings off. You’re supposed to be a half-starved -chorus girl. We’re shooting at Griff Towers, and I told the gentleman -who lent us the use of the house that I’d be through the day work by -three. If you were Pauline Frederick or Norma Talmadge or Lillie Gish, -you’d be worth waiting for, but Stella Mendoza has got to be on this lot -by ten—and don’t forget it!” - -Old Jack Knebworth got up from his canvas chair and began to put on his -coat with ominous deliberation, the flushed and angry girl watching him, -her dark eyes blazing with injured pride and hurt vanity. - -Stella had once been plain Maggie Stubbs, the daughter of a Midland -grocer, and old Jack had talked to her as if she were still Maggie -Stubbs and not the great film star of coruscating brilliance, idol (or -her press agent lied) of the screen fans of all the world. - -“All right, if you want a fuss you can have it, Knebworth. I’m going to -quit—now! I think I know what is due to my position. That part’s got to -be rewritten to give me a chance of putting my personality over. There’s -too much leading man in it, anyway. People don’t pay real money to see -men. You don’t treat me fair, Knebworth: I’m temperamental, I admit it. -You can’t expect a woman of my kind to be a block of wood.” - -“The only thing about you that’s a block of wood is your head, Stella,” -grunted the producer, and went on, oblivious to the rising fury -expressed in the girl’s face. “You’ve had two years playing small parts -in Hollywood, and you’ve brought nothing back to England but a line of -fresh talk, and you could have gotten that out of the Sunday -supplements! Temperament! That’s a word that means doctors’ certificates -when a picture’s half taken, and a long rest unless your salary’s put up -fifty per cent. Thank God this picture isn’t a quarter taken or an -eighth. Quit, you mean-spirited guttersnipe—and quit as soon as you -darn please!” - -Boiling with rage, her lips quivering so that she could not articulate, -the girl turned and flung out of the studio. - -White-haired Jack Knebworth glared round at the silent company. - -“This is where the miracle happens,” he said sardonically. “This is -where the extra girl who’s left a sick mother and a mortgage at home -leaps to fame in a night. If you don’t know that kinder thing happens on -every lot in Hollywood you’re no students of fiction. Stand forth, Mary -Pickford the second!” - -The extras smiled, some amused, some uncomfortable, but none spoke. -Adele was frozen stiff, incapable of speech. - -“Modesty don’t belong to this industry,” old Jack sneered amiably. “Who -thinks she can play ‘Roselle’ in this piece—because an extra’s going to -play the part, believe me! I’m going to show this pseudo-actress that -there isn’t an extra on this lot that couldn’t play her head off. -Somebody talked about playing a part yesterday—you!” - -His forefinger pointed to Adele, and with a heart that beat tumultuously -she went toward him. - -“I had a camera test of you six months ago,” said Jack suspiciously. -“There was something wrong with her: what was it?” - -He turned to his assistant. That young man scratched his head in an -effort of memory. - -“Ankles?” he hazarded a guess at random—a safe guess, for Knebworth had -views about ankles. - -“Nothing wrong with them—get out the print and let us see it.” - -Ten minutes later, Adele sat by the old man’s side in the little -projection room and saw her “test” run through. - -“Hair!” said Knebworth triumphantly. “I knew there was something. Don’t -like bobbed hair. Makes a girl too pert and sophisticated. You’ve grown -it?” he added as the lights were switched on. - -“Yes, Mr. Knebworth.” - -He looked at her in dispassionate admiration. - -“You’ll do,” he said reluctantly. “See the wardrobe and get Miss -Mendoza’s costumes. There’s one thing I’d like to tell you before you -go,” he said, stopping her. “You may be good and you may be bad, but, -good or bad, there’s no future for you—so don’t get heated up. The only -woman who’s got any chance in England is the producer’s wife, and I’ll -never marry you if you go down on your knees to me! That’s the only kind -of star they know in English films—the producer’s wife; and unless -you’re that, you haven’t——!” - -He snapped his finger. - -“I’ll give you a word of advice, kid. If you make good in this picture, -link yourself up with one of those cute English directors that set three -flats and a pot of palms and call it a drawing-room! Give Miss -What’s-her-name the script, Harry. Say—go out somewhere quiet and study -it, will you? Harry, you see the wardrobe. I give you half an hour to -read that script!” - -Like one in a dream, the girl walked out into the shady garden that ran -the length of the studio building, and sat down, trying to concentrate -on the typewritten lines. It wasn’t true—it could not be true! And then -she heard the crunch of feet on gravel and looked up in alarm. It was -the young man who had seen her that morning—Michael Brixan. - -“Oh, please—you mustn’t interrupt me!” she begged in agitation. “I’ve -got a part—a big part to read.” - -Her distress was so real that he hastened to take his departure. - -“I’m awfully sorry——” he began. - -In her confusion she had dropped the loose sheets of the manuscript, -and, stooping with her to pick them up, their heads bumped. - -“Sorry—that’s an old comedy situation, isn’t it?” he began. - -And then he saw the sheet of paper in his hand and began to read. It was -a page of elaborate description of a scene. - - “The cell is large, lighted by a swinging lamp. In centre is a - steel gate through which a soldier on guard is seen pacing to - and fro——” - -“Good God!” said Michael, and went white. - -The “u’s” in the type were blurred, the “g” was indistinct. The page had -been typed on the machine from which the Head-Hunter sent forth his -gruesome tales of death. - - - - - CHAPTER V - MR. LAWLEY FOSS - - -“WHAT is wrong?” asked Adele, seeing the young man’s grave face. - -“Where did this come from?” - -He showed her the sheet of typewritten script. - -“I don’t know: it was with the other sheets. I knew, of course, that it -didn’t belong to ‘Roselle.’” - -“Is that the play you’re acting in?” he asked quickly. And then: “Who -would know?” - -“Mr. Knebworth.” - -“Where shall I find him?” - -“You go through that door,” she said, “and you will find him on the -studio floor.” - -Without a word, he walked quickly into the building. Instinctively he -knew which of the party was the man he sought. Jack Knebworth looked up -under lowering brows at the sight of the stranger, for he was a stickler -for privacy in business hours; but before he could demand an -explanation, Michael was up to him. - -“Are you Mr. Knebworth?” - -Jack nodded. - -“I surely am,” he said. - -“May I speak to you for two minutes?” - -“I can’t speak to anybody for one minute,” growled Jack. “Who are you, -anyway, and who let you in?” - -“I am a detective from the Foreign Office,” said Michael, lowering his -voice, and Jack’s manner changed. - -“Anything wrong?” he asked, as he accompanied the detective into his -sanctum. - -Jack laid down the sheet of paper with its typed characters on the -table. - -“Who wrote that?” he asked. - -Jack Knebworth looked at the manuscript and shook his head. - -“I’ve never seen it before. What is it all about?” - -“You’ve never seen this manuscript at all?” - -“No, I’ll swear to that, but I dare say my scenario man will know all -about it. I’ll send for him.” - -He touched a bell, and, to the clerk who came: - -“Ask Mr. Lawley Foss to come quickly,” he said. - -“The reading of books, plots and material for picture plays is entirely -in the hands of my scenario manager,” he said. “I never see a manuscript -until he considers it’s worth producing; and even then, of course, the -picture isn’t always made. If the story happens to be a bad one, I don’t -see it at all. I’m not so sure that I haven’t lost some good stories, -because Foss”—he hesitated a second—“well, he and I don’t see exactly -eye to eye. Now, Mr. Brixan, what is the trouble?” - -In a few words Michael explained the grave significance of the -typewritten sheet. - -“The Head-Hunter!” Jack whistled. - -There came a knock at the door, and Lawley Foss slipped into the room. -He was a thinnish man, dark and saturnine of face, shifty of eye. His -face was heavily lined as though he suffered from some chronic disease. -But the real disease which preyed on Lawley Foss was the bitterness of -mind that comes to a man at war with the world. There had been a time in -his early life when he thought that same world was at his feet. He had -written two plays that had been produced and had run a few nights. -Thereafter, he had trudged from theatre to theatre in vain, for the -taint of failure was on him, and no manager would so much as open the -brown-covered manuscripts he brought to them. Like many another man, he -had sought easy ways to wealth, but the Stock Exchange and the race -track had impoverished him still further. - -He glanced suspiciously at Michael as he entered. - -“I want to see you, Foss, about a sheet of script that’s got amongst the -‘Roselle’ script,” said Jack Knebworth. “May I tell Mr. Foss what you -have told me?” - -Michael hesitated for a second. Some cautioning voice warned him to keep -the question of the Head-Hunter a secret. Against his better judgment he -nodded. - -Lawley Foss listened with an expressionless face whilst the old director -explained the significance of the interpolated sheet, then he took the -page from Jack Knebworth’s hand and examined it. Not by a twitch of his -face or a droop of his eyelid did he betray his thoughts. - -“I get a lot of stuff in,” he said, “and I can’t immediately place this -particular play; but if you’ll let me take it to my office, I will look -up my books.” - -Again Michael considered. He did not wish that piece of evidence to pass -out of his hands; and yet without confirmation and examination, it was -fairly valueless. He reluctantly agreed. - -“What do you make of that fellow?” asked Jack Knebworth when the door -had closed upon the writer. - -“I don’t like him,” said Michael bluntly. “In fact, my first impressions -are distinctly unfavourable, though I am probably doing the poor -gentleman a very great injustice.” - -Jack Knebworth sighed. Foss was one of his biggest troubles, sometimes -bulking larger than the temperamental Mendoza. - -“He certainly is a queer chap,” he said, “though he’s diabolically -clever. I never knew a man who could take a plot and twist it as Lawley -Foss can—but he’s—difficult.” - -“I should imagine so,” said Michael dryly. - -They passed out into the studio, and Michael sought the troubled girl to -explain his crudeness. There were tears of vexation in her eyes when he -approached her, for his startling disappearance with a page of the -script had put all thoughts of the play from her mind. - -“I am sorry,” he said penitently. “I almost wish I hadn’t come.” - -“And I quite wish it,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. “What was -the matter with that page you took—you _are_ a detective, aren’t you?” - -“I admit it,” said Michael recklessly. - -“Did you speak the truth when you said that my uncle——” she stopped, -at a loss for words. - -“No, I did not,” replied Michael quietly. “You uncle is dead, Miss -Leamington.” - -“Dead!” she gasped. - -He nodded. - -“He was murdered, in extraordinary circumstances.” - -Suddenly her face went white. - -“He wasn’t the man whose head was found at Esher?” - -“How did you know?” he asked sharply. - -“It was in this morning’s newspaper,” she said, and inwardly he cursed -the sleuth-hound of a reporter who had got on to the track of this -latest tragedy. - -She had to know sooner or later: he satisfied himself with that thought. - -The return of Foss relieved him of further explanations. The man spoke -for a while with Jack Knebworth in a low voice, and then the director -beckoned Michael across. - -“Foss can’t trace this manuscript,” he said, handing back the sheet. “It -may have been a sample page sent in by a contributor, or it may have -been a legacy from our predecessors. I took over a whole lot of -manuscript with the studio from a bankrupt production company.” - -He looked impatiently at his watch. - -“Now, Mr. Brixan, if it’s possible I should be glad if you would excuse -me. I’ve got some scenes to shoot ten miles away, with a leading lady -from whose little head you’ve scared every idea that will be of the -slightest value to me.” - -Michael acted upon an impulse. - -“Would you mind my coming out with you to shoot—that means to -photograph, doesn’t it? I promise you I won’t be in the way.” - -Old Jack nodded curtly, and ten minutes later Michael Brixan was sitting -side by side with the girl in a char-à-banc which was carrying them to -the location. That he should be riding with the artistes at all was a -tribute to his nerve rather than to his modesty. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - THE MASTER OF GRIFF - - -ADELE did not speak to him for a long time. Resentment that he should -force his company upon her, and nervousness at the coming ordeal—a -nervousness which became sheer panic as they grew nearer and nearer to -their destination—made conversation impossible. - -“I see your Mr. Lawley Foss is with us,” said Michael, glancing over his -shoulder, and by way of making conversation. - -“He always goes on location,” she said shortly. “A story has sometimes -to be amended while it’s being shot.” - -“Where are we going now?” he asked. - -“Griff Towers first,” she replied. She found it difficult to be uncivil -to anybody. “It is a big place owned by Sir Gregory Penne.” - -“But I thought we were going to the Dower House?” - -She looked at him with a little frown. - -“Why did you ask if you knew?” she demanded, almost in a tone of -asperity. - -“Because I like to hear you speak,” said the young man calmly. “Sir -Gregory Penne? I seem to know the name.” - -She did not answer. - -“He was in Borneo for many years, wasn’t he?” - -“He’s hateful,” she said vehemently. “I detest him!” - -She did not explain the cause of her detestation, and Michael thought it -discreet not to press the question, but presently she relieved him of -responsibility. - -“I’ve been to his house twice. He has a very fine garden, which Mr. -Knebworth has used before—of course, I only went as an extra and was -very much in the background. I wish I had been more so. He has queer -ideas about women, and especially actresses—not that I’m an actress,” -she added hastily, “but I mean people who play for a living. Thank -heaven there’s only one scene to be shot at Griff, and perhaps he will -not be at home, but that’s unlikely. He’s always there when I go.” - -Michael glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. His first -impression of her beauty was more than confirmed. There was a certain -wistfulness in her face which was very appealing; an honesty in the dark -eyes that told him all he wanted to know about her attitude toward the -admiration of the unknown Sir Gregory. - -“It’s queer how all baronets are villains in stories,” he said, “and -queerer still that most of the baronets I’ve known have been men of -singular morals. I’m bothering you, being here, aren’t I?” he asked, -dropping his tone of banter. - -She looked round at him. - -“You are a little,” she said frankly. “You see, Mr. Brixan, this is my -big chance. It’s a chance that really never comes to an extra except in -stories, and I’m frightened to death of what is going to happen. You -make me nervous, but what makes me more panic-stricken is that the first -scene is to be shot at Griff. I hate it, I hate it!” she said almost -savagely. “That big, hard-looking house, with its hideous stuffed tigers -and its awful looking swords——” - -“Swords?” he asked quickly. “What do you mean?” - -“The walls are covered with them—Eastern swords. They make me shiver to -see them. But Sir Gregory takes a delight in them: he told Mr. -Knebworth, the last time we were there, that the swords were as sharp -now as they were when they came from the hands of their makers, and some -of them were three hundred years old. He’s an extraordinary man: he can -cut an apple in half on your hand and never so much as scratch you. That -is one of his favourite stunts—do you know what ‘stunt’ means?” - -“I seem to have heard the expression,” said Michael absently. - -“There is the house,” she pointed. “Ugh! It makes me shiver.” - -Griff Towers was one of those bleak looking buildings that it had been -the delight of the early Victorian architects to erect. Its one grey -tower, placed on the left wing, gave it a lopsided appearance, but even -this distortion did not distract attention from its rectangular -unloveliness. The place seemed all the more bare, since the walls were -innocent of greenery, and it stood starkly in the midst of a yellow -expanse of gravel. - -“Looks almost like a barracks,” said Michael, “with a parade ground in -front!” - -They passed through the lodge gates, and the char-à-banc stopped -half-way up the drive. The gardens apparently were in the rear of the -building, and certainly there was nothing that would attract the most -careless of directors in its uninteresting façade. - -Michael got down from his seat and found Jack Knebworth already -superintending the unloading of a camera and reflectors. Behind the -char-à-banc came the big dynamo lorry, with three sun arcs that were to -enhance the value of daylight. - -“Oh, you’re here, are you?” growled Jack. “Now you’ll oblige me, Mr. -Brixan, by not getting in the way? I’ve got a hard morning’s work ahead -of me.” - -“I want you to take me on as a—what is the word?—extra,” said Michael. - -The old man frowned at him. - -“Say, what’s the great idea?” he asked suspiciously. - -“I have an excellent reason, and I promise you that nothing I do will in -any way embarrass you. The truth is, Mr. Knebworth, I want to be around -for the remainder of the day, and I need an excuse.” - -Jack Knebworth bit his lip, scratched his long chin, scowled, and then: - -“All right,” he said gruffly. “Maybe you’ll come in handy, though I’ll -have quite enough bother directing one amateur, and if you get into the -pictures on this trip you’re going to be lucky!” - -There was a man of the party, a tall young man whose hair was brushed -back from his forehead, and was so tidy and well arranged that it seemed -as if it had originally been stuck by glue and varnished over. A tall, -somewhat good-looking boy, who had sat on Adele’s left throughout the -journey and had not spoken once, he raised his eyebrows at the -appearance of Michael, and, strolling across to the harassed Knebworth, -his hands in his pockets, he asked with a hurt air: - -“I say, Mr. Knebworth, who is this johnny?” - -“Which johnny?” growled old Jack. “You mean Brixan? He’s an extra.” - -“Oh, an extra, is he?” said the young man. “I say, it’s pretty -desperately awful when extras hobnob with principals! And this -Leamington girl—she’s simply going to mess up the pictures, she is, by -Jove!” - -“Is she, by Jove?” snarled Knebworth. “Now see here, Mr. Connolly, I -ain’t so much in love with your work that I’m willing to admit in -advance that even an extra is going to mess up this picture.” - -“I’ve never played opposite to an extra in my life, dash it all!” - -“Then you must have felt lonely,” grunted Jack, busy with his unpacking. - -“Now, Mendoza is an artiste——” began the youthful leading man, and -Jack Knebworth straightened his back. - -“Get over there till you’re wanted, you!” he roared. “When I need advice -from pretty boys, I’ll come to you—see? For the moment you’re _de -trop_, which is a French expression meaning that you’re standing on -ground there’s a better use for.” - -The disgruntled Reggie Connolly strolled away with a shrug of his thin -shoulders, which indicated not only his conviction that the picture -would fail, but that the responsibility was everywhere but under his -hat. - -From the big doorway of Griff Towers, Sir Gregory Penne was watching the -assembly of the company. He was a thick-set man, and the sun of Borneo -and an unrestricted appetite had dyed his skin a colour which was -between purple and brown. His face was covered with innumerable ridges, -his eyes looked forth upon the world through two narrow slits. The -rounded feminine chin seemed to be the only part of his face that -sunshine and stronger stimulants had left in its natural condition. - -Michael watched him as he strolled down the slope to where they were -standing, guessing his identity. He wore a golf suit of a loud check in -which red predominated, and a big cap of the same material was pulled -down over his eyes. Taking the stub of a cigar from his teeth, with a -quick and characteristic gesture he wiped his scanty moustache on his -knuckles. - -“Good morning, Knebworth,” he called. - -His voice was harsh and cruel; a voice that had never been mellowed by -laughter or made soft by the tendernesses of humanity. - -“Good morning, Sir Gregory.” - -Old Knebworth disentangled himself from his company. - -“Sorry I’m late.” - -“Don’t apologize,” said the other. “Only I thought you were going to -shoot earlier. Brought my little girl, eh?” - -“Your little girl?” Jack looked at him, frankly nonplussed. “You mean -Mendoza? No, she’s not coming.” - -“I don’t mean Mendoza, if that’s the dark girl. Never mind: I was only -joking.” - -Who the blazes was his little girl, thought Jack, who was ignorant of -two unhappy experiences which an unconsidered extra girl had had on -previous visits. The mystery, however, was soon cleared up, for the -baronet walked slowly to where Adele Leamington was making a pretence of -studying her script. - -“Good morning, little lady,” he said, lifting his cap an eighth of an -inch from his head. - -“Good morning, Sir Gregory,” she said coldly. - -“You didn’t keep your promise.” He shook his head waggishly. “Oh, woman, -woman!” - -“I don’t remember having made a promise,” said the girl quietly. “You -asked me to come to dinner with you, and I told you that that was -impossible.” - -“I promised to send my car for you. Don’t say it was too far away. Never -mind, never mind.” And, to Michael’s wrath, he squeezed the girl’s arm -in a manner which was intended to be paternal, but which filled the girl -with indignant loathing. - -She wrenched her arm free, and, turning her back upon her tormentor, -almost flew to Jack Knebworth with an incoherent demand for information -on the reading of a line which was perfectly simple. - -Old Jack was no fool. He watched the play from under his eyelids, -recognizing all the symptoms. - -“This is the last time we shall shoot at Griff Towers,” he told himself. - -For Jack Knebworth was something of a stickler on behaviour, and had -views on women which were diametrically opposite to those held by Sir -Gregory Penne. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - THE SWORDS AND BHAG - - -THE little party moved away, leaving Michael alone with the baronet. For -a period, Gregory Penne watched the girl, his eyes glittering; then he -became aware of Michael’s presence and turned a cold, insolent stare -upon the other. - -“What are you?” he asked, looking the detective up and down. - -“I’m an extra,” said Michael. - -“An extra, eh? Sort of chorus boy? Put paint and powder on your face and -all that sort of thing? What a life for a man!” - -“There are worse,” said Michael, holding his antagonism in check. - -“Do you know that little girl—what’s her name, Leamington?” asked the -baronet suddenly. - -“I know her extremely well,” said Michael untruthfully. - -“Oh, you do, eh?” said the master of Griff Towers with sudden -amiability. “She’s a nice little thing. Quite a cut above the ordinary -chorus girl. You might bring her along to dinner one night. She’d come -with you, eh?” - -The contortions of the puffy eyelids suggested to Michael that the man -had winked. There was something about this gross figure that interested -the scientist in Michael Brixan. He was elemental; an animal invested -with a brain; and yet he must be something more than that if he had held -a high administrative position under Government. - -“Are you acting? If you’re not, you can come up and have a look at my -swords,” said the man suddenly. - -Michael guessed that, for a reason of his own, probably because of his -claim to be Adele’s friend, the man wished to cultivate the -acquaintance. - -“No, I’m not acting,” replied Michael. - -And no invitation could have given him greater pleasure. Did their owner -realize the fact, Michael Brixan had already made up his mind not to -leave Griff Towers until he had inspected that peculiar collection. - -“Yes, she’s a nice little girl.” - -Penne returned to the subject immediately as they paced up the slope -toward the house. - -“As I say, a cut above chorus girls. Young, unsophisticated, virginal! -You can have your sophisticated girls: there is no mystery to ’em! They -revolt me. A girl should be like a spring flower. Give me the violet and -the snowdrop: you can have a bushel of cabbage roses for one petal of -the shy dears of the forest.” - -Michael listened with a keen sense of nausea, and yet with an unusual -interest, as the man rambled on. He said things which were sickening, -monstrous. There were moments when Brixan found it difficult to keep his -hands off the obscene figure that paced at his side; and only by -adopting toward him the attitude with which the enthusiastic naturalist -employs in his dealings with snakes, was he able to get a grip of -himself. - -The big entrance hall into which he was ushered was paved with earthen -tiles, and, looking up at the stone walls, Michael had his first glimpse -of the famous swords. - -There were hundreds of them—poniards, scimitars, ancient swords of -Japan, basket-hilted hangers, two-handed swords that had felt the grip -of long-dead Crusaders. - -“What do you think of ’em, eh?” Sir Gregory Penne spoke with the pride -of an enthusiastic collector. “There isn’t one of them that could be -duplicated, my boy; and they’re only the rag, tag and bobtail of my -collection.” - -He led his visitor along a broad corridor, lighted by square windows set -at intervals, and here again the walls were covered with shining -weapons. Throwing open a door, Sir Gregory ushered the other into a -large room which was evidently his library, though the books were few, -and, so far as Michael could see at first glance, the conventional -volumes that are to be found in the houses of the country gentry. - -Over the mantelshelf were two great swords of a pattern which Michael -did not remember having seen before. - -“What do you think of those?” - -Penne lifted one from the silver hook which supported it, and drew it -from its scabbard. - -“Don’t feel the edge unless you want to cut yourself. This would split a -hair, but it would also cut you in two, and you would never know what -had happened till you fell apart!” - -Suddenly his manner changed, and he almost snatched the sword from -Michael’s hand, and, putting it back in its sheath, he hung it up. - -“That is a Sumatran sword, isn’t it?” - -“It comes from Borneo,” said the baronet shortly. - -“The home of the head-hunters.” - -Sir Gregory looked round, his brows lowered. - -“No,” he said, “it comes from Dutch Borneo.” - -Evidently there was something about this weapon which aroused unpleasant -memories. He glowered for a long time in silence into the little fire -that was burning on the hearth. - -“I killed the man who owned that,” he said at last, and it struck -Michael that he was speaking more to himself than to his visitor. “At -least, I hope I killed him. I hope so!” - -He glanced round, and Michael Brixan could have sworn there was -apprehension in his eyes. - -“Sit down, What’s-your-name,” he commanded, pointing to a low settee. -“We’ll have a drink.” - -He pushed a bell, and, to Michael’s astonishment, the summons was -answered by an under-sized native, a little copper-coloured man, naked -to the waist. Gregory gave an order in a language which was -unintelligible to Michael—he guessed, by its sibilants, it was -Malayan—and the servant, with a quick salaam, disappeared, and came -back almost instantly with a tray containing a large decanter and two -thin glasses. - -“I have no white servants—can’t stand ’em,” said Penne, taking the -contents of his glass at a gulp. “I like servants who don’t steal and -don’t gossip. You can lick ’em if they misbehave, and there’s no -trouble. I got this fellow last year in Sumatra, and he’s the best -butler I’ve had.” - -“Do you go to Borneo every year?” asked Michael. - -“I go almost every year,” said the other. “I’ve got a yacht: she’s lying -at Southampton now. If I didn’t get out of this cursed country once a -year, I’d go mad. There’s nothing here, nothing! Have you ever met that -dithering old fool, Longvale? Knebworth said you were going on to -him—pompous old ass, who lives in the past and dresses like an -advertisement for somebody’s whisky. Have another?” - -“I haven’t finished this yet,” said Michael with a smile, and his eyes -went up to the sword above the mantelpiece. “Have you had that very -long? It looks modern.” - -“It isn’t,” snapped the other. “Modern! It’s three hundred years old if -it’s a day. I’ve only had it a year.” Again he changed the subject -abruptly. “I like you, What’s-your-name. I like people or I dislike them -instantly. You’re the sort of fellow who’d do well in the East. I’ve -made two millions there. The East is full of wonder, full of -unbelievable things.” He screwed his head round and fixed Michael with a -glittering eye. “Full of good servants,” he said slowly. “Would you like -to meet the perfect servant?” - -There was something peculiar in his tone, and Michael nodded. - -“Would you like to see the slave who never asks questions and never -disobeys, who has no love but love of me”—he thumped himself on the -chest—“no hate but for the people I hate—my trusty—Bhag?” - -He rose, and, crossing to his table, turned a little switch that Michael -had noticed attached to the side of the desk. As he did so, a part of -the panelled wall at the farther end of the room swung open. For a -second Michael saw nothing, and then there emerged, blinking into the -daylight, a most sinister, a most terrifying figure. And Michael Brixan -had need for all his self-control to check the exclamation that rose to -his lips. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - BHAG - - -IT was a great orang-outang. Crouched as it was, gazing malignantly upon -the visitor with its bead-like eyes, it stood over six feet in height. -The hairy chest was enormous; the arms that almost touched the floor -were as thick as an average man’s thigh. It wore, a pair of workman’s -dark blue overalls, held in place by two straps that crossed the broad -shoulders. - -“Bhag!” called Sir Gregory in a voice so soft that Michael could not -believe it was the man’s own. “Come here.” - -The gigantic figure waddled across the room to where they stood before -the fireplace. - -“This is a friend of mine, Bhag.” - -The great ape held out his hand, and for a second Michael’s was held in -its velvet palm. This done, he lifted his paw to his nose and sniffed -loudly, the only sound he made. - -“Get me some cigars,” said Penne. - -Immediately the ape walked to a cabinet, pulled open a drawer, and -brought out a box. - -“Not those,” said Gregory. “The small ones.” - -He spoke distinctly, as if he were articulating to somebody who was -deaf, and, without a moment’s hesitation, the hideous Bhag replaced the -box and brought out another. - -“Pour me out a whisky and soda.” - -The ape obeyed. He did not spill a drop, and when his owner said -“Enough,” replaced the stopper in the decanter and put it back. - -“Thank you, that will do, Bhag.” - -Without a sound the ape waddled back to the open panelling and -disappeared, and the door closed behind him. - -“Why, the thing is human,” said Michael in an awe-stricken whisper. - -Sir Gregory Penne chuckled. - -“More than human,” he said. “Bhag is my shield against all trouble.” - -His eyes seemed to go instantly to the sword above the mantelpiece. - -“Where does he live?” - -“He’s got a little apartment of his own, and he keeps it clean. He feeds -with the servants.” - -“Good Lord!” gasped Michael, and the other chuckled again at the -surprise he had aroused. - -“Yes, he feeds with the servants. They’re afraid of him, but they -worship him: he’s a sort of god to them, but they’re afraid of him. Do -you know what would have happened if I’d said ‘This man is my enemy?’” -He pointed his stubby finger at Michael’s chest. “He would have torn you -limb from limb. You wouldn’t have had a chance, Mr. What’s-your-name, -not a dog’s chance. And yet he can be gentle—yes, he can be gentle.” He -nodded. “And cunning! He goes out almost every night, and I’ve had no -complaints from the villagers. No sheep stolen, nobody frightened. He -just goes out and loafs around in the woods, and doesn’t kill as much as -a hen partridge.” - -“How long have you had him?” - -“Eight or nine years,” said the baronet carelessly, swallowing the -whisky that the ape had poured for him. “Now let’s go out and see the -actors and actresses. She’s a nice girl, eh? You’re not forgetting -you’re going to bring her to dinner, are you? What is your name?” - -“Brixan,” said Michael. “Michael Brixan.” - -Sir Gregory grunted something. - -“I’ll remember that—Brixan. I ought to have told Bhag. He likes to -know.” - -“Would he have known me again, suppose you had?” asked Michael, smiling. - -“Known you?” said the baronet contemptuously. “He will not only know -you, but he’ll be able to trail you down. Notice him smelling his hand? -He was filing you for reference, my boy. If I told him ‘Go along and -take this message to Brixan,’ he’d find you.” - -When they reached the lovely gardens at the back of the house, the first -scene had been shot, and there was a smile on Jack Knebworth’s face -which suggested that Adele’s misgivings had not been justified. And so -it proved. - -“That girl’s a peach,” Jack unbent to say. “A natural born actress, -built for this scene—it’s almost too good to be true. What do you -want?” - -It was Mr. Reggie Connolly, and he had the obsession which is perpetual -in every leading man. He felt that sufficient opportunities had not been -offered to him. - -“I say, Mr. Knebworth,” he said in a grieved tone, “I’m not getting much -of the fat in this story! So far, there’s about thirty feet of me in -this picture. I say, that’s not right, you know! If a johnny is being -featured——” - -“You’re not being featured,” said Jack shortly. “And Mendoza’s chief -complaint was that there was too much of you in it.” - -Michael looked round. Sir Gregory Penne had strolled toward where the -girl was standing, and, in her state of elation, she had no room in her -heart even for resentment against the man she so cordially detested. - -“Little girl, I want to speak to you before you go,” he said, dropping -his voice, and for once she smiled at him. - -“Well, you have a good opportunity now, Sir Gregory,” she said. - -“I want to tell you how sorry I am for what happened the other day, and -I respect you for what you said, for a girl’s entitled to keep her -kisses for men she likes. Aren’t I right?” - -“Of course you’re right,” she said. “Please don’t think any more about -it, Sir Gregory.” - -“I’d no right to kiss you against your will, especially when you’re in -my house. Are you going to forgive me?” - -“I do forgive you,” she said, and would have left him, but he caught her -arm. - -“You’re coming to dinner, aren’t you?” He jerked his head toward the -watchful Michael. “Your friend said he’d bring you along.” - -“Which friend?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. “You mean Mr. Brixan?” - -“That’s the fellow. Why do you make friends with that kind of man? Not -that he isn’t a decent fellow. I like him personally. Will you come -along to dinner?” - -“I’m afraid I can’t,” she said, her old aversion gaining ground. - -“Little girl,” he said earnestly, “there’s nothing you couldn’t have -from me. Why do you want to trouble your pretty head about this cheap -play acting? I’ll give you a company of your own if you want it, and the -best car that money can buy.” - -His eyes were like points of fire, and she shivered. - -“I have all I want, Sir Gregory,” she said. - -She was furious with Michael Brixan. How dared he presume to accept an -invitation on her behalf? How dare he call himself her friend? Her anger -almost smothered her dislike for her persecutor. - -“You come over to-night—let him bring you,” said Penne huskily. “I want -you to-night—do you hear? You’re staying at old Longvale’s. You can -easily slip out.” - -“I’ll do nothing of the kind. I don’t think you know what you’re asking, -Sir Gregory,” she said quietly. “Whatever you mean, it is an insult to -me.” - -Turning abruptly, she left him. Michael would have spoken to her, but -she passed, her head in the air, a look on her face which dismayed him, -though, after a moment’s consideration, he could guess the cause. - -When the various apparatus was packed, and the company had taken their -seats in the char-à-banc, Michael observed that she had very carefully -placed herself between Jack Knebworth and the sulking leading man, and -wisely himself chose a seat some distance from her. - -The car was about to start when Sir Gregory came up to him, and, -stepping on the running-board: - -“You said you’d get her over——” he began. - -“If I said that,” said Michael, “I must have been drunk, and it takes -more than one glass of whisky to reduce me to that disgusting condition. -Miss Leamington is a free agent, and she would be singularly ill-advised -to dine alone with you or any other man.” - -He expected an angry outburst, but, to his surprise, the squat man only -laughed and waved him a pleasant farewell. Looking round as the car -turned from the lodge gates, Michael saw him standing on the lawn, -talking to a man, and recognized Foss, who, for some reason, had stayed -behind. - -And then his eyes strayed past the two men to the window of the library, -where the monstrous Bhag sat in his darkened room, waiting for -instructions which he would carry into effect without reason or pity. -Michael Brixan, hardened as he was to danger of every variety, found -himself shuddering. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - THE ANCESTOR - - -THE Dower House was away from the main road. A sprawling mass of low -buildings, it stood behind untidy hedges and crumbling walls. Once the -place had enjoyed the services of a lodge-keeper, but the tiny lodge was -deserted, the windows broken, and there were gaps in the tiled roof. The -gates had not been closed for generations; they were broken, and leant -crazily against the walls to which they had been thrust by the last -person who had employed them to guard the entrance to the Dower House. - -What had once been a fair lawn was now a tangle of weeds. Thistle and -mayweed grew knee-deep where the gallants of old had played their bowls; -and it was clear to Michael, from his one glance, that only a portion of -the house was used. In only one of the wings were the windows whole; the -others were broken or so grimed with dirt, that they appeared to have -been painted. - -His amusement blended with curiosity, Michael saw for the first time the -picturesque Mr. Sampson Longvale. He came out to meet them, his bald -head glistening in the afternoon sunlight, his strapped fawn-coloured -trousers, velvet waistcoat and old-fashioned stock completely supporting -Gregory Penne’s description of him. - -“Delighted to see you, Mr. Knebworth. I’ve a very poor house, but I -offer you a very rich welcome! I have had tea served in my little -dining-room. Will you please introduce me to the members of your -company?” - -The courtesy, the old-world spirit of dignity, were very charming, and -Michael felt a warm glow toward this fine old man who brought to this -modern atmosphere the love and the fragrance of a past age. - -“I should like to shoot a scene before we lose the light, Mr. Longvale,” -said Knebworth, “so, if you don’t mind the meal being a scrambling one, -I can give the company a quarter of an hour.” He looked round. “Where is -Foss?” he asked. “I want to change a scene.” - -“Mr. Foss said he was walking from Griff Towers,” said one of the -company. “He stopped behind to speak to Sir Gregory.” - -Jack Knebworth cursed his dilatory scenario man with vigour and -originality. - -“I hope he hasn’t stopped to borrow money,” he said savagely. “That -fellow’s going to ruin my credit if I’m not careful.” - -He had overcome his objection to his new extra; possibly he felt that -there was nobody else in the party whom he could take into his -confidence without hurt to discipline. - -“Is he that way inclined?” - -“He’s always short of money and always trying to make it by some fool -trick which leaves him shorter than he was before. When a man gets that -kind of bug in his head he’s only a block away from prison. Are you -going to stay the night? I don’t think you’ll be able to sleep here,” he -said, changing the subject, “but I suppose you’ll be going back to -London?” - -“Not to-night,” said Michael quickly. “Don’t worry about me. I -particularly do not wish to give you any trouble.” - -“Come and meet the old man,” said Knebworth under his breath. “He’s a -queer old devil with the heart of a child.” - -“I like what I’ve seen of him,” said Michael. - -Mr. Longvale accepted the introduction all over again. - -“I fear there will not be sufficient room in my dining-room for the -whole company. I have had a little table laid in my study. Perhaps you -and your friends would like to have your tea there?” - -“Why, that’s very kind of you, Mr. Longvale. You have met Mr. Brixan?” - -The old man smiled and nodded. - -“I have met him without realizing that I’ve met him. I never remember -names—a curious failing which was shared by my great-great-uncle -Charles, with the result that he fell into extraordinary confusion when -he wrote his memoirs, and in consequence many of the incidents he -relates have been regarded as apocryphal.” - -He showed them into a narrow room that ran from the front to the back of -the house. Its ceilings were supported by black rafters; the open -wainscoting, polished and worn by generations of hands, must have been -at least five hundred years old. There were no swords over this -mantelpiece, thought Michael with an inward smile. Instead, there was a -portrait of a handsome old gentleman, the dignity of whose face was -arresting. There was only one word with an adequate description: it was -majestic. - -He made no comment on the picture, nor did the old man speak of it till -later. The meal was hastily disposed of, and, sitting on the wall, -Michael watched the last daylight scene shot, and was struck by the -plastic genius of the girl. He knew enough of motion pictures and their -construction to realize what it meant to the director to have in his -hands one who could so faithfully reproduce the movements and the -emotions which the old man dictated. - -In other circumstances he might have thought it grotesque to see Jack -Knebworth pretending to be a young girl, resting his elderly cheek coyly -upon the back of his clasped hand, and walking with mincing steps from -one side of the picture to the other. But he knew that the American was -a mason who was cutting roughly the shape of the sculpture and leaving -it to the finer artiste to express in her personality the delicate -contours that would delight the eye of the picture-loving world. She was -no longer Adele Leamington; she was Roselle, the heiress to an estate of -which her wicked cousin was trying to deprive her. The story itself he -recognized; a half-and-half plagiarism of “The Cat and the Canary,” with -which were blended certain situations from “The Miracle Man.” He -mentioned this fact when the scene was finished. - -“I guess it’s a steal,” said Jack Knebworth philosophically, “and I -didn’t inquire too closely into it. It’s Foss’s story, and I should be -pained to discover there was anything original in it.” - -Mr. Foss had made a tardy reappearance, and Michael found himself -wondering what was the nature of that confidential interview which the -writer had had with Sir Gregory. - -Going back to the long sitting-room, he stood watching the daylight fade -and speculating upon the one mystery within a mystery—the extraordinary -effect which Adele had produced upon him. - -Mike Brixan had known many beautiful women, women in every class of -society. He had known the best and the worst, he had jailed a few, and -had watched one face a French firing squad one grey wintry morning at -Vincennes. He had liked many, nearly loved one, and it seemed, -cold-bloodedly analysing his emotions, that he was in danger of actually -loving a girl whom he had never met before that morning. - -“Which is absurd,” he said aloud. - -“What is absurd?” asked Knebworth, who had come into the room unnoticed. - -“I also wondered what you were thinking,” smiled old Mr. Longvale, who -had been watching the young man in silence. - -“I—er—well, I was thinking of the portrait.” Michael turned and -indicated the picture above the fireplace, and in a sense he spoke the -truth, for the thread of that thought had run through all others. “The -face seemed familiar,” he said, “which is absurd, because it is -obviously an old painting.” - -Mr. Longvale lit two candles and carried one to the portrait. Again -Michael looked, and again the majesty of the face impressed him. - -“That is my great-great-uncle, Charles Henry,” said old Mr. Longvale -with pride. “Or, as we call him affectionately in our family, the Great -Monsieur.” - -Michael’s face was half-turned toward the window as the old man -spoke. . . . Suddenly the room seemed to spin before his eyes. Jack -Knebworth saw his face go white and caught him by the arm. - -“What’s the matter?” he asked. - -“Nothing,” said Michael unsteadily. - -Knebworth was staring past him at the window. - -“What was that?” he said. - -With the exception of the illumination from the two candles and the -faint dusk light that came from the garden, the room was in darkness. - -“Did you see it?” he asked, and ran to the window, staring out. - -“What was it?” asked old Mr. Longvale, joining him. - -“I could have sworn I saw a head in the window. Did you see it, Brixan?” - -“I saw something,” said Michael unsteadily. “Do you mind if I go out -into the garden?” - -“I hoped you saw it. It looked like a monkey’s head to me.” - -Michael nodded. He walked down the flagged passage into the garden, and, -as he did so, slipped a Browning from his hip, pressed down the -safety-catch, and dropped the pistol into his jacket pocket. - -He disappeared, and five minutes later Knebworth saw him pacing the -garden path, and went out to him. - -“Did you see anything?” - -“Nothing in the garden. You must have been mistaken.” - -“But didn’t you see him?” - -Michael hesitated. - -“I thought I saw something,” he said with an assumption of carelessness. -“When are you going to shoot those night pictures of yours?” - -“You saw something, Brixan—was it a face?” - -Mike Brixan nodded. - - - - - CHAPTER X - THE OPEN WINDOW - - -THE dynamo wagon was humming as he walked down the garden path, and with -a hiss and a splutter from the arcs, the front of the cottage was -suddenly illuminated by their fierce light. Outside on the road a -motorist had pulled up to look upon the unusual spectacle. - -“What is happening?” he asked curiously. - -“They’re taking a picture,” said Michael. - -“Oh, is that what it is? I suppose it is one of Knebworth’s outfits?” - -“Where are you going?” demanded Michael suddenly. “Forgive my asking -you, but if you’re heading for Chichester you can render me a very great -service if you give me a lift.” - -“Jump in,” said the man. “I’m going to Petworth, but it will not be much -out of my way to take you into the city.” - -Until they came to the town he plied Michael with questions betraying -that universal inquisitiveness which picture-making invariably incites -amongst the uninitiated. - -Michael got down near the market-place and made his way to the house of -a man he knew, a former master at his old school, now settled down in -Chichester, who had, amongst other possessions, an excellent library. -Declining his host’s pressing invitation to dinner, Michael stated his -needs, and the old master laughed. - -“I can’t remember that you were much of a student in my days, Michael,” -he said, “but you may have the run of the library. Is it some line of -Virgil that escapes you? I may be able to save you a hunt.” - -“It’s not Virgil, maestro,” smiled Michael. “Something infinitely more -full-blooded!” - -He was in the library for twenty minutes, and when he emerged there was -a light of triumph in his eye. - -“I’m going to use your telephone if I may,” he said, and he got London -without delay. - -For ten minutes he was speaking with Scotland Yard, and, when he had -finished, he went into the dining-room where the master, who was a -bachelor, was eating his solitary dinner. - -“You can render me one more service, mentor of my youth,” he said. “Have -you in this abode of peace an automatic pistol that throws a heavier -shell than this?” - -And he put his own on the table. Michael knew Mr. Scott had been an -officer of the Territorial Army, and incidentally an instructor of the -Officers’ Training Corps, so that his request was not as impossible of -fulfilment as it appeared. - -“Yes, I can give you a heavier one than that. What are you -shooting—elephants?” - -“Something a trifle more dangerous,” said Michael. - -“Curiosity was never a weakness of mine,” said the master, and went out -to return with a Browning of heavy calibre and a box of cartridges. - -They spent five minutes cleaning the pistol, which had not been in use -for some time, and, with his new weapon weighing down his jacket pocket, -Mike took his leave, carrying a lighter heart and a clearer -understanding than he had enjoyed when he had arrived at the house. - -He hired a car from a local garage and drove back to the Dower House, -dismissing the car just short of his destination. Jack Knebworth had not -even noticed that he had disappeared. But old Mr. Longvale, wearing a -coat with many capes, and a soft silk cap from which dangled a long -tassel, came to him almost as soon as he entered the garden. - -“May I speak to you, Mr. Brixan?” he said in a low voice, and they went -into the house together. “Do you remember Mr. Knebworth was very -perturbed because he thought he saw somebody peering in at the -window—something with a monkey’s head?” - -Michael nodded. - -“Well, it is a most curious fact,” said the old gentleman impressively, -“that a quarter of an hour ago I happened to be walking in the far end -of my garden, and, looking across the hedge toward the field, I suddenly -saw a gigantic form rise, apparently from the ground, and move toward -these bushes”—he pointed through the window to a clump in a field on -the opposite side of the road. “He seemed to be crouching forward and -moving furtively.” - -“Will you show me the place?” said Michael quickly. - -He followed the other across the road to the bushes, a little clump -which was empty when they reached it. Kneeling down to make a new -skyline, Michael scanned the limited horizon, but there was no sign of -Bhag. For that it was Bhag he had no doubt. There might be nothing in -it. Penne told him that the animal was in the habit of taking nightly -strolls, and that he was perfectly harmless. Suppose . . . - -The thought was absurd, fantastically absurd. And yet the animal had -been so extraordinarily human that no speculation in connection with it -was quite absurd. - -When he returned to the garden, he went in search of the girl. She had -finished her scene and was watching the stealthy movements of two screen -burglars, who were creeping along the wall in the subdued light of the -arcs. - -“Excuse me, Miss Leamington, I’m going to ask you an impertinent -question. Have you brought a complete change of clothes with you?” - -“Why ever do you ask that?” she demanded, her eyes wide open. “Of course -I did! I always bring a complete change in case the weather breaks.” - -“That’s one question. Did you lose anything when you were at Griff -Towers?” - -“I lost my gloves,” she said quickly. “Did you find them?” - -“No. When did you miss them?” - -“I missed them immediately. I thought for a moment——” She stopped. “It -was a foolish idea, but——” - -“What did you think?” he asked. - -“I’d rather not tell you. It is a purely personal matter.” - -“You thought that Sir Gregory had taken them as a souvenir?” - -Even in the half-darkness he saw her colour come and go. - -“I did think that,” she said, a little stiffly. - -“Then it doesn’t matter very much—about your change of clothing,” he -said. - -“Whatever are you talking about?” - -She looked at him suspiciously. He guessed she thought that he had been -drinking, but the last thing in the world he wanted to do at that moment -was to explain his somewhat disjointed questions. - -“Now everybody is going to bed!” - -It was old Jack Knebworth talking. - -“Everybody! Off you go! Mr. Foss has shown you your rooms. I want you up -at four o’clock to-morrow morning, so get as much sleep as you can. -Foss, you’ve marked the rooms?” - -“Yes,” said the man. “I’ve put the names on every door. I’ve given this -young lady a room to herself—is that right?” - -“I suppose it is,” said Knebworth dubiously. “Anyway, she won’t be there -long enough to get used to it.” - -The girl said good night to the detective and went straight up to her -apartment. It was a tiny room, smelling somewhat musty, and was simply -furnished. A truckle bed, a chest of drawers with a swinging glass on -top, and a small table and chair was all that the apartment contained. -By the light of her candle, the floor showed signs of having been -recently scrubbed, and the centre was covered by a threadbare square of -carpet. - -She locked the door, blew out the candle and, undressing in the dark, -went to the window and threw open the casement. And then, for the first -time, she saw, on the centre of one of the small panes, a circular disc -of paper. It was pasted on the outside of the window, and at first she -was about to pull it off, when she guessed that it might be some -indicator placed by Knebworth to mark an exact position that he required -for the morning picture-taking. - -She did not immediately fall asleep, her mind for some curious reason, -being occupied unprofitably with a tumultuous sense of annoyance -directed towards Michael Brixan. For a long time a strong sense of -justice fought with a sense of humour equally powerful. He was a nice -man, she told herself; the sixth sense of woman had already delivered -that information, heavily underlined. He certainly had nerve. In the end -humour brought sleep. She was smiling when her eyelids closed. - -She had been sleeping two hours, though it did not seem two seconds. A -sense of impending danger wakened her, and she sat up in bed, her heart -thumping wildly. She looked round the room. In the pale moonlight she -could see almost every corner, and it was empty. Was it somebody outside -the door that had wakened her? She tried the door handle: it was locked, -as she had left it. The window? It was very near to the ground, she -remembered. Stepping to the window, she pulled one casement close. She -was closing the other when, out of the darkness below, reached a great -hairy arm and a hand closed like a vice on her wrist. - -She did not scream. She stood breathless, dying of terror, she felt. Her -heart ceased beating, and she was conscious of a deadly cold. What was -it? What could it be? Summoning all her courage, she looked out of the -window down into a hideous, bestial face and two round, green eyes that -stared into hers. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - THE MARK ON THE WINDOW - - -THE Thing was twittering at her, soft, bird-like noises, and she saw the -flash of its white teeth in the darkness. It was not pulling, it was -simply holding, one hand gripping the tendrils of the ivy up which it -had climbed, the other hand firmly about her wrist. Again it twittered -and pulled. She drew back, but she might as well have tried to draw back -from a moving piston rod. A great, hairy leg was suddenly flung over the -sill; the second hand came up and covered her face. - -The sound of her scream was deadened in the hairy paw, but somebody -heard it. From the ground below came a flash of fire and the deafening -‘tang!’ of a pistol exploding. A bullet zipped and crashed amongst the -ivy, striking the brickwork, and she heard the whirr of the ricochet. -Instantly the great monkey released his hold and dropped down out of -sight. Half swooning, she dropped upon the window-sill, incapable of -movement. And then she saw a figure come out of the shadow of the laurel -bush, and instantly recognized the midnight prowler. It was Michael -Brixan. - -“Are you hurt?” he asked in a low voice. - -She could only shake her head, for speech was denied her. - -“I didn’t hit him, did I?” - -With an effort she found a husk of a voice in her dry throat. - -“No, I don’t think so. He dropped.” - -Michael had pulled an electric torch from his pocket and was searching -the ground. - -“No sign of blood. He was rather difficult to hit—I was afraid of -hurting you, too.” - -A window had been thrown up and Jack Knebworth’s voice bawled into the -night. - -“What’s the shooting? Is that you, Brixan?” - -“It is I. Come down, and I’ll tell you all about it.” - -The noise did not seem to have aroused Mr. Longvale, or, for the matter -of that, any other member of the party; and when Knebworth reached the -garden, he found no other audience than Mike Brixan. - -In a few words Michael told him what he had seen. - -“The monkey belongs to friend Penne,” he said. “I saw it this morning.” - -“What do you think—that he was prowling round and saw the open window?” - -Michael shook his head. - -“No,” he said quietly, “he came with one intention and purpose, which -was to carry off your leading lady. That sounds highly dramatic and -improbable, and that is the opinion I have formed. This ape, I tell you, -is nearly human.” - -“But he wouldn’t know the girl. He has never seen her.” - -“He could smell her,” said Mike instantly. “She lost a pair of gloves at -the Towers to-day, and it’s any odds that they were stolen by the noble -Gregory Penne, so that he might introduce to Bhag an unfailing scent.” - -“I can’t believe it; it is incredible! Though I’ll admit,” said Jack -Knebworth thoughtfully, “that these big apes do some amazing things. Did -you shoot him?” - -“No, sir, I didn’t shoot him, but I can tell you this, that he’s an -animal that’s been gunned before, or he’d have come for me, in which -case he would have been now fairly dead.” - -“What were you doing round here, anyway?” - -“Just watching out,” said the other carelessly. “The earnest detective -has so many things on his conscience that he can’t sleep like ordinary -people. Speaking for myself, I never intended leaving the garden, -because I expected Brer Bhag. Who is that?” - -The door opened, and a slim figure, wrapped in a dressing-gown, came out -into the open. - -“Young lady, you’re going to catch a very fine cold,” warned Knebworth. -“What happened to you?” - -“I don’t know.” She was feeling her wrist tenderly. “I heard something -and went to the window, and then this horrible thing caught hold of me. -What was it, Mr. Brixan?” - -“It was nothing more alarming than a monkey,” said he with affected -unconcern. “I’m sorry you were so scared. I guess the shooting worried -you more?” - -“You don’t guess anything of the kind. You know it didn’t. Oh, it was -horrible, horrible!” She covered her face with her trembling hands. - -Old Jack grunted. - -“I think she’s right, too. You owe something to our friend here, young -lady. Apparently he was expecting this visit and watched in the garden.” - -“You expected it?” she gasped. - -“Mr. Knebworth has made rather more of the part I played than can be -justified,” said Mike. “And if you think that this is a hero’s natural -modesty, you’re mistaken. I did expect this gentleman, because he’d been -seen in the fields by Mr. Longvale. And you thought you saw him -yourself, didn’t you, Knebworth?” - -Jack nodded. - -“In fact, we all saw him,” Mike went on, “and as I didn’t like the idea -of a coming star (if I may express that pious hope) being subjected to -the annoyance of visiting monkeys, I sat up in the garden.” - -With a sudden impulsive gesture she put out her little hand, and Michael -took it. - -“Thank you, Mr. Brixan,” she said. “I have been wrong about you.” - -“Who isn’t?” asked Mike with an extravagant shrug. - -She returned to her room, and this time she closed her window. Once, -before she went finally to sleep, she rose and, peeping through the -curtains, saw the little glowing point of the watcher’s cigar, and went -back to bed comforted, to sleep as if it were only for a few minutes -before Foss began knocking on the doors to waken the company. - -The literary man himself was the first down. The garden was beginning to -show palely in the dawn light, and he bade Michael Brixan a gruff good -morning. - -“Good morning to you,” said Michael. “By the way, Mr. Foss, you stayed -behind at Griff Towers yesterday to see our friend Penne?” - -“That’s no business of yours,” growled the man, and would have passed -on, but Michael stood squarely in his path. - -“There is one thing which is a business of mine, and that is to ask you -why that little white disc appears on Miss Leamington’s window?” - -He pointed up to the white circle that the girl had seen the night -before. - -“I don’t know anything about it,” said Foss with rising anger, but there -was also a note of fear in his voice. - -“If you don’t know, who will? Because I saw you put it there, just -before it got dark last night.” - -“Well, if you must know,” said the man, “it was to mark a vision -boundary for the camera-man.” - -That sounded a plausible excuse. Michael had seen Jack Knebworth marking -out boundaries in the garden to ensure the actors being in the picture. -At the first opportunity, when Knebworth appeared he questioned him on -the subject. - -“No, I gave no instructions to put up marks. Where is it?” - -Michael showed him. - -“I wouldn’t have a mark up there, anyway, should I? Right in the middle -of a window! What do you make of it?” - -“I think Foss put it there with one object. The window was marked at -Gregory’s request.” - -“But why?” asked Knebworth, staring. - -“To show Bhag Adele Leamington’s room. That’s why,” said Michael, and he -was confident that his view was an accurate one. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - A CRY FROM A TOWER - - -MICHAEL did not wait to see the early morning scenes shot. He had -decided upon a course of action, and as soon as he conveniently could, -he made his escape from the Dower House, and, crossing a field, reached -the road which led to Griff Towers. Possessing a good eye for country, -he had duly noted the field-path which ran along the boundary of Sir -Gregory Penne’s estate, and was, he guessed, a short cut to Griff; and -ten minutes’ walk brought him to the stile where the path joined the -road. He walked quickly, his eyes on the ground, looking for some trace -of the beast; but there had been no rain, and, unless he had wounded the -animal, there was little hope that he would pick up the track. - -Presently he came to the high flint wall which marked the southern end -of the baronet’s grounds, and this he followed until he came to a -postern let in the wall, a door that appeared to have been recently in -use, for it was ajar, he noted with satisfaction. - -Pushing it open, he found himself in a large field which evidently -served as kitchen garden for the house. There was nobody in sight. The -grey tower looked even more forbidding and ugly in the early morning -light. No smoke came from the chimneys; Griff was a house of the dead. -Nevertheless, he proceeded cautiously, and, instead of crossing the -field, moved back into the shadow of the wall until he reached the high -boxwood fence that ran at right angles and separated the kitchen garden -from that beautiful pleasaunce which Jack Knebworth had used the -previous morning as a background for his scenes. - -And all the time he kept his eyes roving, expecting at any moment to see -the hideous figure of Bhag appear from the ground. At last he reached -the end of the hedge. He was now within a few paces of the gravelled -front, and less than half a dozen yards from the high, square grey tower -which gave the house its name. - -From where he stood he could see the whole front of the house. The drawn -white blinds, the general lifelessness of Griff, might have convinced a -less sceptical man than Mike Brixan that his suspicions were unfounded. - -He was hesitating as to whether he should go to the house or not, when -he heard a crash of glass, and looked up in time to see fragments -falling from the topmost room of the tower. The sun had not yet risen, -the earth was still wrapped in the illusory dawn light, and the hedge -made an admirable hiding-place. - -Who was breaking windows at this hour of the morning? Surely not the -careful Bhag—so far he had reached in his speculations when the morning -air was rent by a shrill scream, of such fear that his flesh went cold. -It came from the upper room and ended abruptly, as though somebody had -put his hand over the mouth of the unfortunate from whom that cry of -terror had been wrung. - -Hesitating no longer, Michael stepped from his place of concealment, ran -quickly across the gravel, and pulled at the bell before the great -entrance, which was immediately under the tower. He heard the clang of -the bell and looked quickly round, to make absolutely sure that Bhag or -some of the copper-coloured retainers of Griff Towers were not trailing -him. - -A minute passed—two—and his hand was again raised to the iron -bell-pull, when he heard heavy feet in the corridor, a shuffle of -slippers on the tiled floor of the hall, and a gruff voice demanded: - -“Who’s there?” - -“Michael Brixan.” - -There was a grunt, a rattle of chains, a snapping of locks, and the big -door opened a few inches. - -Gregory Penne was wearing a pair of grey flannel trousers and a shirt, -the wristbands of which were unfastened. His malignant glare changed to -wonder at the sight of the detective. - -“What do you want?” he demanded, and opened the door a few more inches. - -“I want to see you,” said Michael. - -“Usually call at daybreak?” growled the man as he closed the door on his -visitor. - -Michael made no answer, but followed Gregory Penne to his room. The -library had evidently been occupied throughout the night. The windows -were shuttered, the electroliers were burning, and before the fire was a -table and two whisky bottles, one of which was empty. - -“Have a drink?” said Penne mechanically, and poured himself out a -portion with an unsteady hand. - -“Is your ape in?” asked Michael, refusing the preferred drink with a -gesture. - -“What, Bhag? I suppose so. He goes and comes as he likes. Do you want to -see him?” - -“Not particularly,” said Michael. “I’ve seen him once to-night.” - -Penne was lighting the stub of a cigar from the fire as he spoke, and he -looked round quickly. - -“You’ve seen him before? What do you mean?” - -“I saw him at the Dower House, trying to get into Miss Leamington’s -room, and he was as near to being a dead orang-outang as he has ever -been.” - -The man dropped the lighted spill on the hearth and stood up. - -“Did you shoot him?” he asked. - -“I shot at him.” - -Gregory nodded. - -“You shot at him,” he said softly. “That accounts for it. Why did you -shoot him? He’s perfectly harmless.” - -“He didn’t strike me that way,” said Michael coolly. “He was trying to -pull Miss Leamington from her room.” - -The man’s eyes opened. - -“He got so far, did he? Well?” - -There was a pause. - -“You sent him to get the girl,” said Michael. “You also bribed Foss to -put a mark on the window so that Bhag should know where the girl was -sleeping.” - -He paused, but the other made no reply. - -“The cave man method is fairly beastly, even when the cave man does his -own kidnapping. When he sends an anthropoid ape to do his dirty work, it -passes into another category.” - -The man’s eyes were invisible now; his face had grown a deeper hue. - -“So that’s your line, is it?” he said. “I thought you were a pal.” - -“I’m not responsible for your illusions,” said Michael. “Only I tell you -this”—he tapped the man’s chest with his finger—“if any harm comes to -Adele Leamington that is traceable to you or your infernal agent, I -shan’t be contented with shooting Mr. Bhag; I will come here and shoot -you! Do you understand? And now you can tell me, what is the meaning of -that scream I heard from your tower?” - -“Who the hell do you imagine you’re cross-questioning?” spluttered -Penne, livid with fury. “You dirty, miserable little actor!” - -Michael slipped a card from his pocket and put it in the man’s hand. - -“You’ll find my title to question you legibly inscribed,” he said. - -The man brought the card to the table-lamp and read it. The effect was -electrical. His big jaw dropped, and the hand that held the card -trembled so violently that it dropped to the floor. - -“A detective?” he croaked. “A—a detective! What do you want here?” - -“I heard somebody scream,” said Michael. - -“One of the servants, maybe. We’ve got a Papuan woman here who’s ill: in -fact, she’s a little mad, and we’re moving her to-morrow. I’ll go and -see if you like?” - -He looked toward Michael as though seeking permission. His whole -attitude was one of humility, and Michael required no more than the -sight of that pallid face and those chattering teeth to turn his -suspicion to certainty. Something was happening in this house that he -must get to the bottom of. - -“May I go and see?” asked Penne. - -Michael nodded. The stout man shuffled out of the room as though he were -in a hurry to be gone, and the lock clicked. Instantly Michael was at -the door, turned the handle and pulled. It was locked! - -He looked round the room quickly, and, running to one of the windows, -flung back the curtain and pulled at the shutter. But this, too, was -locked. It was, to all intents and purposes, a door with a little -keyhole at the bottom. He was examining this when all the lights in the -room went out, the only illumination being a faint red glow from the -fire. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - THE TRAP THAT FAILED - - -AND then Michael heard a faint creak in one corner of the room. It was -followed by the almost imperceptible sound of bare feet on the thick -pile carpet, and the noise of quick breathing. - -He did not hesitate. Feeling again for the keyhole of the shutter, he -pulled out his pistol and fired twice at the lock. The sound of the -explosion was deafening in the confined space of the room. It must have -had an electrical effect upon the intruder, for when, with a wrench, the -shutter opened, and at a touch the white blind sprang up, flooding with -light the big, ornate room, it was empty. - -Almost immediately afterwards the door opened through which the baronet -had passed. If he had been panic-stricken before, his condition was now -pitiable. - -“What’s that? What’s that?” he whimpered. “Did somebody shoot?” - -“Somebody shot,” said Michael calmly, “and I was the somebody. And the -gentlemen you sent into the room to settle accounts with me are very -lucky that I confined my firing practice to the lock of your shutter, -Penne.” - -He saw something white on the ground, and, crossing the room with quick -strides, picked it up. It was a scarf of coarse silk, and he smelt it. - -“Somebody dropped this in their hurry,” he said. “I guess it was to be -used.” - -“My dear fellow, I assure you I didn’t know.” - -“How is the interesting invalid?” asked Michael with a curl of his lip. -“The lunatic lady who screams?” - -The man fingered his trembling lips for a moment as though he were -trying to control them. - -“She’s all right. It was as I—as I thought,” he said; “she had some -sort of fit.” - -Michael eyed him pensively. - -“I’d like to see her, if I may,” he said. - -“You can’t.” Penne’s voice was loud, defiant. “You can’t see anybody! -What the hell do you mean by coming into my house at this hour of the -morning and damaging my property? I’ll have this matter reported to -Scotland Yard, and I’ll get the coat off your back, my man! Some of you -detectives think you own the earth, but I’ll show you you don’t!” - -The blustering voice rose to a roar. He was smothering his fear in weak -anger, Michael thought, and looked up at the swords above the -mantelpiece. Following the direction of his eyes, Sir Gregory wilted, -and again his manner changed. - -“My dear fellow, why exasperate me? I’m the nicest man in the world if -you only treat me right. You’ve got crazy ideas about me, you have -indeed!” - -Michael did not argue. He walked slowly down the passage and out to meet -the first sector of a blazing sun. As he reached the door he turned to -the man. - -“I cannot insist upon searching your house because I have not a warrant, -as you know, and, by the time I’d got a warrant, there would be nothing -to find. But you look out, my friend!” He waved a warning finger at the -man. “I hate dragging in classical allusions, but I should advise you to -look up a lady in mythology who was known to the Greeks as Adrastia!” - -And with this he left, walking down the drive, watched with eyes of -despair by a pale-faced girl from the upper window of the tower, whilst -Sir Gregory went back to his library and, by much diligent searching, -discovered that Adrastia was another name for Nemesis. - -Michael was back at the Dower House in time for breakfast. It was no -great tribute to his charm that his absence had passed unnoticed—or so -it appeared, though Adele had marked his disappearance, and had been the -first to note his return. - -Jack Knebworth was in his most cheery mood. The scenes had been, he -thought, most successful. - -“I can’t tell, of course, until I get back to the laboratory and develop -the pictures; but so far as young Leamington is concerned, she’s -wonderful. I hate predicting at this early stage, but I believe that -she’s going to be a great artiste.” - -“You didn’t expect her to be?” said Michael in surprise. - -Jack laughed scornfully. - -“I was very annoyed with Mendoza, and when I took this outfit on -location, I did so quite expecting that I should have to return and -retake the picture with Mendoza in the cast. Film stars aren’t born, -they’re made; they’re made by bitter experience, patience and suffering. -They have got to pass through stages of stark inefficiency, during which -they’re liable to be discarded, before they win out. Your girl has -skipped all the intervening phases, and has won at the first time of -asking.” - -“When you talk about ’my girl,’” said Michael carefully, “will you be -good enough to remember that I have the merest and most casual interest -in the lady?” - -“If you’re not a liar,” said Jack Knebworth, “you’re a piece of cheese!” - -“What chance has she as a film artiste?” asked Michael, anxious to turn -the subject. - -Knebworth ruffled his white hair. - -“Precious little,” he said. “There isn’t a chance for a girl in England. -That’s a horrible thing to say, but it’s true. You can count the -so-called English stars on the fingers of one hand; they’ve only a local -reputation and they’re generally married to the producer. What chance -has an outsider got of breaking into the movies? And even if they break -in, it’s not much good to them. Production in this country is streets -behind production either in America or in Germany. It is even behind the -French, though the French films are nearly the dullest in the world. The -British producer has no ideas of his own; he can adopt and adapt the -stunts, the tricks of acting, the methods of lighting, that he sees in -foreign films at trade shows; and, with the aid of an American -camera-man, he can produce something which might have been produced a -couple of years ago at Hollywood. It’s queer, because England has never -been left behind as she has been in the cinema industry. France started -the motor-car industry: to-day, England makes the finest motor-car in -the world. America started aviation: to-day, the British aeroplanes have -no superior. And yet, with all the example before them, with all the -immense profits which are waiting to be made, in the past twenty years -England has not produced one film star of international note, one film -picture with an international reputation.” - -It was a subject upon which he was prepared to enlarge, and did enlarge, -throughout the journey back to Chichester. - -“The cinema industry is in the hands of showmen all the world over, but -in England it is in the hands of peep-showmen, as against the Barnums of -the States. No, there’s no chance for your little friend, not in this -country. If the picture I’m taking makes a hit in America—yes. She’ll -be playing at Hollywood in twelve months’ time in an English -story—directed by Americans!” - -In the outer lobby of his office he found a visitor waiting for him, and -gave her a curt and steely good morning. - -“I want to see you, Mr. Knebworth,” said Stella Mendoza, with a smile at -the leading man who had followed Knebworth into his office. - -“You want to see me, do you? Why, you can see me now. What do you want?” - -She was pulling at a lace handkerchief with a pretty air of penitence -and confusion. Jack was not impressed. He himself had taught her all -that handkerchief stuff. - -“I’ve been very silly, Mr. Knebworth, and I’ve come to ask your pardon. -Of course, it was wrong to keep the boys and girls waiting, and I really -am sorry. Shall I come in the morning? Or I can start to-day?” - -A faint smile trembled at the corner of the director’s big mouth. - -“You needn’t come in the morning and you needn’t stay to-day, Stella,” -he said. “Your substitute has done remarkably well, and I don’t feel -inclined to retake the picture.” - -She flashed an angry glance at him, a glance at total variance with her -softer attitude. - -“I’ve got a contract: I suppose you know that, Mr. Knebworth?” she said -shrilly. - -“I’d ever so much rather play opposite Miss Mendoza,” murmured a gentle -voice. It was the youthful Reggie Connolly, he of the sleek hair. “It’s -not easy to play opposite Miss—I don’t even know her name. She’s -so—well, she lacks the artistry, Mr. Knebworth.” - -Old Jack didn’t speak. His gloomy eyes were fixed upon the youth. - -“What’s more, I don’t feel I can do myself justice with Miss Mendoza out -of the cast,” said Reggie. “I really don’t! I feel most awfully, -terribly nervous, and it’s difficult to express one’s personality when -one’s awfully, terribly nervous. In fact,” he said recklessly, “I’m not -inclined to go on with the picture unless Miss Mendoza returns.” - -She shot a grateful glance at him, and then turned with a slow smile to -the silent Jack. - -“Would you like me to start to-day?” - -“Not to-day, or any other day,” roared the old director, his eyes -flaming. “As for you, you nut-fed chorus boy, if you try to let me down -I’ll blacklist you at every studio in this country, and every time I -meet you I’ll kick you from hell to Halifax!” - -He came stamping into the office, where Michael had preceded him, a -raging fury of a man. - -“What do you think of that?” he asked when he had calmed down. “That’s -the sort of stuff they try to get past you! He’s going to quit in the -middle of a picture! Did you hear him? That cissy-boy! That mouse! Say, -Brixan, would you like to play opposite this girl of mine? You can’t be -worse than Connolly, and it would fill in your time whilst you’re -looking for the Head-Hunter.” - -Michael shook his head slowly. - -“No, thank you,” he said. “That is not my job. And as for the -Head-Hunter”—he lit a cigarette and sent a ring of smoke to the -ceiling—“I know who he is and I can lay my hands on him just when I -want.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - MENDOZA MAKES A FIGHT - - -JACK stared at him in amazement. - -“You’re joking!” he said. - -“On the contrary, I am very much in earnest,” said Michael quietly. “But -to know the Head-Hunter, and to bring his crimes home to him, are quite -different matters.” - -Jack Knebworth sat at his desk, his hands thrust into his trousers -pockets, a look of blank incredulity on the face turned to the -detective. - -“Is it one of my company?” he asked, troubled, and Michael laughed. - -“I haven’t the pleasure of knowing all your company,” he said -diplomatically, “but at any rate, don’t let the Head-Hunter worry you. -What are you going to do about Mr. Reggie Connolly?” - -The director shrugged. - -“He doesn’t mean it, and I was a fool to get wild,” he said. “That kind -of ninny never means anything. You wouldn’t dream, to see him on the -screen, full of tenderness and love and manliness, that he’s the poor -little jellyfish he is! As for Mendoza——” he swept his hands before -him, and the gesture was significant. - -Miss Stella Mendoza, however, was not accepting her dismissal so -readily. She had fought her way up from nothing, and was not prepared to -forfeit her position without a struggle. Moreover, her position was a -serious one. She had money—so much money that she need never work -again; for, in addition to her big salary, she enjoyed an income from a -source which need not be too closely inquired into. But there was a -danger that Knebworth might carry the war into a wider field. - -Her first move was to go in search of Adele Leamington, who, she learnt -that morning for the first time, had taken her place. Though she went in -a spirit of conciliation, she choked with anger to discover that the -girl was occupying the star’s dressing-room, the room which had always -been sacred to Stella Mendoza’s use. Infuriated, yet preserving an -outward calm, she knocked at the door. (That she, Stella Mendoza, should -knock at a door rightfully hers was maddening enough!) - -Adele was sitting at the bare dressing-table, gazing, a little -awe-stricken, at the array of mirrors, lights and the vista of dresses -down the long alleyway which served as a wardrobe. At the sight of -Mendoza she went red. - -“Miss Leamington, isn’t it?” asked Stella sweetly. “May I come in?” - -“Do, please,” said Adele, hastily rising. - -“Please _do_ sit down,” said Stella. “It’s a very uncomfortable chair, -but most of the chairs here are uncomfortable. They tell me you have -been ‘doubling’ for me?” - -“‘Doubling’?” said Adele, puzzled. - -“Yes, Mr. Knebworth said he was ‘doubling’ you. You know what I mean: -when an artiste can’t appear, they sometimes put in an understudy in -scenes where she’s not very distinctly shown—long shots——” - -“But Mr. Knebworth took me close up,” said the girl quietly. “I was only -in one long shot.” - -Miss Mendoza masked her anger and sighed. - -“Poor old chap! He’s very angry with me, and really, I oughtn’t to annoy -him. I’m coming back to-morrow, you know.” - -The girl went pale. - -“It’s fearfully humiliating for you, I realize, but, my dear, we’ve all -had to go through that experience. And people in the studio will be very -nice to you.” - -“But it’s impossible,” said Adele. “Mr. Knebworth told me I was to be in -the picture from start to finish.” - -Mendoza shook her head smilingly. - -“You can never believe what these fellows tell you,” she said. “He’s -just told me to be ready to shoot to-morrow morning on the South Downs.” - -Adele’s heart sank. She knew that was the rendezvous, though she was not -aware of the fact that Stella Mendoza had procured her information from -the disgruntled Mr. Connolly. - -“It _is_ humiliating,” Stella went on thoughtfully. “If I were you, I -would go up to town and stay away for a couple of weeks till the whole -thing has blown over. I feel very much to blame for your disappointment, -my dear, and if money is any compensation——” She opened her bag and, -taking out a wad of notes, detached four and put them on the table. - -“What is this for?” asked Adele coldly. - -“Well, my dear, you’ll want money for expenses——” - -“If you imagine I’m going to London without seeing Mr. Knebworth and -finding out for myself whether you’re speaking the truth——” - -Mendoza’s face flamed. - -“Do you suggest I’m lying?” - -She had dropped all pretence of friendliness and stood, a veritable -virago, her hands on her hips, her dark face thrust down into Adele’s. - -“I don’t know whether you’re a liar or whether you are mistaken,” said -Adele, who was less afraid of this termagant than she had been at the -news she had brought. “The only thing I’m perfectly certain about is -that for the moment this is my room, and I will ask you to leave it!” - -She opened the door, and for a moment was afraid that the girl would -strike her; but the broad-shouldered Irish dresser, a silent but -passionately interested spectator and audience, interposed her huge bulk -and good-humouredly pushed the raging star into the corridor. - -“I’ll have you out of there!” she screamed across the woman’s shoulder. -“Jack Knebworth isn’t everything in this company! I’ve got influence -enough to fire Knebworth!” - -The unrepeatable innuendoes that followed were not good to hear, but -Adele Leamington listened in scornful silence. She was only too relieved -(for the girl’s fury was eloquent) to know that she had not been -speaking the truth. For one horrible moment Adele had believed her, -knowing that Knebworth would not hesitate to sacrifice her or any other -member of the company if, by so doing, the values of the picture could -be strengthened. - -Knebworth was alone when his ex-star was announced, and his first -instinct was not to see her. Whatever his intentions might have been, -she determined his action by appearing in the doorway just as he was -making up his mind what line to take. He fixed her with his gimlet eyes -for a second, and then, with a jerk of his head, called her in. When -they were alone: - -“There are many things I admire about you, Stella, and not the least of -them is your nerve. But it is no good coming to me with any of that -let-bygones-be-bygones stuff. You’re not appearing in this picture, and -maybe you’ll never appear in another picture of mine.” - -“Is that so?” she drawled, sitting down uninvited, and taking from her -bag a little gold cigarette case. - -“You’ve come in to tell me that you’ve got influence with a number of -people who are financially interested in this corporation,” said Jack, -to her dismay. She wondered if there were telephone communication -between the dressing-room and the office, then remembered there wasn’t. - -“I’ve handled a good many women in my time,” he went on, “and I’ve never -had to fire one but she didn’t produce the President, Vice-President or -Treasurer and hold them over my head with their feet ready to kick out -my brains! And, Stella, none of those hold-ups have ever got past. -People who are financially interested in a company may love you to -death, but they’ve got to have the money to love you with; and if I -don’t make pictures that sell, somebody is short of a perfectly good -diamond necklace.” - -“We’ll see if Sir Gregory thinks the same way,” she said defiantly, and -Jack Knebworth whistled. - -“Gregory Penne, eh? I didn’t know you had friends in that quarter. Yes, -he is a stockholder in the company, but he doesn’t hold enough to make -any difference. I guess he told you that he did. And if he held -ninety-nine per cent. of it, Stella, it wouldn’t make any difference to -old Jack Knebworth, because old Jack Knebworth’s got a contract which -gives him carte blanche, and the only getting out clause is the one that -gets _me_ out! You couldn’t touch me, Stella, no, ma’am!” - -“I suppose you’re going to blacklist me?” she said sulkily. - -This was the one punishment she most feared—that Jack Knebworth should -circulate the story of her unforgivable sin of letting down a picture -when it was half-shot. - -“I thought about that,” he nodded, “but I guess I’m not vindictive. I’ll -let you go and say the part didn’t suit you, and that you resigned, -which is as near the truth as any story I’ll have to crack. Go with God, -Stella. I guess you won’t, because you’re not that way, but—behave!” - -He waved her out of the office and she went, somewhat chastened. Outside -the studio she met Lawley Foss, and told him the result of the -interview. - -“If it’s like that you can do nothing,” he said. “I’d speak for you, -Stella, but I’ve got to speak for myself,” he added bitterly. “The idea -of a man of my genius truckling hat in hand to this damned old Yankee is -very humiliating.” - -“You ought to have your own company, Lawley,” she said, as she had said -a dozen times before. “You write the stuff and I’ll be the leading woman -and put it over for you. Why, you could direct Kneb’s head off. I -_know_, Lawley! I’ve been to the only place on God Almighty’s earth -where art is appreciated, and I tell you that a four-flusher like Jack -Knebworth wouldn’t last a light-mile at Hollywood!” - -“Light-mile” was a term she had acquired from a scientific admirer. It -had the double advantage of sounding grand and creating a demand for an -explanation. To her annoyance, Foss was sufficiently acquainted with -elementary physics to know that she meant the period of time that a ray -of light would take to traverse a mile. - -“Is he in his office now?” - -She nodded, and without any further word Lawley Foss, in some -trepidation, knocked at his chief’s door. - -“The truth is, Mr. Knebworth, I want to ask a favour of you.” - -“Is it money?” demanded Jack, looking up from under his bushy brows. - -“Well, it was money, as a matter of fact. There have been one or two -little bills I’ve overlooked, and the bailiffs have been after me. I’ve -got to raise fifty pounds by two o’clock this afternoon.” - -Jack pulled open a drawer, took out a book and wrote a cheque, not for -fifty pounds, but for eighty. - -“That’s a month’s salary in advance,” he said. “You’ve drawn your pay up -to to-day, and by the terms of your contract you’re entitled to one -month’s notice or pay therefore. You’ve got it.” - -Foss went an ugly red. - -“Does that mean I’m fired?” he asked loudly. - -Jack nodded. - -“You’re fired, not because you want money, not because you’re one of the -most difficult men on the lot to deal with, but for what you did last -night, Foss.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“I mean I am taking Mr. Brixan’s view, that you fastened a white label -to the window of Miss Leamington’s room in order to guide an agent of -Sir Gregory Penne. That agent came and nearly kidnapped my leading -lady.” - -The man’s lip curled in a sneer. - -“You’ve got melodrama in your blood, Knebworth,” he said. “Kidnap your -leading lady! Those sort of things may happen in the United States, but -they don’t happen in England.” - -“Close the door as you go out,” said Jack, preparing for his work. - -“Let me say this——” began Foss. - -“I’ll let you say nothing,” snarled Knebworth. “I won’t even let you say -‘good-bye.’ Get!” - -And, when the door slammed behind his visitor, the old director pushed a -bell on his table, and, to his assistant who came: - -“Get Miss Leamington down here,” he said. “I’d like contact with -something that’s wholesome.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV - TWO FROM THE YARD - - -CHICHESTER is not famous for its restaurants, but the dining-room of a -little hotel, where three people foregathered that afternoon, had the -advantage of privacy. - -When Mike Brixan got back to his hotel he found two men waiting to see -him, and, after a brief introduction, he took them upstairs to his -sitting-room. - -“I’m glad you’ve come,” he said, when the inspector had closed the door -behind him. “The fact is that sheerly criminal work is a novelty to me, -and I’m afraid that I’m going to make it a mystery to you,” he smiled. -“At the moment I’m not prepared to give expression to all my -suspicions.” - -Detective Inspector Lyle, the chief of the two, laughed. - -“We have been placed entirely under your orders, Captain Brixan,” he -said, “and neither of us are very curious. The information you asked -for, Sergeant Walters has brought.” He indicated his tall companion. - -“Which information—about Penne? Is he known to the police?” asked -Michael, interested. - -Sergeant Walters nodded. - -“He was convicted and fined a few years ago for assaulting a servant—a -woman. Apparently he took a whip to the girl, and he very narrowly -escaped going to prison. That was the first time our attention was -attracted to him, and we made inquiries both in London and in the Malay -States and found out all about him. He’s a very rich man, and, being a -distant cousin of the late baronet, you may say he fluked his title. In -Borneo he lived up-country, practically in the bush, for fifteen or -twenty years, and the stories we have about him aren’t particularly -savoury. There are a few of them which you might read at your leisure, -Mr. Brixan—they’re in the record.” - -Michael nodded. - -“Is anything known of an educated orang-outang which is his companion?” - -To his surprise, the officer answered: - -“Bhag? Oh yes, we know all about him. He was captured when he was quite -a baby by Penne, and was brought up in captivity. It has been rather -difficult to trace the man, because he never returns to England by the -usual steamship line, so that it’s almost impossible to have a tag on -him. He has a yacht, a fine sea-going boat, the _Kipi_, which is -practically officered and manned by Papuans. What comes and goes with -him I don’t know. There was a complaint came through to us that the last -time he was abroad Penne nearly lost his life as the result of some -quarrel he had with a local tribesman. Now, Mr. Brixan, what would you -like us to do?” - -Michael’s instructions were few and brief. That evening, when Adele -walked home to her lodgings, she was conscious that a man was following -her, and after her previous night’s adventure this fact would have -played havoc with her nerves but for the note she found waiting when she -got indoors. It was from Michael. - - “Would you mind if I put a Scotland Yard man to watch you, to - see that you do not get into mischief! I don’t think there’s any - danger that you will, but I shall feel ever so much easier in my - mind if you will endure this annoyance.” - -She read the letter and her brows knit. So she was being shadowed! It -was an uncomfortable experience, and yet she could not very well object, -could not indeed feel anything but a sense of warm gratitude toward this -ubiquitous and pushful young man, who seemed determined not to let her -out of his sight. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - THE BROWN MAN FROM NOWHERE - - -WITH a brand-new grievance against life, Lawley Foss gathered his forces -to avenge himself upon the world that had treated him so harshly. And -first and most powerful of his forces was Stella Mendoza. There was a -council of war held in the drawing-room of the pretty little house that -Stella had taken when she joined the Knebworth Corporation. The third of -the party was Mr. Reggie Connolly. And as they were mutually -sympathetic, so were they mutually unselfish—characteristically so. - -“We’ve been treated disgracefully by Knebworth, Mr. Foss, especially -you. I think, compared with your case, mine is nothing.” - -“It is the way he has handled you that makes me sore,” said Foss -energetically. “An artiste of your standing!” - -“The work you’ve done for him! And Reggie—he treated him like a dog!” - -“Personally, it doesn’t matter to me,” said Reggie. “I can always find a -contract—it’s you——” - -“For the matter of that, we can _all_ find contracts,” interrupted -Stella with a taste of acid in her voice: “I can have my own company -when I please, and I’ve got two directors mad to direct me, and two men -I know would put up every cent of money to give me my own company—at -least, they’d put up a lot. And Chauncey Seller is raving to play -opposite me, and you know what a star he is; and he’d let me be featured -and go into small type himself. He’s a lovely man, and the best juvenile -in this country or any other.” - -Mr. Connolly coughed. - -“The point is, can we get the money _now_?” asked Foss, practical for -once. - -There was no immediate and enthusiastic assurance from the girl. - -“Because, if not, I think I can get all I want,” said Foss surprisingly. -“I won’t say from whom, or how I’m going to get it. But I’m certain I -can get big money, and it will be easier to get it for some specific -object than to ask for it for myself.” - -“Less risky?” suggested Connolly, with a desire to be in the -conversation. - -It was an unfortunate remark, the more so since by chance he had hit the -nail on the head. Foss went a dull red. - -“What the hell do you mean by ‘less risky’?” he demanded. - -Poor Reggie had meant nothing, and admitted as much in some haste. He -had meant to be helpful, and was ready to sulk at the storm he had -aroused. More ready because, as the conversation had progressed, he had -faded more and more into the background as an inconsiderable factor. -There is nothing quite so disheartening to a conspirator as to find the -conspiring taken out of his hands, and Reggie Connolly felt it was the -moment to make a complete _volte face_, and incidentally assert what he -was pleased to call his “personality.” - -“This is all very well, Stella,” he said, “but it looks to me as if I’m -going to be left out in the cold. What with your thinking about Chauncey -Seller—he’s let down more pictures than any two men I know—and all -that sort of thing, I don’t see that I’m going to be much use to you. I -don’t really. I know you’ll think I’m a fearful, awful rotter, but I -feel that we owe something to old Jack Kneb, I do really. I’ve -jeopardized my position for your sake, and I’m prepared to do anything -in reason, but what with pulling Chauncey Seller—who is a bounder of -the worst kind—into your cast, and what with Foss jumping down my -throat, well, really—really!” - -They were not inclined to mollify him, having rather an eye to the -future than to the present, and he had retired in a huff before the girl -realized that the holding of Reggie would at least have embarrassed -Knebworth to the extent of forcing a retake of those parts of the -picture in which he appeared. - -“Never mind about Connolly. The picture is certain to fail with that -extra: she’s bad. I have a friend in London,” explained Foss, after the -discussion returned to the question of ways and means, “who can put up -the money. I’ve got a sort of pull with him. In fact—well, anyhow, I’ve -got a pull. I’ll go up to-night and see him.” - -“And I’ll see mine,” said Stella. “We’ll call the company The Stella -Mendoza Picture Corporation——” - -Lawley Foss demurred. He was inclined to another title, and was prepared -to accept as a compromise the Foss-Mendoza or F.M. Company, a compromise -agreeable to Stella provided the initials were reversed. - -“Who is Brixan?” she asked as Foss was leaving. - -“He is a detective.” - -She opened her eyes wide. - -“A detective? Whatever is he doing here?” - -Lawley Foss smiled contemptuously. - -“He is trying to discover what no man of his mental calibre will ever -discover, the Head-Hunter. I am the one man in the world who could help -him. Instead of which,” he smiled again, “I am helping myself.” - -With which cryptic and mystifying statement he left her. - -Stella Mendoza was an ambitious woman, and when ambition is directed -toward wealth and fame it is not attended by scruple. Her private life -and her standard of values were no better and no worse than thousands of -other women, and no more belonged to her profession than did her passion -for good food and luxurious environment. The sins of any particular -class or profession are not peculiar to their status or calling, but to -their self-education in the matter of the permissible. As one woman -would die rather than surrender her self-respect, so another would lose -her self-respect rather than suffer poverty and hardship, and think -little or nothing of the act or the deceit she practised to gain her -ends. - -After Foss had gone, she went up to her room to change. It was too early -to make the call she intended, for Sir Gregory did not like to see her -during the daytime. He, who had not hesitated to send Bhag on a -fantastic mission, was a stickler for the proprieties. - -Having some letters to post, she drove into Chichester late in the -afternoon, and saw Mike Brixan in peculiar circumstances. He was the -centre of a little crowd near the market cross, a head above the -surrounding people. There was a policeman present: she saw his helmet, -and for a moment was inclined to satisfy her curiosity. She changed her -mind, and when she returned the crowd had dispersed and Michael had -disappeared, and, driving home, she wondered whether the detective had -been engaged professionally. - -Mike himself had been attracted by the crowd which was watching the -ineffectual efforts of a Sussex policeman to make himself intelligible -to a shock-haired, brown-faced native, an incongruous figure in an -ill-fitting suit of store clothes and a derby hat which was a little too -large for him. In his hand he carried a bundle tied up in a bright green -handkerchief, and under his arm a long object, wrapped in linen and -fastened with innumerable strings. At the first sight of him Michael -thought it was one of Penne’s Malayan servants, but on second thoughts -he realized that Sir Gregory would not allow any of his slaves to run -loose about the countryside. - -Pushing his way through the crowd, he came up to the policeman, who -touched his helmet rim and grinned. - -“Can’t make head or tail of this fellow’s lingo, sir,” he said. “He -wants to know something, but I can’t make out what. He has just come -into the city.” - -The brown man turned his big dark eyes upon Mike and said something -which was Greek to the detective. There was a curious dignity about the -native that even his ludicrous garments could not wholly dissipate, an -erectness of body, a carriage of head, an imponderable air of greatness -that instantly claimed Michael Brixan’s attention. - -Then suddenly he had an inspiration, and addressed the man in Dutch. -Immediately the native’s eyes lit up. - -“_Ja, mynheer_, I speak Dutch.” - -Mike had guessed that he came from Malaya, where Dutch and Portuguese -are spoken by the better class natives. - -“I am from Borneo, and I seek a man who is called Truji, an Englishman. -No, _mynheer_, I wish to see his house, for he is a great man in my -country. When I have seen his house I will go back to Borneo.” - -Mike was watching him as he talked. It was a particularly good-looking -face, except for the long and ugly scar that ran from his forehead to -the point of his jaw. - -A new servant for Gregory Penne, thought the detective, and gave him -directions. Standing by the policeman’s side, he watched the queer -figure with its bundles till it disappeared. - -“Queer language, that, sir,” said the officer. “It was Dutch to me.” - -“And to me,” chuckled Mike, and continued his way to the hotel. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - MR. FOSS MAKES A SUGGESTION - - -IMMERSED in her beloved script, Adele Leamington sat on her bed, a box -of _marron glacé_ by her side, her knees tucked up, and a prodigious -frown on her forehead. Try as hard as she would, she found it impossible -to concentrate upon the intricate directions with which Foss invariably -tortured the pages of his scenarios. Ordinarily she could have mastered -this handicap, but, for some reason or other, individual thoughts which -belonged wholly to her and had no association with her art came flowing -forth in such volume that the lines were meaningless and the page, for -all the instruction it gave to her, might as well have been blank. - -What _was_ Michael Brixan? He was not her idea of a detective, and why -was he staying in Chichester? Could it be . . . ? She flushed at the -thought and was angry with herself. It was hardly likely that a man who -was engaged in unravelling a terrible crime would linger for the sake of -being near to her. Was the Head-Hunter, the murderer, living near -Chichester? She dropped her manuscript to her knees at the appalling -thought. - -The voice of her landlady aroused her. - -“Will you see Mr. Foss, miss?” - -She jumped up from the bed and opened the door. - -“Where is he?” - -“I’ve put him in the parlour,” said the woman, who had grown a little -more respectful of late. Possibly the rise of the extra to stardom was -generally known in that small town, which took an interest in the -fortunes of its one ewe lamb of a production company. - -Lawley Foss was standing by the window, looking out, when she came into -the room. - -“Good afternoon, Adele,” he said genially. (He had never called her by -her Christian name before, even if he had known it.) - -“Good afternoon, Mr. Foss,” she said with a smile. “I’m sorry to hear -that you have left us.” - -Foss lifted his shoulders in a gesture of indifference. - -“The scope was a little too limited for my kind of work,” he said. - -He was wondering if Mike had told her about the disc of paper on her -window, and surmised rightly that he had not. Foss himself did not -attach any significance to the white disc, accepting Gregory’s -explanation, which was that, liking the girl, he wished to toss some -flowers and a present, by way of a peace offering, through a window -which he guessed would be open. Foss had thought him a love-sick fool, -and had obliged him. The story that Knebworth had told he dismissed as -sheer melodrama. - -“Adele, you’re a foolish little girl to turn down a man like Gregory -Penne,” he said, and saw by her face that he was on dangerous ground. -“There’s no sense in getting up in the air; after all, we’re human -beings, and it isn’t unnatural that Penne should have a crush on you. -There’s nothing wrong in that. Hundreds of girls have dinner with men -without there being anything sinister in it. I’m a friend of Penne’s, in -a way, and I’m seeing him to-night on a very important and personal -matter—will you come along?” - -She shook her head. - -“There may be no harm in it,” she said, “but there is no pleasure in it -either.” - -“He’s a rich man and a powerful man,” said Foss impressively. “He could -be of service to you.” - -Again she shook her head. - -“I want no other help than my own ability,” she said. “I nearly said -‘genius,’ but that would have sounded like conceit. I do not need the -patronage of any rich man. If I cannot succeed without that, then I am a -hopeless failure and am content to be one!” - -Still Foss lingered. - -“I think I can manage without you,” he said, “but I’d have been glad of -your co-operation. He’s crazy about you. If Mendoza knew that, she’d -kill you!” - -“Miss Mendoza?” gasped the girl. “But why? Does she—she know him?” - -He nodded. - -“Yes: very few people are aware of the fact. There was a time when he’d -have done anything for her, and she was a wise girl: she let him help! -Mendoza has money to burn and diamonds enough to fill the Jewel House.” - -Adele listened, horror-stricken, incredulous, and he hastened to insure -himself against Stella’s wrath. - -“You needn’t tell her I told you—this is in strict confidence. I don’t -want to get on the wrong side of Penne either,” he shivered. “That man’s -a devil!” - -Her lips twitched. - -“And yet you calmly ask me to dine with him, and hold out the bait of -Miss Mendoza’s diamonds!” - -“I suppose you think she’s awful,” he sneered. - -“I am very sorry for her,” said the girl quietly, “and I am determined -not to be sorry for myself!” - -She opened the door to him in silence, and in silence he took his -departure. After all, he thought, there was no need for any outside -help. In his breast pocket was a sheet of manuscript, written on the -Head-Hunter’s typewriter. That ought to be worth thousands when he made -his revelation. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - THE FACE IN THE PICTURE - - -MR. SAMPSON LONGVALE was taking a gentle constitutional on the strip of -path before his untidy house. He wore, as usual—for he was a creature -of habit—a long, grey silk dressing-gown, fastened by a scarlet sash. -On his head was his silk nightcap, and between his teeth a clay -churchwarden pipe, which he puffed solemnly as he walked. - -He had just bidden a courteous good night to the help who came in daily -to tidy his living-rooms and prepare his simple meals, when he heard the -sound of feet coming up the drive. He thought at first it was the woman -returning (she had a habit of forgetting things); but when he turned, he -saw the unprepossessing figure of a neighbour with whom he was -acquainted in the sense that Sir Gregory Penne had twice been abominably -rude to him. - -The old man watched with immobile countenance the coming of his -unwelcome visitor. - -“’Evening!” growled Penne. “Can I speak to you privately?” - -Mr. Longvale inclined his head courteously. - -“Certainly, Sir Gregory. Will you come in?” - -He ushered the owner of Griff Towers into the long sitting-room and lit -the candles. Sir Gregory glanced round, his lips curled in disgust at -the worn poverty of the apartment, and when the old man had pushed up a -chair for him, it was some time before he accepted the offer. - -“Now, sir,” said Mr. Longvale courteously, “to what circumstances do I -owe the pleasure of this visit?” - -“You had some actors staying here the other day?” - -Mr. Longvale inclined his head. - -“There was some fool talk about a monkey of mine trying to get into the -house.” - -“A monkey?” said Mr. Longvale in gentle surprise. “That is the first I -have heard of monkeys.” - -Which was true. The other looked at him suspiciously. - -“Is that so?” he asked. “You’re not going to persuade me you didn’t -hear?” - -The old man stood up, a picture of dignity. - -“Do you suggest that I am lying, sir?” he said. “Because, if you do, -there is the door! And though it hurts me to be in the least degree -discourteous to a guest of mine, I am afraid I have no other course than -to ask you to leave my house.” - -“All right, all right,” said Sir Gregory Penne impatiently. “Don’t lose -your temper, my friend. I didn’t come to see you about that, anyway. -You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” - -Mr. Longvale was obviously startled. - -“I practised medicine when I was younger,” he said. - -“Poor, too?” Gregory looked round. “You haven’t a shilling in the world, -I’ll bet!” - -“There you are wrong,” said old Mr. Longvale quietly. “I am an extremely -wealthy man, and the fact that I do not keep my house in repair is due -to the curious penchant of mine for decaying things. That is an -unhealthy, probably a morbid predilection of mine. How did you know I -was a doctor?” - -“I heard through one of my servants. You set the broken finger of a -carter.” - -“I haven’t practised for years,” said Mr. Longvale. “I almost wish I -had,” he added wistfully. “It is a noble science——” - -“Anyway,” interrupted Penne, “even if you can’t be bought, you’re a -secretive old devil, and that suits me. There’s a girl up at my house -who is very ill. I don’t want any of these prying country doctors nosing -around my private affairs. Would you come along and see her?” - -The old man pursed his lips thoughtfully. - -“I should be most happy,” he said, “but I am afraid my medical science -is a little rusty. Is she a servant?” - -“In a way,” said the other shortly. “When can you come?” - -“I’ll come at once,” said Mr. Longvale gravely, and went out, to return -in his greatcoat. - -The baronet looked at the ancient garment with a smile of derision. - -“Why the devil do you wear such old-fashioned clothes?” he asked. - -“To me they are very new,” said the old man gently. “The garments of -to-day are without romance, without the thrill which these bring to me.” -He patted the overlapping cape and smiled. “An old man is entitled to -his fancies: let me be humoured, Sir Gregory.” - -At the moment Mr. Sampson Longvale was driving to Griff Towers, Mike -Brixan, summoned by messenger, was facing Jack Knebworth in his office. - -“I hope you didn’t mind my sending for you, though it was a fool thing -to do,” said the director. “You remember that we shot some scenes at -Griff Towers?” - -Michael nodded. - -“I want you to see one that we took, with the tower in the background, -and tell me what you think of—something.” - -Wonderingly, Michael accompanied the director to the projection room. - -“My laboratory manager pointed it out to me in the negative,” explained -Jack as they seated themselves and the room went dark. “Of course, I -should have seen it in the print.” - -“What is it?” asked Michael curiously. - -“That’s just what I don’t know,” said the other, scratching his head, -“but you’ll see for yourself.” - -There was a flicker and a furious clicking, and there appeared on the -small screen which was used for projection purposes, a picture of two -people. Adele was one and Reggie Connolly the other, and Michael gazed -stolidly, though with rising annoyance, at a love scene which was being -enacted between the two. - -In the immediate background was the wall of the tower, and Michael saw -for the first time that there was a little window which he did not -remember having seen from the interior of the hall; it was particularly -dark, and was lighted, even in daytime, by electric lamps. - -“I never noticed that window before,” he said. - -“It’s the window I want you to watch,” said Jack Knebworth, and, even as -he spoke, there came stealthily into view a face. - -At first it was indistinct and blurred, but later, it came into focus. -It was the oval face of a girl, dark-eyed, her hair in disorder, a look -of unspeakable terror on her face. She raised her hand as if to beckon -somebody—probably Jack himself, who was directing the picture. That, at -least, was Jack’s view. They had hardly time to get accustomed to the -presence of the mystery girl when she disappeared, with such rapidity as -to suggest that she had been dragged violently back. - -“What do you make of that?” asked Knebworth. - -Michael bit his lip thoughtfully. - -“Looks almost as though friend Penne had a prisoner in his dark tower. -Of course, the woman whose scream I heard, and who he said was a -servant! But the window puzzles me. There’s no sign of it inside. The -stairway leads out of the hall, but in such a position that it is -impossible that the girl could have been standing either on the stairs -or the landing. Therefore, there must be a fifth wall inside, containing -a separate staircase. Does this mean you will have to retake?” - -Jack shook his head. - -“No, we can back her out: she’s only on fifty feet of the film; but I -thought you’d like to see it.” - -The lights came on again, and they went back to the director’s office. - -“I don’t like Penne, for more reasons than one,” said Jack Knebworth. “I -like him less since I’ve found that he’s better friends with Mendoza -than I thought he was.” - -“Who is Mendoza—the deposed star?” - -The other nodded. - -“Stella Mendoza—not a bad girl and not a good girl,” he said. “I’ve -been wondering why Penne always gave us permission to use his grounds -for shooting, and now I know. I tell you that that house holds a few -secrets!” - -Michael smiled faintly. - -“One, at least, of them will be revealed to-night,” he said. “I am going -to explore Griff Towers, and I do not intend asking permission of Sir -Gregory Penne. And if I can discover what I believe is there to be -discovered, Gregory Penne will sleep under lock and key this night!” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - THE MIDNIGHT VISIT - - -MICHAEL BRIXAN had had sent down to him from town a heavy suit-case, -which contained precious little clothing. He was busy with its contents -for half an hour, when the boots of the hotel announced the arrival of -the motor-cycle that had been hired for him. - -With a canvas bag strapped to his back, he mounted the machine, and was -soon clear of the town, swerving through the twisting lanes of Sussex -until he arrived at the Dower House, behind which he concealed his -machine. - -It was eleven o’clock when he crossed the fields to the postern gate, on -the alert all the time for the soft-footed Bhag. The postern was closed -and locked—a contingency for which he was prepared. Unstrapping his -bag, he took therefrom a bundle of rods, and screwed three together. To -the top he fastened a big, blunt hook, and, replacing the remainder of -the rods, he lifted the hook till it rested on the top of the high wall, -tested its stability, and in a few seconds had climbed his “ladder” and -had jumped to the other side. - -He followed the path that he had taken before, keeping close to the -bushes, and all the time watching left and right for Penne’s monstrous -servant. As he came to the end of the hedge, the hall door opened and -two men came out. One was Penne, and for a moment he did not recognize -the tall man by his side, until he heard his voice. Mr. Sampson -Longvale! - -“I think she will be all right. The wounds are very peculiar. It looks -almost as if she had been scratched by some huge claw,” said Longvale. -“I hope I have been of assistance, Sir Gregory, though, as I told you, -it is nearly fifty years since I engaged in medical work.” - -So old Longvale had been a doctor! Somehow this news did not surprise -Michael. There was something in the old man’s benevolence of countenance -and easy manner which would have suggested a training in that -profession, to one less analytical than Michael Brixan. - -“My car will take you down,” he heard Sir Gregory say. - -“No, no, thank you; I will walk. It is not very far. Good night, Sir -Gregory.” - -The baronet growled a good night and went back into the dimly-lit hall, -and Michael heard the rattle of chains as the door was fastened. - -There was no time to be lost. Almost before Mr. Sampson Longvale had -disappeared into the darkness, Michael had opened his canvas bag and had -screwed on three more links to his ladder. From each rod projected a -short, light, steel bracket. It was the type of hook-ladder that firemen -use, and Michael had employed this method of gaining entrance to a -forbidden house many times in his chequered career. - -He judged the distance accurately, for when he lifted the rod and -dropped the hook upon the sill of the little window, the ladder hung -only a few inches short of the ground. With a tug to test the hook, he -went up hand over hand, and in a few seconds was prying at the window -sash. It needed little opening, for the catch was of elementary -simplicity, and in another instant he was standing on the step of a dark -and narrow stairway. - -He had provided himself with an electric torch, and he flashed a beam up -and down. Below, he saw a small door which apparently led into the hall, -and, by an effort of memory, he remembered that in the corner of the -hall he had seen a curtain hanging, without attaching any importance to -the fact. Going down, he tried the door and found it locked. Putting -down his lantern, he took out a leather case of tools and began to -manipulate the lock. In an incredibly short space of time the key -turned. When he had assured himself that the door would open, he was -satisfied. For the moment his work lay upstairs, and he climbed the -steps again, coming to a narrow landing, but no door. - -A second, a third and a fourth flight brought him, as near as he could -guess, to the top of the tower, and here he found a narrow exit. -Listening, after a while he heard somebody moving about the room, and by -the sound they made, he supposed they wore slippers. Presently a door -closed with a thud, and he tried the handle of the wicket. It was -unlocked, and he opened it gently a fraction of an inch at a time, until -he secured a view of the greater part of the chamber. - -It was a small, lofty room, unfurnished with the exception of a low bed -in one corner, on which a woman lay. Her back was toward him, -fortunately; but the black hair and the ivory yellow of the bare arm -that lay on the coverlet told him that she was not European. - -Presently she turned and he saw her face, recognizing her immediately as -the woman whose face he had seen in the picture. She was pretty in her -wild way, and young. Her eyes were closed, and presently she began -crying softly in her sleep. - -Michael was half-way in the room when he saw the handle of the other -door turn, and, quick as a flash, stepped back into the darkness of the -landing. - -It was Bhag, in his old blue overall, a tray of food in his great hands. -He reached out his foot and pulled the table toward him, placing the -viands by the side of the bed. The girl opened her eyes and sank back -with a little cry of disgust; and Bhag, who was evidently used to these -demonstrations of her loathing, shuffled out of the room. - -Again Michael pushed the door and crossed the room, unnoticed by the -girl, looking out into the passage—not six feet away from him, Bhag was -squatting, glaring in his direction. - -Michael closed the door quickly and flew back to the secret staircase, -pulling the door behind him. He felt for a key, but there was none, and, -without wasting another second, he ran down the stairs. The one thing he -wished to avoid was an encounter which would betray his presence in the -house. - -He made no attempt to get out of the window, but continued his way to -the foot of the stairs, and passed through into the hall. This time he -was able to close the door, for there were two large bolts at the top -and the bottom. Pulling aside the curtain, he stepped gingerly into the -hall. For a while he waited, and presently heard the shuffle of feet on -the stairs and a sniff beneath the door. - -His first act was to ensure his retreat. Noiselessly he drew the bolts -from the front door, slipped off the chain and turned the key. Then, as -noiselessly, he made his way along the corridor toward Sir Gregory’s -room. - -The danger was that one of the native servants would see him, but this -he must risk. He had observed on each of his previous visits that, short -of the library, a door opened into what he knew must be an ante-room of -some kind. It was unlocked and he stepped into complete darkness. -Groping along the wall, he found a row of switches, and pulled down the -first. This lit two wall-brackets, sufficient to give him a general view -of the apartment. - -It was a small drawing-room, apparently unused, for the furniture was -sheeted with holland, and the fire-grate was empty. From here it was -possible to gain access to the library through a door near the window. -He switched off the light, locked the door on the inside, and tried the -shutters. These were fastened by iron bars and were not, as in the case -of the library, locked. He pulled them back, let the blind up, and -gingerly raised a window. His second line of retreat was now prepared, -and he could afford to take risks. - -Kneeling down, he looked through the keyhole. The library was -illuminated, and somebody was talking. A woman! Turning the handle, he -opened the door the fraction of an inch, and had a view of the interior. - -Gregory Penne was standing in his favourite attitude, with his back to -the fire, and before him was a tray of those refreshments without which -life was apparently insupportable. Seated on the low settee, drawn up at -one side of the fireplace, was Stella Mendoza. She was wearing a fur -coat, for the night was chilly, and about her neck was such a sparkle of -gems as Michael had never seen before on a woman. - -Evidently the discussion was not a pleasant one, for there was a heavy -scowl on Gregory’s face, and Stella did not seem too pleased. - -“I left you because I had to leave you,” growled the man, answering some -complaint she had made. “One of my servants is ill and I brought in the -doctor. And if I had stayed it would have been the same. It’s no good, -my girl,” he said harshly. “The goose doesn’t lay golden eggs more than -once—this goose doesn’t, at any rate. You were a fool to quarrel with -Knebworth.” - -She said something which did not reach Michael’s ears. - -“I dare say your own company would be fine,” said Penne sarcastically. -“It would be fine for me, who footed the bill, and finer for you, who -spent the money! No! Stella, that cat doesn’t jump. I’ve been very good -to you, and you’ve no right to expect me to bankrupt myself to humour -your whims.” - -“It’s not a whim,” she said vehemently, “it’s a necessity. You don’t -want to see me going round the studios taking any kind of job I can get, -do you, Gregory?” she pleaded. - -“I don’t want to see you work at all, and there’s no reason why you -should. You’ve enough to live on. Anyway, you’ve got nothing against -Knebworth. If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t have met me, and if -you hadn’t met me, you’d have been poorer by thousands. You want a -change.” - -There was a silence. Her head was drooped, and Michael could not see the -girl’s face, but when she spoke, there was that note of viciousness in -her voice which told him her state of mind. - -“You want a change too, perhaps! I could tell things about you that -wouldn’t look good in print, and you’d have a change too! Get that in -your mind, Gregory Penne! I’m not a fool—I’ve seen things and heard -things, and I can put two and two together. You think I want a change, -do you—I do! I want friends who aren’t murderers——” - -He sprang at her, his big hand covering her mouth. - -“You little devil!” he hissed, and at that instant somebody must have -knocked, for he turned to the door and said something in the native -dialect. - -The answer was inaudible to Mike. - -“Listen.” Gregory was speaking to the girl in a calmer tone. “Foss is -waiting to see me, and I’ll discuss this little matter with you -afterwards.” - -He released her, and, going to his desk, touched the spring that -operated the mechanism of the secret door that led to Bhag’s quarters. - -“Go in there and wait,” he said. “I’ll not keep you longer than five -minutes.” - -She looked suspiciously at the door which had suddenly opened in the -panelling. - -“No,” she said, “I’ll go home. To-morrow will do. I’m sorry I got rough, -Gregory, but you madden me sometimes.” - -“Go in there!” - -He pointed to the den, his face working. - -“I’ll not!” Her face was white. “You beast, don’t you think I know? That -is Bhag’s den! Oh, you beast!” - -His face was horrible to see. It was as though all the foulness in his -mind found expression in the demoniacal grimace. - -Breathless, terrified, the girl stared at him, shrinking back against -the wall. Presently Gregory mastered himself. - -“Then go into the little drawing-room,” he said huskily. - -Mike had time to switch out the lights and flatten himself against the -wall, when the door of the room was flung open and the girl thrust in. - -“It is dark!” she wailed. - -“You’ll find the switches!” - -The door banged. - -Michael Brixan was in a dilemma. He could see her figure groping along -the wall, and stealthily he moved to avoid her. In doing so he stumbled -over a stool. - -“Who’s there?” she screamed. “Gregory! Don’t let him touch me, Gregory!” - -Again the piercing scream. - -Mike leapt past her and through the open window, and, the sound of her -shrill agony in his ears, fled along the hedge. Swift as he was, -something sped more quickly in pursuit, a great, twittering something -that ran bent double on hands and feet. The detective heard and guessed. -From what secret hiding-place Bhag had appeared, whether he was in the -grounds at the moment Mike jumped, he had no time even to guess. He felt -a curious lightness of pocket at that moment and thrust in his hand. His -pistol was gone. It must have fallen when he jumped. - -He could hear the pad of feet behind him as he darted at a tangent -across the field, blundering over the cabbage rows, slipping in furrows, -the great beast growing closer and closer with every check. Ahead of him -the postern. But it was locked, and, even if it had not been, the wall -would have proved no obstacle to the ape. The barrier of the wall held -Michael. Breathless, turning to face his pursuer, in the darkness he saw -the green eyes shining like two evil stars. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - A NARROW ESCAPE - - -MICHAEL BRIXAN braced himself for the supreme and futile struggle. And -then, to his amazement, the ape stopped, and his bird noise became a -harsh chatter. Raising himself erect, he beat quickly on his great hairy -chest, and the sound of the hollow drumming was awful. - -Yet through that sound and above it, Michael heard a curious hiss—it -was the faint note of escaping steam, and he looked round. On the top of -the wall squatted a man, and Michael knew him at once. It was the -brown-faced stranger he had seen that day in Chichester. - -The drumming and the hissing grew louder and then Michael saw a bright, -curved thing in the brown man’s hand. It was a sword, the replica of -that which hung above Sir Gregory’s fireplace. - -He was still wondering when the brown man dropped lightly to the ground, -and Bhag, with a squeal that was almost human, turned and fled. Michael -watched the Thing, fascinated, until it disappeared into the darkness. - -“My friend,” said Michael in Dutch, “you came at a good moment.” - -He turned, but the brown man had vanished as though the earth had -swallowed him. Shading his eyes against the starlight, he presently -discerned a dark shape moving swiftly in the shadow of the wall. For a -second he was inclined to follow and question the brown man, but decided -upon another course. With some difficulty he surmounted the wall and -dropped to the other side. Then, tidying himself as well as he could, he -made the long circuit to the gate of Griff Towers, and boldly walked up -to the house, whistling as he went. - -There was nobody in sight as he crossed the “parade ground,” and his -first step was to search for and find his pistol. - -He must know that the girl was safe before he left the place. He had -seen her car waiting on the road outside. His hand was raised to the -bell when he heard footsteps in the hall, and listened intently: there -was no doubt that one of the voices was Stella Mendoza’s, and he drew -back again to cover. - -The girl came out, followed by Sir Gregory, and from their tone, a -stranger unacquainted with the circumstances of their meeting might have -imagined that the visit had been a very ordinary one, in spite of the -lateness of the hour. - -“Good night, Sir Gregory,” said the girl, almost sweetly. “I will see -you to-morrow.” - -“Come to lunch,” said Gregory’s voice, “and bring your friend. Shall I -walk with you to the car?” - -“No, thank you,” she said hastily. - -Michael watched her till she was out of sight, but long before then the -big door of Griff Towers had closed, and the familiar rattle of chains -told him that it was closed finally. - -Where was Foss? He must have gone earlier, if Foss it was. Michael -waited till all was quiet, and then, tip-toeing across the gravel, -followed the girl. He looked about for the little brown man, but he was -not in sight. And then he remembered that he had left the hook ladder -hanging to the window on the stairs, and went back to retrieve it. He -found the ladder as it had been left, unscrewed and packed it in the -canvas bag, and five minutes later he was taking his motor-cycle from -its place of concealment. - -A yellow light showed in the window of Mr. Longvale’s dining-room, and -Michael had half a mind to call upon him. He could tell him, at any -rate, something of that oval-faced girl in the upper room of the tower. -Instead, he decided to go home. He was tired with the night’s work, a -little disappointed. The tower had not revealed as tremendous a secret -as he had hoped. The girl was a prisoner, obviously; had been kidnapped -for Sir Gregory’s pleasure, and brought to England on his yacht. Such -things had happened; there had been a case in the courts on curiously -parallel lines only a few months before. At any rate, it did not seem -worth while to put off his bedtime. - -He had a hot bath, made himself some chocolate and, before retiring, sat -down to sum up his day’s experience. And in the light of recent -happenings he was less confident that his first solution of the -Head-Hunter mystery was the correct one. And the more he thought, the -less satisfied he was, till at last, in sheer disgust at his own -vacillation of mind, he turned out the light and went to bed. - -He was sleeping peacefully and late the next morning when an unexpected -visitor arrived, and Michael sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. - -“I’ve either got nightmare or it’s Staines,” he said. - -Major Staines smiled cheerfully. - -“You’re awake and normal,” he said. - -“Has anything happened?” asked Michael, springing out of bed. - -“Nothing, only there was a late dance last night and an early train this -morning, and I decided to atone for my frivolity by coming down and -seeing how far you had got in the Elmer case.” - -“Elmer case?” Michael frowned. “Good Lord! I’d almost forgotten poor -Elmer!” - -“Here’s something to remind you,” said Staines. - -He fished from his pocket a newspaper cutting. Michael took it and read: - - “Is your trouble of mind or body incurable? Do you hesitate on - the brink of the abyss? Does courage fail you? Write to - Benefactor, Box——” - -“What is this?” asked Michael, frowning. - -“It was found in the pocket of an old waistcoat that Elmer was wearing a -few days before he disappeared. Mrs. Elmer was going through his clothes -with the idea of selling them, when she found this. It appeared in the -_Morning Telegram_ of the fourteenth—that is to say, three or four days -before Elmer vanished. The box number at the end, of course, is the box -number of the newspaper to which replies were sent. There is a record -that four letters reached the ‘Benefactor,’ who, so far as we have been -able to discover, had these particular letters readdressed to a little -shop in Stibbington Street, London. Here they were collected by a woman, -evidently of the working class, and probably a charlady from the -appearance which has been circulated. Beyond that, no further trace has -been obtainable. Similar advertisements have been found by search in -other newspapers, but in these cases the letters were sent to an -accommodation address in South London, where apparently the same woman -collected them. With every new advertisement the advertiser changes his -address. She was a stranger to each neighbourhood, by the way; and from -what shopkeepers have told Scotland Yard, she seemed to be a little off -her head, for she was in the habit of mumbling and talking to herself. -Her name is Stivins—at least, that is the name she always gave. And the -notes she brought were usually signed ‘Mark’—that is to say, the notes -authorizing the shopkeepers to hand the letters to her. That she is a -native of London there is no doubt, but so far the police have not -trailed her.” - -“And suppose they do?” asked Michael. “Do you connect the advertisement -with the murders?” - -“We do and we do not,” replied the other. “I merely point out that this -advertisement is a peculiar one, and in all the circumstances a little -suspicious. Now what is the theory you wanted to give me?” - -For an hour Michael spoke, interrupted at intervals by questions which -Staines put to him. - -“It is a queer idea, almost a fantastical one,” said Staines gravely, -“but if you feel that you’ve got so much as one thread in your hands, go -right ahead. To tell you the truth,” in a burst of confidence, “I had a -horrible feeling that you had fallen down; and since I do not want our -department to be a source of amusement to Scotland Yard, I thought I’d -come along and give you the result of my own private investigations. I -agree with you,” he said later, as they sat at breakfast, “that you want -to go very, very carefully. It is a delicate business. You haven’t told -the Scotland Yard men your suspicions?” - -Michael shook his head. - -“Then don’t,” said the other emphatically. “They’d be certain to go -along and put the person you suspect under arrest, and probably that -would destroy the evidence that would convict. You say you have made a -search of the house?” - -“Not a search: I’ve made a rough inspection.” - -“Are there cellars?” - -“I should imagine so,” said Michael. “That type of house usually has.” - -“Outhouses where——?” - -Michael shook his head. - -“There are none, so far as I have been able to see.” - -Michael walked down to the railway station with his chief, who told him -he was leaving in a much more cheerful frame of mind than he had been in -when he arrived. - -“There’s one warning I’ll give to you, Mike,” said Staines as the train -was about to pull out of the station, “and it is to watch out for -yourself! You’re dealing with a ruthless and ingenious man. For heaven’s -sake do not underrate his intelligence. I don’t want to wake up one -morning to learn that you have vanished from the ken of man.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - THE ERASURE - - -MIKE’S way back did not lead through the little street where Adele -Leamington lived—at least, not his nearest road. Yet he found himself -knocking at the door, and learnt, with a sense of disappointment, that -the girl had been out since seven o’clock in the morning. Knebworth was -shooting on the South Downs, and the studio, when he arrived, was empty, -except for Knebworth’s secretary and the new scenario editor, who had -arrived late on the previous evening. - -“I don’t know the location, Mr. Brixan,” said Dicker, the secretary, -“but it’s somewhere above Arundel. Miss Mendoza was here this morning, -asking the same question. She wanted Miss Leamington to go out to lunch -with her.” - -“Oh, she did, did she?” said Michael softly. “Well, if she comes again, -you can tell her from me that Miss Leamington has another engagement.” - -The other nodded wisely. - -“I hope she won’t keep you waiting,” he said. “You never know, when -Jack’s on location——” - -“I did not say she had an engagement with me,” said Michael loudly. - -“That reminds me, Mr. Brixan,” said the secretary suddenly. “Do you -remember the fuss you made—I mean, there was—about a sheet of -manuscript that by some accident had got into Miss Leamington’s script?” - -Michael nodded. - -“Has the manuscript been found?” he asked. - -“No, but the new scenario editor tells me that he was looking through -the book where Foss kept a record of all the manuscripts that came in, -and he found one entry had been blacked out with Indian ink.” - -“I’d like to see that book,” said the interested Michael, and it was -brought to him, a large foolscap ledger, ruled to show the name of the -submitted scenario, the author, his address, the date received and the -date returned. Mike put it down on the table in Knebworth’s private -office and went carefully through the list of authors. - -“If he sent one he has probably sent more,” he said. “There are no other -erasures?” - -The secretary shook his head. - -“That is the only one we’ve seen,” he said. “You’ll find lots of names -of local people—there isn’t a tradesman in the place who hasn’t written -a scenario or submitted an idea since we’ve been operating.” - -Slowly Michael’s finger went up the column of names. Page after page was -turned back. And then his finger stopped at an entry. - -“The Power of Fear: Sir Gregory Penne,” he read, and looked round at -Dicker. - -“Did Sir Gregory submit scenarios, Mr. Dicker?” - -Dicker nodded. - -“Yes, he sent in one or two,” he said. “You’ll find his name farther -back in the book. He used to write scenarios which he thought were -suitable for Miss Mendoza. He’s not the man you’re looking for?” - -“No,” said Michael quickly. “Have you any of his manuscript?” - -“They were all sent back,” said Dicker regretfully. “He wrote awful -mush! I read one of them. I remember Foss trying to persuade old Jack to -produce it. Foss made quite a lot of money on the side, we’ve -discovered. He used to take fees from authors, and Mr. Knebworth -discovered this morning that he once took two hundred pounds from a lady -on the promise that he’d get her into the pictures. He wrote Foss a -stinging letter this morning about it.” - -Presently Michael found Sir Gregory’s name again. It was not remarkable -that the owner of Griff Towers should have submitted a manuscript. There -was hardly a thinking man or woman in the world who did not believe he -or she was capable of writing for the films. - -He closed the book and handed it back to Dicker. - -“It is certainly queer, that erased entry. I’ll speak to Foss about it -as soon as I can find him,” he said. - -He went immediately to the little hotel where Foss was staying, but he -was out. - -“I don’t think he came home last night,” said the manager. “If he did, -he didn’t sleep in his bed. He said he was going to London,” he added. - -Michael went back to the studio, for it had begun to rain, and he knew -that that would drive the company from location. His surmise was -correct: the big yellow char-à-banc came rumbling into the yard a few -minutes after he got there. Adele saw him, and was passing with a nod -when he called her to him. - -“Thank you, Mr. Brixan, but we lunched on location, and I have two big -scenes to read for to-morrow.” - -Her refusal was uncompromising, but Michael was not the type who readily -accepted a “No.” - -“What about tea? You’ve got to drink tea, my good lady, though you have -fifty scenes to study. And you can’t read and eat too. If you do, you’ll -get indigestion, and if you get indigestion——” - -She laughed. - -“If my landlady will loan me her parlour, you may come to tea at -half-past four,” she said; “and if you have another engagement at five -o’clock, you’ll be able to meet it.” - -Jack Knebworth was waiting for him when he went into the studio. - -“Heard about that entry in the scenario book?” he asked. “I see you -have. What do you think of it?” Without waiting for a reply: “It looks -queer to me. Foss was an unmitigated liar. That fellow couldn’t see -straight. I’ve got a little bone to pick with him on the matter of a fee -he accepted from a screen-struck lady who wished to be featured in one -of my productions.” - -“How’s the girl?” asked Michael. - -“You mean Adele? Really, she’s wonderful, Brixan! I’m touching wood all -the time”—he put his hand on the table piously—“because I know that -there’s a big shock coming to me somewhere and somehow. Those things do -not happen in real life. The only stars that are born in a night are the -fireworks produced by crazy vice-presidents who have promised to do -something for Mamie and can’t break their word. And Mamie, supported by -six hundred extras and half a million dollars’ worth of sets, two -chariot races and the fall of Babylon, all produced regardless of -expense, manages to get over by giving a fine imitation of what the -Queen of Persia would look like if she’d been born a chorus girl and -trained as a mannequin. And she’s either got so few clothes that you -don’t look at her face, or so many clothes that you don’t notice her -acting. - -“Those kind of stars are like the dust of the Milky Way: there is so -much splendour all round them that it wouldn’t matter if they weren’t -there at all. But this girl Leamington, she’s getting over entirely and -absolutely by sheer, unadulterated grey matter. I tell you, Brixan, it’s -not right. These things do not happen except in the imagination of press -agents. There’s something wrong with that kid.” - -“Wrong?” said Michael, startled. - -Knebworth nodded. - -“Something radically wrong. There’s a snag somewhere. She’s either going -to let me down by vanishing before the picture’s through, or else she’s -going to be arrested for driving a car along Regent Street in a highly -intoxicated condition!” - -Michael laughed. - -“I think she’ll do neither,” he said. - -“Heard about Mendoza’s new company?” asked old Jack, filling his pipe. - -Michael pulled up a chair and sat down. - -“No, I haven’t.” - -“She’s starting a new production company. There’s never a star I’ve -fired that hasn’t! It gets all written out on paper, capital in big -type, star in bigger! It’s generally due to the friends of the star, who -tell her that a hundred thousand a year is a cruel starvation wage for a -woman of her genius, and she ought to get it all. Generally there’s a -sucker in the background who puts up the money. As a rule, he puts up -all but enough, and then she selects a story where she is never off the -screen, and wears a new dress every fifty feet of film. If she can’t -find that sort of story, why, she gets somebody to write her one. The -only time you ever see the other members of the company is in the long -shots. Half-way through the picture the money dries up, the company goes -bust, and all the poor little star gets out of it is the Rolls-Royce she -bought to take her on location, the new bungalow she built to be nearer -the lot, and about twenty-five per cent. of the capital that she’s taken -on account of royalties.” - -“Mendoza will not get a good producer in England?” - -“She may,” nodded Jack. “There _are_ producers in this country, but -unfortunately they’re not the men on top. They’ve been brought down by -the craze for greatness. A man who produces with a lot of capital behind -him can get easy money. He doesn’t go after the domestic stories, where -he’d be found out first time; he says to the money-bags: ‘Let’s produce -the Fall of Jerusalem. I’ve got a cute idea for building Ezekiel’s -temple that’s never been taken before. It’ll only cost a mere trifle of -two hundred thousand dollars, and we’ll have five thousand extras in one -scene, and we’ll rebuild the Colosseum and have a hundred real lions in -the arena! Story? What do you want a story for? The public love crowds.’ -Or maybe he wants to build a new Vesuvius and an eruption at the rate of -fifty dollars a foot. There’s many a big reputation been built up on -sets and extras. Come in, Mr. Longvale.” - -Michael turned. The cheery old man was at the door, hat in hand. - -“I am afraid I am rather a nuisance,” he said in his beautiful voice. -“But I came in to see my lawyer, and I could not deny myself the -satisfaction of calling to see how your picture is progressing.” - -“It is going on well, Mr. Longvale, thank you,” said Jack. “You know Mr. -Brixan?” - -The old man nodded and smiled. - -“Yes, I came in to see my lawyer on what to you will seem to be a -curious errand. Many years ago I was a medical student and took my final -examination, so that I am, to all intents and purposes, a doctor, though -I’ve not practised to any extent. It is not generally known that I have -a medical degree and I was surprised last night to be called out -by—er—a neighbour, who wished me to attend a servant of his. Now, I am -so hazy on the subject that I wasn’t quite sure whether or not I’d -broken the law by practising without registration.” - -“I can relieve your mind there, Mr. Longvale,” said Michael. “Once you -are registered, you are always registered, and you acted quite within -your rights.” - -“So my lawyer informed me,” said Longvale gravely. - -“Was it a bad case?” asked Michael, who guessed who the patient was. - -“No, it was not a bad case. I thought there was blood poisoning, but I -think perhaps I may have been mistaken. Medical science has made such -great advance since I was a young man that I almost feared to prescribe. -Whilst I am only too happy to render any service that humanity demands, -I must confess that it was rather a disturbing experience, and I -scarcely slept all night. In fact, it was a very disturbing evening and -night. Somebody, for some extraordinary reason, put a motor-bicycle in -my garden.” - -Michael smiled to himself. - -“I cannot understand why. It had gone this morning. And then I saw our -friend Foss, who seemed very much perturbed about something.” - -“Where did you see him?” asked Michael quickly. - -“He was passing my house. I was standing at the gate, smoking my pipe, -and bade him good night without knowing who he was. When he turned back, -I saw it was Mr. Foss. He told me he had been to make a call, and that -he had another appointment in an hour.” - -“What time was this?” asked Michael. - -“I think it must have been eleven o’clock.” The old man hesitated. “I’m -not sure. It was just before I went to bed.” - -Michael could easily account for Foss’s conduct. Sir Gregory had hurried -him off and told him to come back after the girl had gone. - -“My little place used to be remarkable for its quietness,” said Mr. -Longvale, and shook his head. “Perhaps,” turning to Knebworth, “when -your picture is finished you will be so good as to allow me to see it?” - -“Why, surely, Mr. Longvale.” - -“I don’t know why I’m taking this tremendous interest,” chuckled the old -man. “I must confess that, until a few weeks ago, film-making was a -mystery to me. And even to-day it belongs to the esoteric sciences.” - -Dicker thrust his head in the door. - -“Will you see Miss Mendoza?” he asked. - -Jack Knebworth’s expression was one of utter weariness. - -“No,” he said curtly. - -“She says——” began Dicker. - -Only the presence of the venerable Mr. Longvale prevented Jack from -expressing his views on Stella Mendoza and all that she could say. - -“There’s another person I saw last night,” nodded Mr. Longvale. “I -thought at first you must be shooting—is that the expression?—in the -neighbourhood, but Mr. Foss told me that I was mistaken. She’s rather a -charming girl, don’t you think?” - -“Very,” said Jack dryly. - -“A very sweet disposition,” Longvale went on, unconscious of the utter -lack of sympathy in the atmosphere. “Nowadays, the confusion and hurry -which modernity brings in its trail do not make for sweetness of temper, -and one is glad to meet an exception. Not that I am an enemy of -modernity. To me, this is the most delightful phase of my long life.” - -“Sweet disposition!” almost howled Jack Knebworth when the old man had -taken a dignified farewell. “Did you get that, Brixan? Say, if that -woman’s disposition is sweet, the devil’s made of chocolate!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - THE HEAD - - -WHEN Mike went out, he found Stella at the gate of the studio, and -remembered, seeing her, that she had been invited to lunch at Griff -Towers. To his surprise she crossed the road to him. - -“I wanted to see you, Mr. Brixan,” she said. “I sent in word to find if -you were there.” - -“Then your message was wrongly delivered to Mr. Knebworth,” smiled Mike. - -She lifted one of her shoulders in demonstration of her contempt for -Jack Knebworth and all his works. - -“No, it was you I wanted to see. You’re a detective, aren’t you?” - -“I am,” said Michael, wondering what was coming next. - -“My car is round the corner: will you come to my house?” - -Michael hesitated. He was anxious, more than anxious, to speak to Adele, -though he had nothing special to tell her, beyond the thing which he -himself did not know and she could never guess. - -“With pleasure,” he said. - -She was a skilful motorist, and apparently so much engrossed in her -driving that she did not speak throughout the journey. In the pretty -little drawing-room from which he had a view of the lovely South Downs, -he waited expectantly. - -“Mr. Brixan, I am going to tell you something which I think you ought to -know.” - -Her face was pale, her manner curiously nervous. - -“I don’t know what you will think of me when I have told you, but I’ve -got to risk that. I can’t keep silence any longer.” - -A shrill bell sounded in the hall. - -“The telephone. Will you excuse me one moment?” - -She hurried out, leaving the door slightly ajar. Michael heard her -quick, angry reply to somebody at the other end of the wire, and then a -long interregnum of silence, when apparently she listened without -comment. It was nearly ten minutes before she returned, and her eyes -were bright and her cheeks flushed. - -“Would you mind if I told you what I was going to tell you a little -later?” she asked. - -She had been on the telephone to Sir Gregory: of that Michael was sure, -though she had not mentioned his name. - -“There’s no time like the present, Miss Mendoza,” he said encouragingly, -and she licked her dry lips. - -“Yes, I know, but there are reasons why I can’t speak now. Would you see -me to-morrow?” - -“Why, certainly,” said Michael, secretly glad of his release. - -“Shall I drive you back?” - -“No, thank you, I can walk.” - -“Let me take you to the edge of the town: I’m going that way,” she -begged. - -Of course she was going that way, thought Michael. She was going to -Griff Towers. He was so satisfied on this matter that he did not even -trouble to inquire, and when she dropped him at his hotel, she hardly -waited for him to step to the side-walk before the car leapt forward on -its way. - -“There’s a telegram for you, sir,” said the porter. He went into the -manager’s office and returned with a buff envelope, which Michael tore -open. - -For a time he could not comprehend the fateful message the telegram -conveyed. And then slowly he read it to himself. - - “A head found on Chobham Common early this morning. Come to - Leatherhead Police Station at once. - - “STAINES.” - -An hour later a fast car dropped him before the station. Staines was -waiting on the step. - -“Found at daybreak this morning,” he said. “The man is so far unknown.” - -He led the way to an outhouse. On a table in the centre of the room was -a box, and he lifted the lid. - -Mike took one glance at the waxen face and turned white. - -“Good God!” he breathed. - -It was the head of Lawley Foss. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - CLUES AT THE TOWER - - -MICHAEL gazed in fascinated horror at the tragic spectacle. Then -reverently he covered the box with a cloth and walked out into the paved -courtyard. - -“You know him?” asked Staines. - -Michael nodded. - -“Yes, it is Lawley Foss, lately scenario editor of the Knebworth Picture -Corporation. He was seen alive last night at eleven o’clock. I myself -heard, if I did not see him, somewhere about that time. He was visiting -Griff Towers, Sir Gregory Penne’s place in Sussex. Was there the usual -note?” he asked. - -“There was a note, but it was quite unusual.” - -He showed the typewritten slip: it was in the station inspector’s -office. One characteristic line, with its ill-aligned letters. - -“This is the head of a traitor.” That and no more. - -“I’ve had the Dorking police on the ’phone. It was a wet night, and -although several cars passed none of them could be identified.” - -“Has the advertisement appeared?” asked Michael. - -Staines shook his head. - -“No, that was the first thing we thought of. The newspapers have -carefully observed, and every newspaper manager in the country has -promised to notify us the moment such an advertisement is inserted. But -there has been no ad. of any suspicious character.” - -“I shall have to follow the line of probability here,” said Michael. “It -is clear that this man was murdered between eleven o’clock and three in -the morning—probably nearer eleven than three; for if the murderer is -located in Sussex, he would have to bring the head to Chobham, leave it -in the dark and return before it was light.” - -His car took Michael back to Chichester at racing pace. Short of the -city he turned off the main road, his objective being Griff Towers. It -was late when he arrived, and the Towers presented its usual lifeless -appearance. He rang the bell, but there was no immediate reply. He rang -again, and then the voice of Sir Gregory hailed him from one of the -upper windows. - -“Who’s there?” - -He went out of the porch and looked up. Sir Gregory Penne did not -recognize him in the darkness, and called again: - -“Who’s there?” and followed this with a phrase which Michael guessed was -Malayan. - -“It is I, Michael Brixan. I want to see you, Penne.” - -“What do you want?” - -“Come down and I will tell you.” - -“I’ve gone to bed for the night. See me in the morning.” - -“I’ll see you now,” said Michael firmly. “I have a warrant to search -this house.” - -He had no such warrant, but only because he had not asked for one. - -The man’s head was hastily withdrawn, the window slammed down, and such -a long interval passed that Michael thought that the baronet intended -denying him admission. This view, however, was wrong. At the end of a -dreary period of waiting the door was opened, and, in the light of the -hall lamp, Sir Gregory Penne presented an extraordinary appearance. - -He was fully dressed: around his waist were belted two heavy revolvers, -but this fact Michael did not immediately notice. The man’s head was -swathed in bandages; only one eye was visible; his left arm was stiff -with a surgical dressing, and he limped as he walked. - -“I’ve had an accident,” he said gruffly. - -“It looks a pretty bad one,” said Michael, observing him narrowly. - -“I don’t want to talk here: come into my room,” growled the man. - -In Sir Gregory’s library there were signs of a struggle. A long mirror -which hung on one of the walls was shattered to pieces; and, looking up, -Michael saw that one of the two swords was missing. - -“You’ve lost something,” he said. “Did that occur in course of the -‘accident’?” - -Sir Gregory nodded. - -Something in the hang of the second sword attracted Michael’s attention, -and, without asking permission, he lifted it down from its hook and drew -the blade from the scabbard. It was brown with blood. - -“What is the meaning of this?” he asked sternly. - -Sir Gregory swallowed something. - -“A fellow broke into the house last night,” he said slowly, “a Malayan -fellow. He had some cock and bull story about my having carried off his -wife. He attacked me, and naturally I defended myself.” - -“And had you carried off his wife?” asked Michael. - -The baronet shrugged. - -“The idea is absurd. Most of these Borneo folk are mad, and they’ll run -amok on the slightest provocation. I did my best to pacify him——” - -Michael looked at the stained sword. - -“So I see,” he said dryly. “And did you—pacify him?” - -“I defended myself, if that’s what you mean. I returned him almost as -good as he gave. You don’t expect me to sit down and be murdered in my -own house, do you? I can use a sword as well as any man.” - -“And apparently you used it,” said Michael. “What happened to Foss?” - -Not a muscle of Penne’s face moved. - -“Whom do you mean?” - -“I mean Lawley Foss, who was in your house last night.” - -“You mean the scenario writer? I haven’t seen him for weeks.” - -“You’re a liar,” said Michael calmly. “He was in here last night. I can -assure you on this point, because I was in the next room.” - -“Oh, it was you, was it?” said the baronet, and seemed relieved. “Yes, -he came to borrow money. I let him have fifty pounds, and he went away, -and that’s the last I saw of him.” - -Michael looked at the sword again. - -“Would you be surprised to learn that Foss’s head has been picked up on -Chobham Common?” he asked. - -The other turned a pair of cold, searching eyes upon his interrogator. - -“I should be very much surprised,” he said coolly. “If necessary, I have -a witness to prove that Foss went, though I don’t like bringing in a -lady’s name. Miss Stella Mendoza was here, having a bit of supper, as -you probably know, if it was you in the next room. He left before she -did.” - -“And he returned,” said Michael. - -“I never saw him again, I tell you,” said the baronet violently. “If you -can find anybody who saw him come into this house after his first visit -you can arrest me. Do you think _I_ killed him?” - -Michael did not answer. - -“There was a woman upstairs in the tower. What has become of her?” - -The other wetted his lips before he replied. - -“The only woman in the tower was a sick servant: she has gone.” - -“I’d like to see for myself,” said Michael. - -Only for a second did the man cast his eyes in the direction of Bhag’s -den, and then: - -“All right,” he said. “Follow me.” - -He went out into the corridor and turned, not toward the hall but in the -opposite direction. Ten paces farther down he stopped and opened a door, -so cunningly set in the panelling, and so placed between the two shaded -lights that illuminated the corridor, that it was difficult to detect -its presence. He put in his hand, turned on a light, and Michael saw a -long flight of stairs leading back toward the hall. - -As he followed the baronet, he realized that the “tower” was something -of an illusion. It was only a tower if viewed from the front of the -house. Otherwise it was an additional two narrow storeys built on one -wing of the building. - -They passed through a door, up a circular staircase, and came to the -corridor where Michael had seen Bhag squatting on the previous night. - -“This is the room,” said Penne, opening a door. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - THE MARKS OF THE BEAST - - -“ON the contrary, it is not the room,” said Michael quietly. “The room -is at the end of the passage.” - -The man hesitated. - -“Can’t you believe me?” he asked in an almost affable tone of voice. -“What a sceptical chap you are! Now come, Brixan! I don’t want to be bad -friends with you. Let’s go down and have a drink and forget our past -animosities. I’m feeling rotten——” - -“I want to see that room,” said Michael. - -“I haven’t the key.” - -“Then get it,” said Michael sharply. - -Eventually the baronet found a pass-key in his pocket, and, with every -sign of reluctance, he opened the door. - -“She went away in a bit of a hurry,” he said. “She was taken so ill that -I had to get rid of her.” - -“If she left here because she was ill she went into an institution of -some kind, the name of which you will be able to give me,” said Michael, -as he turned on the light. - -One glance at the room told him that the story of her hasty departure -may have been accurate. But that the circumstances were normal, the -appearance of the room denied. The bed was in confusion; there was blood -on the pillow, and a dark brown stain on the wall. A chair was broken; -the carpet had odd and curious stains, one like the print of a bare -foot. On a sheet was an indubitable hand-print, but such a hand as no -human being had ever possessed. - -“The mark of the beast,” said Michael, pointing. “That’s Bhag!” - -Again the baronet licked his lips. - -“There was a bit of a fight here,” he said. “The man came up and -pretended to identify the servant as his wife——” - -“What happened to him?” - -There was no reply. - -“What happened to him?” asked Michael with ominous patience. - -“I let him go, and let him take the woman with him. It was easier——” - -With a sudden exclamation, Michael stooped and picked up from behind the -bed a bright steel object. It was the half of a sword, snapped clean in -the middle, and unstained. He looked along the blade, and presently -found the slightest indent. Picking up the chair, he examined the leg -and found two deeper dents in one of the legs. - -“I’ll reconstruct the scene. You and your Bhag caught the man after he -had got into this room. The chair was broken in the struggle, probably -by Bhag, who used the chair. The man escaped from the room, ran -downstairs into the library and got the sword from the wall, then came -up after you. That’s when the real fighting started. I guess some of -this blood is yours, Penne.” - -“Some of it!” snarled the other. “All of it, damn him!” - -There was a long silence. - -“Did the woman leave this room—alive?” - -“I believe so,” said the other sullenly. - -“Did her husband leave your library—alive?” - -“You’d better find that out. So far as I know—I was unconscious for -half an hour. Bhag can use a sword——” - -Michael did not leave the house till he had searched it from attic to -basement. He had every servant assembled and began his interrogation. -Each of them except one spoke Dutch, but none spoke the language to such -purpose that they made him any wiser than he had been. - -Going back to the library, he put on all the lights. - -“I’ll see Bhag,” he said. - -“He’s out, I tell you. If you don’t believe me——” Penne went to the -desk and turned the switch. The door opened and nothing came out. - -A moment’s hesitation and Michael had penetrated into the den, a -revolver in one hand, his lamp in another. The two rooms were -scrupulously clean, though a strange animal smell pervaded everything. -There was a small bed, with sheets and blankets and feather pillow, -where the beast slept; a small larder, full of nuts; a running water tap -(he found afterwards that, in spite of his cleverness, Bhag was -incapable of turning on or off a faucet); a deep, well-worn settee, -where the dumb servitor took his rest; and three cricket balls, which -were apparently the playthings of this hideous animal. - -Bhag’s method of entering and leaving the house was now apparent. His -exit was a square opening in the wall, with neither window nor curtain, -which was situated about seven feet from the ground; and two projecting -steel rungs, set at intervals between the window and the floor, made a -sort of ladder. Michael found corresponding rungs on the garden side of -the wall. - -There was no sign of blood, no evidence that Bhag had taken any part in -the terrible scene which must have been enacted the night before. - -Going back to the library, he made a diligent search, but found nothing -until he went into the little drawing-room where he had hidden the night -before. Here on the window-sill he found traces enough. The mark of a -bare foot, and another which suggested that a heavy body had been -dragged through the window. - -By this time his chauffeur, who, after dropping him at Griff Towers, -went on to Chichester, had returned with the two police officers, and -they assisted him in a further search of the grounds. The trail of the -fugitive was easy to follow: there were bloodstains across the gravel, -broken plants in a circular flower-bed, the soft loam of which had -received the impression of those small bare feet. In the vegetable field -the trail was lost. - -“The question is, who carried whom?” said Inspector Lyle, after Michael, -in a few words, had told him all that he had learnt at the Towers. “It -looks to me as if these people were killed in the house and their bodies -carried away by Bhag. There’s no trace of blood in his room, which means -no more than that in all probability he hasn’t been there since the -killing,” said Inspector Lyle. “If we find the monkey we’ll solve this -little mystery. Penne is the Head-Hunter, of course,” the Inspector went -on. “I had a talk with him the other day, and there’s something -fanatical about the man.” - -“I am not so sure,” said Michael slowly, “that you’re right. Perhaps my -ideas are just a little bizarre; but if Sir Gregory Penne is the actual -murderer, I shall be a very surprised man. I admit,” he confessed, “that -the absence of any footprints in Bhag’s quarters staggered me, and -probably your theory is correct. There is nothing to be done but to keep -the house under observation until I communicate with headquarters.” - -At this moment the second detective, who had been searching the field to -its farthermost boundary, came back to say that he had picked up the -trail again near the postern gate, which was open. They hurried across -the field and found proof of his discovery. There was a trail both -inside and outside the gate. Near the postern was a big heap of leaves, -which had been left by the gardener to rot, and on this they found the -impression of a body, as though whoever was the carrier had put his -burden down for a little while to rest. In the field beyond the gate, -however, the trail was definitely lost. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - THE MAN IN THE CAR - - -LIFE is largely made up of little things, but perspective in human -affairs is not a gift common to youth. It had required a great effort on -the part of Adele Leamington to ask a man to tea, but, once that effort -was made, she had looked forward with a curious pleasure to the -function. - -At the moment Michael was speeding to London, she interviewed Jack -Knebworth in his holy of holies. - -“Certainly, my dear: you may take the afternoon off. I am not quite sure -what the schedule was.” - -He reached out his hand for the written time-table, but she supplied the -information. - -“You wanted some studio portraits of me—‘stills,’” she said. - -“So I did! Well, that can wait. Are you feeling pretty confident about -the picture, eh?” - -“I? No, I’m not confident, Mr. Knebworth; I’m in a state of nerves about -it. You see, it doesn’t seem possible that I should make good at the -first attempt. One dreams about such things, but in dreams it is easy to -jump obstacles and get round dangerous corners and slur over -difficulties. Every time you call ‘camera!’ I am in a state of panic, -and I am so self-conscious that I am watching every movement I take, and -saying to myself ‘You’re raising your hands awkwardly; you’re turning -your head with a jerk.’” - -“But that doesn’t last?” he said sharply, so sharply that she smiled. - -“No: the moment I hear the camera turning, I feel that I _am_ the -character I’m supposed to be.” - -He patted her on the shoulder. - -“That is how you _should_ feel,” he said, and went on: “Seen nothing of -Mendoza, have you? She isn’t annoying you? Or Foss?” - -“I’ve not seen Miss Mendoza for days—but I saw Mr. Foss last night.” - -She did not explain the curious circumstances, and Jack Knebworth was so -incurious that he did not ask. So that he learnt nothing of Lawley -Foss’s mysterious interview with the man in the closed car at the corner -of Arundel Road, an incident she had witnessed on the previous night. -Nor of the white and womanly hand that had waved him farewell, nor of -the great diamond which had sparkled lustrously on the little finger of -the unknown motorist. - -Going home, Adele stopped at a confectioner’s and a florist’s, collected -the cakes and flowers that were to adorn the table of Mrs. Watson’s -parlour. She wondered more than a little just what attraction she -offered to this man of affairs. She had a trick of getting outside and -examining herself with an impartial eye, and she knew that, by -self-repression and almost self-obliteration, she had succeeded in -making of Adele Leamington a very colourless, characterless young lady. -That she was pretty she knew, but prettiness in itself attracts only the -superficial. Men who are worth knowing require something more than -beauty. And Michael was not philandering—he was not that kind. He -wanted her for a friend at least: she had no thought that he desired -amusement during his enforced stay in a very dull town. - -Half-past four came and found the girl waiting. At a quarter to five she -was at the door, scanning the street. At five, angry but philosophical, -she had her tea and ordered the little maid of all work to clear the -table. - -Michael had forgotten! - -Of course, she made excuses for him, only to demolish them and build -again. She was hurt, amused and hurt again. Going upstairs to her room, -she lit the gas, took the script from her bag and tried to study the -scenes that were to be shot on the following day, but all manner of -distractions interposed between her receptive mind and the typewritten -paper. Michael bulked largely, and the closed car, and Lawley Foss, and -that waving white hand as the car drove off. Curiously enough, her -speculations came back again and again to the car. It was new and its -woodwork was highly polished and it moved so noiselessly. - -At last she threw the manuscript down and rose, with a doubtful eye on -the bed. She was not tired; the hour was nine. Chichester offered few -attractions by night. There were two cinemas, and she was not in the -mood for cinemas. She put on her hat and went down, calling _en route_ -at the kitchen door. - -“I am going out for a quarter of an hour,” she told her landlady, who -was in an approving mood. - -The house was situate in a street of small villas. It was economically -illuminated, and there were dark patches where the light of the street -lamps scarcely reached. In one of these a motor-car was standing—she -saw the bulk of it before she identified its character. She wondered if -the owner knew that its tail light was extinguished. As she came up to -the machine she identified the car she had seen on the previous -night—Foss had spoken to its occupant. - -Glancing to the left, she could see nothing of its interior. The blinds -on the road side were drawn, and she thought it was empty, and then -. . . - -“Pretty lady—come with me!” - -The voice was a whisper: she caught the flash and sparkle of a precious -stone, saw the white hand on the edge of the half-closed window, and, in -a fit of unreasoning terror, hurried forward. - -She heard a whirr of electric starter and the purring of engines. The -machine was following her, and she broke into a run. At the corner of -the street she saw a man and flew toward him, as she made out the helmet -of a policeman. - -“What’s wrong, miss?” - -As he spoke, the car flashed past, spun round the corner and was out of -sight instantly. - -“A man spoke to me—in that car,” she said breathlessly. - -The stolid constable gazed vacantly at the place where the car had been. - -“He didn’t have lights,” he said stupidly. “I ought to have taken his -number. Did he insult you, miss?” - -She shook her head, for she was already ashamed of her fears. - -“I’m nervy, officer,” she said with a smile. “I don’t think I will go -any farther.” - -She turned back and hurried to her lodgings. There were disadvantages in -starring—even on Jack Knebworth’s modest lot. It was nervous work, she -thought. - -She went to sleep that night and dreamt that the man in the car was -Michael Brixan and he wanted her to come in to tea. - -It was past midnight when Michael rang up Jack Knebworth with the news. - -“Foss!” he gasped. “Good God! You don’t mean that, Brixan? Shall I come -round and see you?” - -“I’ll come to you,” said Michael. “There are one or two things I want to -know about the man, and it will create less of a fuss than if I have to -admit you to the hotel.” - -Jack Knebworth rented a house on the Arundel Road, and he was waiting at -the garden door to admit his visitor when Michael arrived. - -Michael told the story of the discovery of the head, and felt that he -might so far take the director into his confidence as to retail his -visit to Sir Gregory Penne. - -“That beats everything,” said Jack in a hushed tone. “Poor old Foss! You -think that Penne did this? But why? You don’t cut up a man because he -wants to borrow money.” - -“My views have been switching round a little,” said Michael. “You -remember a sheet of manuscript that was found amongst some of your -script, and which I told you must have been written by the Head-Hunter?” - -Jack nodded. - -“I’m perfectly sure,” Michael went on, “and particularly after seeing -the erasure in the scenario book, that Foss knew who was the author of -that manuscript, and I’m equally certain that he resolved upon the -desperate expedient of blackmailing the writer. If that is the case, and -if Sir Gregory is the man—again I am very uncertain on this -point—there is a good reason why he should be put out of the way. There -is one person who can help us, and that is——” - -“Mendoza,” said Jack, and the two men’s eyes met. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - THE HAND - - -JACK looked at his watch. - -“I guess she’ll be in bed by now, but it’s worth while trying. Would you -like to see her?” - -Michael hesitated. Stella Mendoza was a friend of Penne’s, and he was -loath to commit himself irretrievably to the view that Penne was the -murderer. - -“Yes, I think we’ll see her,” he said. “After all, Penne knows that he -is suspected.” - -Jack Knebworth was ten minutes on the telephone before he succeeded in -getting a reply from Stella’s cottage. - -“It’s Knebworth speaking, Miss Mendoza,” he said. “Is it possible to see -you to-night? Mr. Brixan wants to speak to you.” - -“At this hour of the night?” she said in sleepy surprise. “I was in bed -when the bell rang. Won’t it do in the morning?” - -“No, he wants to see you particularly to-night. I’ll come along with him -if you don’t mind.” - -“What is wrong?” she asked quickly. “Is it about Gregory?” - -Jack whispered a query to the man who stood at his side, and Michael -nodded. - -“Yes, it is about Gregory,” said Knebworth. - -“Will you come along? I’ll have time to dress.” - -Stella was dressed by the time they arrived, and too curious and too -alarmed to make the hour of the call a matter of comment. - -“What is the trouble?” she asked. - -“Mr. Foss is dead.” - -“Dead?” She opened her eyes wide. “Why, I only saw him yesterday. But -how?” - -“He has been murdered,” said Michael quietly. “His head has been found -on Chobham Common.” - -She would have fallen to the floor, had not Michael’s arm been there to -support her, and it was some time before she recovered sufficiently to -answer coherently the questions which were put to her. - -“No, I didn’t see Mr. Foss again after he left the Towers, and then I -only saw him for a few seconds.” - -“Did he suggest he was coming back again?” - -She shook her head. - -“Did Sir Gregory tell you he was returning?” - -“No.” She shook her head again. “He told me he was glad to see the last -of him, and that he had borrowed fifty pounds until next week, when he -expected to make a lot of money. Gregory is like that—he will tell you -things about people, things which they ask him not to make public. He is -rather proud of his wealth and what he calls his charity.” - -“You had a luncheon engagement with him?” said Michael, watching her. - -She bit her lip. - -“You must have heard me talking when I left him,” she said. “No, I had -no luncheon engagement. That was camouflage, intended for anybody who -was hanging around, and we knew somebody had been in the house that -night. Was it you?” - -Michael nodded. - -“Oh, I’m so relieved!” She heaved a deep sigh. “Those few minutes in -that dark room were terrible to me. I thought it was——” She hesitated. - -“Bhag?” suggested Michael, and she nodded. - -“Yes. You don’t suspect Gregory of killing Foss?” - -“I suspect everybody in general and nobody in particular,” said Michael. -“Did you see Bhag?” - -She shivered. - -“No, not that time. I’ve seen him, of course. He gives me the creeps! -I’ve never seen anything so human. Sometimes, when Gregory was a -little—a little drunk, he used to bring Bhag out and make him do -tricks. Do you know that Bhag could do all the Malayan exercises with -the sword! Sir Gregory had a specially made wooden sword for him, and -the way that that awful thing used to twirl it round his head was -terrifying.” - -Michael stared at her. - -“Bhag _could_ use the sword, then? Penne told me he did, but I thought -he was lying.” - -“Oh, yes, he could use the sword. Gregory taught him everything.” - -“What is Penne to you?” Michael asked the question bluntly, and she -coloured. - -“He has been a friend,” she said awkwardly, “a very good friend of -mine—financially, I mean. He took a liking to me a long time ago, and -we’ve been—very good friends.” - -Michael nodded. - -“And you are still?” - -“No,” she answered shortly, “I’ve finished with Gregory, and am leaving -Chichester to-morrow. I’ve put the house in an agent’s hands to rent. -Poor Mr. Foss!” she said, and there were tears in her eyes. “Poor soul! -Gregory wouldn’t have done it, Mr. Brixan, I’ll swear that! There’s a -whole lot of Gregory that’s sheer bluff. He’s a coward at heart, and -though he has done dreadful things, he has always had an agent to do the -dirty work.” - -“Dreadful things like what?” - -She seemed reluctant to explain, but he pressed her. - -“Well, he told me that he used to take expeditions in the bush and raid -the villages, carrying off girls. There is one tribe that have very -beautiful women. Perhaps he was lying about that too, but I have an idea -that he spoke the truth. He told me that only a year ago, when he was in -Borneo, he ‘lifted’ a girl from a wild village where it was death for a -European to go. He always said ‘lifted.’” - -“And didn’t you mind these confessions?” asked Michael, his steely eye -upon her. - -She shrugged her shoulders. - -“He was that kind of man,” was all she said, and it spoke volumes for -her understanding of her “very good friend.” - -Michael walked back to Jack Knebworth’s house. - -“The story Penne tells seems to fit together with the information -Mendoza has given us. There is no doubt that the woman at the top of the -tower was the lady he ‘lifted,’ and less doubt that the little brown man -was her husband. If they have escaped from the tower, then there should -be no difficulty in finding them. I’ll send out a message to all -stations within a radius of twenty-five miles, and we ought to get news -of them in the morning.” - -“It’s morning now,” said Jack, looking toward the greying east. “Will -you come in? I’ll give you some coffee. This news has upset me. I was -going to have a long day’s work, but I guess we’ll have to put it off -for a day or so. The company is bound to be upset by this news. They all -knew Foss, although he was not very popular with them. It only wants -Adele to be off colour to complete our misery. By the way, Brixan, why -don’t you make this your headquarters? I’m a bachelor; there’s a ’phone -service here, and you’ll get a privacy at this house which you don’t get -at your hotel.” - -The idea appealed to the detective, and it was at Jack Knebworth’s house -that he slept that night, after an hour’s conversation on the telephone -with Scotland Yard. - -Early in the morning he was again at the Towers, and now, with the -assistance of daylight, he enlarged his search, without adding greatly -to his knowledge. The position was a peculiar one, as Scotland Yard had -emphasized. Sir Gregory Penne was a member of a good family, a rich man, -a justice of the peace; and, whilst his eccentricities were of a lawless -character, “you can’t hang people for being queer,” the Commissioner -informed Michael on the telephone. - -It was a suspicious fact that Bhag had disappeared as completely as the -brown man and his wife. - -“He hasn’t been back all night: I’ve seen nothing of him,” said Sir -Gregory. “And that’s not the first time he’s gone off on his own. He -finds hiding-places that you’d never suspect, and he’s probably gone to -earth somewhere. He’ll turn up.” - -Michael was passing through Chichester when he saw a figure that made -him bring the car to a standstill with such a jerk that it was a wonder -the tyres did not burst. In a second he was out of the machine and -walking to meet Adele. - -“It seems ten thousand years since I saw you,” he said with an -extravagance which at any other time would have brought a smile to her -face. - -“I’m afraid I can’t stop. I’m on my way to the studio,” she said, a -little coldly, “and I promised Mr. Knebworth that I would be there -early. You see, I got off yesterday afternoon by telling Mr. Knebworth -that I had an engagement.” - -“And had you?” asked the innocent Michael. - -“I asked somebody to take tea with me,” and his jaw dropped. - -“Moses!” he gasped. “I am the villain!” - -She would have gone on, but he stopped her. - -“I don’t want to shock you or hurt you, Adele,” he said gently, “but the -explanation for my forgetfulness is that we’ve had another tragedy.” - -She stopped and looked at him. - -“Another?” - -He nodded. - -“Mr. Foss has been murdered,” he said. - -She went very white. - -“When?” Her voice was calm, almost emotionless. - -“Last night.” - -“It was after nine,” she said. - -His eyebrows went up in surprise. - -“Why do you say that?” - -“Because, Mr. Brixan”—she spoke slowly—“at nine o’clock I saw the hand -of the man who murdered him! - -“Two nights ago,” she went on, “I went out to buy some wool I wanted. It -was just before the shops closed—a quarter to eight, I think. In the -town I saw Mr. Foss and spoke to him. He was very nervous and restless, -and again made a suggestion to me which he had already made when he -called on me. His manner was so strange that I asked him if he was in -any trouble. He told me no, but he had had an awful premonition that -something dreadful was going to happen, and he asked me if I’d lived in -Chichester for any length of time, and if I knew about the caves.” - -“The caves?” said Michael quickly. - -She nodded. - -“I was surprised. I’d never heard of the caves. He told me there was a -reference to them in some old history of Chichester. He had looked in -the guide-books without finding anything about them, but apparently -there were caves at some time or other near Chellerton, but there was a -heavy subsidence of earth that closed the entrance. He was so rambling -and so disjointed that I thought he must have been drinking, and I was -glad to get away from him. I went on and did my shopping and met one of -the extra girls I knew. She asked me to go home with her. I didn’t want -to go a bit, but I thought if I refused she would think I was giving -myself airs, and so I went. As soon as I could, I came away and went -straight home. - -“It was then nine o’clock and the streets were empty. They are not very -well lit in Chichester, but I was able to recognize Mr. Foss. He was -standing at the corner of the Arundel Road, and was evidently waiting -for somebody. I stopped because I particularly did not wish to meet Mr. -Foss, but I was on the point of turning round when a car drove into the -road and stopped almost opposite him.” - -“What sort of a car?” asked Michael. - -“It was a closed landaulette—I think they call them sedans. As it came -round the corner its lights went out, which struck me as being curious. -Mr. Foss was evidently waiting for this, for he went up and leant on the -edge of the window and spoke to somebody inside. I don’t know what made -me do it, but I had an extraordinary impulse to see who was in the car, -and I started walking toward them. I must have been five or six yards -away when Mr. Foss stepped back and the sedan moved on. The driver put -his hand out of the window as if he was waving good-bye. It was still -out of the window and the only thing visible—the interior was quite -dark—when it came abreast of me.” - -“Was there anything peculiar about the hand?” - -“Nothing, except that it was small and white, and on the little finger -was a large diamond ring. The fire in it was extraordinary, and I -wondered why a man should wear a ring of that kind. You will think I am -silly, but the sight of that hand gave me a terrible feeling of fear—I -don’t know why, even now. There was something unnatural and abnormal -about it. When I looked round again, Mr. Foss was walking rapidly in the -other direction, and I made no attempt to overtake him.” - -“You saw no number on the car?” - -“None whatever.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t so curious.” - -“You didn’t even see the silhouette of the man inside?” - -“No, I saw nothing. His arm was raised.” - -“What size was the diamond, do you think?” - -She pursed her lips dubiously. - -“He passed me in a flash, and I can’t give you any very accurate -information, Mr. Brixan. It may be a mistake on my part, but I thought -it was as big as the tip of my finger. Naturally I couldn’t see any -details, even though I saw the car again last night.” - -She went on to tell him of what happened on the previous night, and he -listened intently. - -“The man spoke to you—did you recognize his voice?” - -She shook her head. - -“No—he spoke in a whisper. I did not see his face, though I have an -idea that he was wearing a cap. The policeman said he should have taken -the number of the car.” - -“Oh, the policeman said that, did he?” remarked Michael sardonically. -“Well, there’s hope for him.” - -For a minute he was immersed in thought, and then: - -“I’ll take you to the studio if you don’t mind,” said Michael. - -He left her to go to her dressing-room, there to learn that work had -been suspended for the day, and went in search of Jack. - -“You’ve seen everybody of consequence in this neighbourhood,” he said. -“Do you know anybody who drives a sedan and wears a diamond ring on the -little finger of the right hand?” - -“The only person I know who has that weakness is Mendoza,” he said. - -Michael whistled. - -“I never thought of Mendoza,” he said, “and Adele described the hand as -‘small and womanly.’” - -“Mendoza’s hand isn’t particularly small, but it would look small on a -man,” said Jack thoughtfully. “And her car isn’t a closed sedan, but -that doesn’t mean anything. By the way, I’ve just sent instructions to -tell the company I’m working to-day. If we let these people stand around -thinking, they’ll get thoroughly upset.” - -“I thought that too,” said Michael with a smile, “but I didn’t dare make -the suggestion.” - -An urgent message took him to London that afternoon, where he attended a -conference of the Big Five at Scotland Yard. And at the end of the -two-hour discussion, the conclusion was reached that Sir Gregory Penne -was to remain at large but under observation. - -“We verified the story about the lifting of this girl in Borneo,” said -the quiet-spoken Chief. “And all the facts dovetail. I haven’t the -slightest doubt in my mind that Penne is the culprit, but we’ve got to -walk very warily. I dare say in your department, Captain Brixan, you can -afford to take a few risks, but the police in this country never make an -arrest for murder unless they are absolutely certain that a conviction -will follow. There may be something in your other theory, and I’d be the -last man in the world to turn it down, but you’ll have to conduct -parallel investigations.” - -Michael ran down to Sussex in broad daylight. There was a long stretch -of road about four miles north of Chichester, and he was pelting along -this when he became aware of a figure standing in the middle of the -roadway with its arms outstretched, and slowed down. It was Mr. Sampson -Longvale, he saw to his amazement. Almost before the car had stopped, -with an extraordinary display of agility Mr. Longvale jumped on the -running-board. - -“I have been watching for you this last two hours, Mr. Brixan,” he said. -“Do you mind if I join you?” - -“Come right in,” said Michael heartily. - -“You are going to Chichester, I know. Would you mind instead coming to -the Dower House? I have something important to tell you.” - -The place at which he had signalled the car to stop was exactly opposite -the end of the road that led to the Dower House and Sir Gregory’s -domain. The old man told him that he had walked back from Chichester, -and had been waiting for the passing of the car. - -“I learnt for the first time, Mr. Brixan, that you are an officer of the -law,” he said, with a stately inclination of his head. “I need hardly -tell you how greatly I respect one whose duty it is to serve the cause -of justice.” - -“Mr. Knebworth told you, I presume?” said Michael with a smile. - -“He told me,” agreed the other gravely. “I went in really to seek you, -having an intuition that you had some more important position in life -than what I had first imagined. I confess I thought at first that you -were one of those idle young men who have nothing to do but to amuse -themselves. It was a great gratification to me to learn that I was -mistaken. It is all the more gratifying”—(Michael smiled inwardly at -the verbosity of age)—“because I need advice on a point of law, which I -imagine my lawyer would not offer to me. My position is a very peculiar -one, in some ways embarrassing. I am a man who shrinks from the eye of -the public and am averse from vulgar intermeddling in other people’s -affairs.” - -What had he to tell, Michael wondered—this old man, with his habit of -nocturnal strolls, might have been a witness to something that had not -yet come out. - -They stopped at the Dower House, and the old man got out and opened the -gate, not closing it until Michael had passed through. Instead of going -direct to his sitting-room, he went upstairs, beckoning Michael to come -after, and stopped before the room which had been occupied by Adele on -the night of her terrible experience. - -“I wish you to see these people,” said Mr. Longvale earnestly, “and tell -me whether I am acting in accordance with the law.” - -He opened the door, and Mike saw that there were now two beds in the -room. On one, heavily bandaged and apparently unconscious, was the -brown-faced man; on the other, sleeping, was the woman Michael had seen -in the tower! She, too, was badly wounded: her arm was bandaged and -strapped into position. - -Michael drew a long breath. - -“That is a mystery solved, anyway,” he said. “Where did you find these -people?” - -At the sound of his voice the woman opened her eyes and frowned at him -fearfully, then looked across to the man. - -“You have been wounded?” said Michael in Dutch, but apparently her -education had been neglected in respect of European languages, for she -made no reply. - -She was so uncomfortable at the sight of him that Michael was glad to go -out of the room. It was not until they were back in his sanctum that Mr. -Longvale told his story. - -“I saw them last night about half-past eleven,” he said. “They were -staggering down the road, and I thought at first that they were -intoxicated, but fortunately the woman spoke, and as I have never -forgotten a voice, even when it spoke in a language that was unfamiliar -to me, I realized immediately that it was my patient, and went out to -intercept her. I then saw the condition of her companion, and she, -recognizing me, began to speak excitedly in a language which I could not -understand, though I would have been singularly dense if I had had any -doubt as to her meaning. The man was on the point of collapse, but, -assisted by the woman, I managed to get him into the house and to the -room where he now is. Fortunately, in the expectation of again being -called to attend her, I had purchased a small stock of surgical dressing -and was able to attend to the man.” - -“Is he badly hurt?” asked Michael. - -“He has lost a considerable quantity of blood,” said the other, “and, -though there seems to be no arteries severed or bones broken, the wounds -have an alarming appearance. Now, it has occurred to me,” he went on, in -his oddly profound manner, “that this unfortunate native could not have -received his injury except as the result of some illegal act, and I -thought the best thing to do was to notify the police that they were -under my care. I called first upon my excellent friend, Mr. John -Knebworth, and opened my heart to him. He then told me your position, -and I decided to wait your return before I took any further steps.” - -“You have solved a mystery that has puzzled me, and incidentally, you -have confirmed a story which I had received with considerable -scepticism,” said Mike. “I think you were well advised in informing the -police—I will make a report to headquarters, and send an ambulance to -take these two people to hospital. Is the man fit to be moved?” - -“I think so,” nodded the old gentleman. “He is sleeping heavily now, and -has the appearance of being in a state of coma, but that is not the -case. They are quite welcome to stay here, though I have no convenience, -and must do my own nursing, which is rather a bother, for I am not -fitted for such a strain. Happily, the woman is able to do a great deal -for him.” - -“Did he have a sword when he arrived?” - -Mr. Longvale clicked his lips impatiently. - -“How stupid of me to forget that! Yes, it is in here.” - -He went to a drawer in an old-fashioned bureau, pulled it open and took -out the identical sword which Michael had seen hanging above the -mantelpiece at Griff Towers. It was spotlessly clean, and had been so -when Mr. Longvale took it from the brown man’s hands. And yet he did not -expect it to be in any other condition, for to the swordsman of the East -his sword is his child, and probably the brown man’s first care had been -to wipe it clean. - -Michael was taking his leave when he suddenly asked: - -“I wonder if it would give you too much trouble, Mr. Longvale, to get me -a glass of water? My throat is parched.” - -With an exclamation of apology, the old man hurried away, leaving -Michael in the hall. - -Hanging on pegs was the long overcoat of the master of Dower House, and -beside it the curly-rimmed beaver and a very prosaic derby hat, which -Michael took down the moment the old man’s back was turned. It had been -no ruse of his, this demand for a drink, for he was parched. Only -Michael had the inquisitiveness of his profession. - -The old gentleman returned quickly to find Michael examining the hat. - -“Where did this come from?” asked the detective. - -“That was the hat the native was wearing when he arrived,” said Mr. -Longvale. - -“I will take it with me, if you don’t mind,” said Michael after a long -silence. - -“With all the pleasure in life. Our friend upstairs will not need a hat -for a very long time,” he said, with a whimsical little smile. - -Michael went back to his car, put the hat carefully beside him, and -drove into Chichester; and all the way he was in a state of wonder. For -inside the hat were the initials “L. F.” How came the hat of Lawley Foss -on the head of the brown man from Borneo? - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - THE CAVES - - -MR. LONGVALE’S two patients were removed to hospital that night, and, -with a favourable report on the man’s condition from the doctors, -Michael felt that one aspect of the mystery was a mystery no longer. - -His old schoolmaster received a visit that night. - -“More study?” he asked good-humouredly when Michael was announced. - -“Curiously enough, you’re right, sir,” said Michael, “though I doubt -very much whether you can assist me. I’m looking for an old history of -Chichester.” - -“I have one published in 1600. You’re the second man in the last -fortnight who wanted to see it.” - -“Who was the other?” asked Michael quickly. - -“A man named Foss——” began Mr. Scott, and Michael nodded as though he -had known the identity of the seeker after knowledge. “He wanted to know -about caves. I’ve never heard there were any local caves of any -celebrity. Now, if this were Cheddar, I should be able to give you quite -a lot of information. I am an authority on the Cheddar caves.” - -He showed Michael into the library, and taking down an ancient volume, -laid it on the library table. - -“After Foss had gone I looked up the reference. I find it occurs only on -one page—385. It deals with the disappearance of a troop of horsemen -under Sir John Dudley, Earl of Newport, in some local trouble in the -days of Stephen. Here is the passage.” He pointed. - -Michael read, in the old-fashioned type: - - “The noble Earl, deciding to await hi∫ arrival, carried two - _companie_∫ of hor∫e by night into the great caves which exi∫ted - in the∫e times. By the merciful di∫pen∫ation of God, in Who∫e - Hands we are, there occurred, at eight o’clock in the forenoon, - a great land∫lide which entombed and de∫troyed all the∫e knights - and ∫quires, and ∫ir John Dudley, Earl of Newport, ∫o that they - were never more ∫een. And the place of this happening is nine - miles in a line from this ∫ame city, called by the Romans - Regnum, or Ciffancea∫ter in the Saxon fa∫hion.” - -“Have the caves ever been located?” - -Mr. Scott shook his head. - -“There are local rumours that they were used a century and a half ago by -brandy smugglers, but then you find those traditions local to every -district.” - -Michael took a local map of Chichester from his pocket, measured off -nine miles, and with a pair of compasses encircled the city. He noted -that the line passed either through or near Sir Gregory’s estate. - -“There are two Griff Towers?” he suddenly said, examining the map. - -“Yes, there is another besides Penne’s place, which is named after a -famous local landmark—the real Griffin Tower (as it was originally -called). I have an idea it stands either within or about Penne’s -property—a very old, circular tower, about twenty feet high, and -anything up to two thousand years old. I’m interested in antiquities, -and I have made a very careful inspection of the place. The lower part -of the wall is undoubtedly Roman work—the Romans had a big encampment -here; in fact, Regnum was one of their headquarters. There are all sorts -of explanations for the tower. Probably it was a keep or blockhouse. The -idea I have is that the original Roman tower was not more than a few -feet high and was not designed for defence at all. Successive ages added -to its height, without exactly knowing why.” - -Michael chuckled. - -“Now if my theory is correct, I shall hear more about this Roman castle -before the night is out,” he said. - -He gathered his trunks from the hotel and took them off to his new home. -He found that the dinner-table was laid for three. - -“Expecting company?” asked Michael, watching Jack Knebworth putting the -finishing touches on the table—he had a bachelor’s finicking sense of -neatness, which consists of placing everything at equal distance from -everything else. - -“Yuh! Friend of yours.” - -“Of mine?” - -Jack nodded. - -“I’ve asked young Leamington to come up. And when I see a man of your -age turning pink at the mention of a girl’s name, I feel sorry for him. -She’s coming partly on business, partly for the pleasure of meeting me -in a human atmosphere. She didn’t do so well to-day as I wanted, but I -guess we were all a little short of our best.” - -She came soon after, and there was something about her that was very -sweet and appealing; something that went straight to Michael’s heart and -consolidated the position she had taken there. - -“I was thinking as I came along,” she said, as Jack Knebworth helped her -off with her coat, “how very unreal everything is—I never dreamt I -should be your guest to dinner, Mr. Knebworth.” - -“And I never dreamt you’d be worthy of such a distinction,” growled -Jack. “And in five years’ time you’ll be saying, ‘Why on earth did I -make such a fuss about being asked to a skimpy meal by that punk -director Knebworth?’” - -He put his hand on her shoulder and led her into the room, and then for -the first time she saw Michael, and that young man had a momentary sense -of dismay when he saw her face drop. It was only for a second, and, as -if reading his thoughts, she explained her sudden change of mien. - -“I thought we were going to talk nothing but pictures and pictures!” she -said. - -“So you shall,” said Michael. “I’m the best listener on earth, and the -first person to mention murder will be thrown out of the window.” - -“Then I’ll prepare for the flight!” she said good-humouredly. “For I’m -going to talk murder and mystery—later!” - -Under the expanding influence of a sympathetic environment the girl took -on a new aspect, and all that Michael had suspected in her was amply -proven. The shyness, the almost frigid reserve, melted in the company of -two men, one of whom she guessed was fond of her, while the other—well, -Michael was at least a friend. - -“I have been doing detective work this afternoon,” she said, after the -coffee had been served, “and I’ve made amazing discoveries,” she added -solemnly. “It started by my trying to track the motor-car, which I -guessed must have come into my street through a lane which runs across -the far end. It is the only motor-car track I’ve found, and I don’t -think there is any doubt it was my white-handed man who drove it. You -see, I noticed the back tyre, which had a sort of diamond-shaped design -on it, and it was fairly easy to follow the marks. Half-way up the lane -I found a place where there was oil in the middle of the road, and where -the car must have stood for some time, and there—I found this!” - -She opened her little handbag and took out a small, dark-green bottle. -It bore no label and was unstoppered. Michael took it from her hand, -examined it curiously and smelt. There was a distinctive odour, pungent -and not unpleasing. - -“Do you recognize it?” she asked. - -He shook his head. - -“Let me try.” Jack Knebworth took the bottle from Michael’s hand and -sniffed. “Butyl chloride,” he said quickly, and the girl nodded. - -“I thought it was that. Father was a pharmaceutical chemist, and once, -when I was playing in his dispensary, I found a cupboard open and took -down a pretty bottle and opened it. I don’t know what would have -happened to me, only daddy saw me. I was quite a child at the time, and -I’ve always remembered that scent.” - -“Butyl chloride?” Michael frowned. - -“It’s known as the ‘death drop’ or the ‘knock-out drop,’” said -Knebworth, “and it’s a drug very much in favour with sharks who make a -business of robbing sailors. A few drops of that in a glass of wine and -you’re out!” - -Michael took the bottle again. It was a commonplace bottle such as is -used for the dispensation of poisons, and in fact the word “Poison” was -blown into the glass. - -“There is no trace of a label,” he said. - -“And really there is no connection with the mysterious car,” admitted -the girl. “My surmise is merely guesswork—putting one sinister thing to -another.” - -“Where was it?” - -“In a ditch, which is very deep there and is flooded just now, but the -bottle didn’t roll down so far as the water. That is discovery number -one. Here is number two.” - -From her bag she took a curious-shaped piece of steel, both ends of -which had the marks of a break. - -“Do you know what that is?” she asked. - -“It beats me,” said Jack, and handed the find to Michael. - -“_I_ know what it is, because I’ve seen it at the studio,” said the -girl, “and you know too, don’t you, Mr. Brixan?” - -Mike nodded. - -“It’s the central link of a handcuff,” he said, “the link that has the -swivel.” - -It was covered with spots of rust, which had been cleaned off—by the -girl, as she told him. - -“Those are my two finds. I am not going to offer you my conclusions, -because I have none!” - -“They may not have been thrown from the car at all,” said Michael, “but, -as you say, there is a possibility that the owner of the car chose that -peculiarly deserted spot to rid himself of two articles which he could -not afford to have on the premises. It would have been safer to throw -them into the sea, but this, I suppose, was the easier, and, to him, the -safer method. I will keep these.” - -He wrapped them in paper, put them away in his pocket, and the -conversation drifted back to picture-taking, and, as he had anticipated: - -“We’re shooting at Griff Tower to-morrow—the real tower,” said Jack -Knebworth. “It is one of the landmarks—what is there amusing in Griff -Tower?” he demanded. - -“Nothing particularly amusing, except that you have fulfilled a -prediction of mine,” said Michael. “I knew I should hear of that darned -old tower!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - THE TOWER - - -MICHAEL was a little perturbed in mind. He took a more serious view of -the closed car than did the girl, and the invitation to the “pretty -lady” to step inside was particularly disturbing. Since the events of -the past few days it had been necessary to withdraw the detective who -was watching the girl’s house, and he decided to re-establish the guard, -employing a local officer for the purpose. - -After he had driven Adele home, he went to the police station and made -his wishes known; but it was too late to see the chief constable, and -the subordinate officer in charge did not wish to take the -responsibility of detaching an officer for the purpose. It was only when -Michael threatened to call the chief on the telephone that he -reluctantly drew on his reserves and put a uniformed officer to patrol -the street. - -Back again at Knebworth’s house, Michael examined the two articles which -the girl had found. Butyl chloride was a drug and a particularly violent -one. What use would the Head-Hunter have for that, he wondered. - -As for the handcuff, he examined it again. Terrific force must have been -employed to snap the connecting links. This was a mystery to him, and he -gave it up with a sense of annoyance at his own incompetence. - -Before going to bed he received a ’phone message from Inspector Lyle, -who was watching Griff Towers. There was nothing new to report, and -apparently life was pursuing its normal round. The inspector had been -invited into the house by Sir Gregory, who had told him that Bhag was -still missing. - -“I’ll keep you there to-night,” said Michael. “To-morrow we will lift -the watch. Scotland Yard is satisfied that Sir Gregory had nothing to do -with Foss’s death.” - -A grunt from the other end of the ’phone expressed the inspector’s -disagreement with that view. - -“He’s in it somehow,” he said. “By the way, I’ve found a bloodstained -derby hat in the field outside the grounds. It has the name of Chi Li -Stores, Tjandi, inside.” - -This was news indeed. - -“Let me see it in the morning,” said Michael after long cogitation. - -Soon after breakfast the next morning the hat came and was inspected. -Knebworth, who had heard most of the story from Michael, examined the -new clue curiously. - -“If the coon wore Lawley’s hat when he arrived at Mr. Longvale’s, where, -in the name of fate, did the change take place? It must have been -somewhere between the Towers and the old man’s house, unless——” - -“Unless what?” asked Michael. He had a great respect for Knebworth’s -shrewd judgment. - -“Unless the change took place at Sir Gregory’s house. You see that, -although it is bloodstained, there are no cuts in it. Which is rum.” - -“Very rum,” agreed Mike ruefully. “And yet, if my first theory was -correct, the explanation is simple.” - -He did not tell his host what his theory was. - -Accompanying Knebworth to the studio, he watched the char-à-banc drive -off, wishing that he had some excuse and the leisure to accompany them -on their expedition. It was a carefree, cheery throng, and its very -association was a tonic to his spirits. - -He put through his usual call to London. There was no news. There was -really no reason why he should not go, he decided recklessly; and as -soon as his decision was taken his car was pounding on the trail of the -joy wagon. - -He saw the tower a quarter of an hour before he came up to it: a squat, -ancient building, for all the world like an inordinately high sheepfold. -When he came up to them the char-à-banc had been drawn on to the grass, -and the company was putting the finishing touches to its make-up. Adele -he did not see at once—she was changing in a little canvas tent, whilst -Jack Knebworth and the camera man wrangled over light and position. - -Michael had too much intelligence to butt in at this moment, and -strolled up to the tower, examining the curious courses which generation -after generation had added to the original foundations. He knew very -little of masonry, but he was able to detect the Roman portion of the -wall, and thought he saw the place where Saxon builders had filled in a -gap. - -One of the hands was fixing a ladder up which Roselle was to pass. The -story which was being filmed was that of a girl who, starting life in -the chorus, had become the wife of a nobleman with archaic ideas. The -poor but honest young man who had loved her in her youth (Michael -gathered that a disconsolate Reggie Connolly played this part) was ever -at hand to help her; and now, when shut up in a stone room of the keep, -it was he who was to rescue her. - -The actual castle tower had been shot in Arundel. Old Griff Tower was to -serve for a close-up, showing the girl descending from her prison in the -arms of her lover, by the aid of a rope of knotted sheets. - -“It’s going to be deuced awkward getting down,” said Reggie -lugubriously. “Of course, they’ve got a rope inside the sheet, so -there’s no chance of it breaking. But Miss Leamington is really -fearfully awfully heavy! You try and lift her yourself, old thing, and -see how you like it!” - -Nothing would have given Michael greater pleasure than to carry out the -instructions literally. - -“It’s too robust a part for me, it is really,” bleated Reggie. “I’m not -a cave man, I’m not indeed! I’ve told Knebworth that it isn’t the job -for me. And besides, why do they want a close-up? Why don’t they make a -dummy that I could carry and sling about? And why doesn’t she come down -by herself?” - -“It’s dead easy,” said Knebworth, who had walked up and overheard the -latter part of the conversation. “Miss Leamington will hold the rope and -take the weight off you. All you’ve got to do is to look brave and -pretty.” - -“That’s all very well,” grumbled Reggie, “but climbing down ropes is not -the job I was engaged for. We all have our likes and our dislikes, and -that’s one of my dislikes.” - -“Try it,” said Jack laconically. - -The property man had fixed the rope to an iron staple which he had -driven to the inside of the tower, the top of which would not be shown -in the picture. The actual descent had been acted by “doubles” in -Arundel on a long shot: it was only the close-up that Jack needed. The -first rehearsal nearly ended in disaster. With a squeak, Connolly let go -his burden, and the girl would have fallen but for her firm grip on the -rope. - -“Try it again,” stormed Jack. “Remember you’re playing a man’s part. -Young Coogan would hold her better than that!” - -They tried again, with greater success, and after the third rehearsal, -when poor Reggie was in a state of exhaustion— - -“Camera!” said Knebworth shortly, and then began the actual taking of -the picture. - -Whatever his other drawbacks were, and whatever his disadvantages, there -was no doubt that Connolly was an artist. Racked with agony at this -unusual exertion though he was, he could smile sweetly into the upturned -face of the girl, whilst the camera, fixed upon a collapsible platform, -clicked encouragingly as it was lowered to keep pace with the escaping -lovers. They touched ground, and with one last languishing look at the -girl, Connolly posed for the final three seconds. - -“That’ll do,” said Jack. - -Reggie sat down heavily. - -“My heavens!” he wailed, feeling his arms painfully. “I’ll never do that -again, I won’t really. I’ve had as much of that stuff as ever I’m going -to have, Mr. Knebworth. It was terrible! I thought I should die!” - -“Well, you didn’t,” said Jack good-humouredly. “Now have a rest, you -boys and girls, and then we’ll shoot the escape.” - -The camera was moved off twenty or thirty yards, and whilst Reggie -Connolly writhed in agony on the ground, the girl walked over to -Michael. - -“I’m glad that’s over,” she said thankfully. “Poor Mr. Connolly! The -awful language he was using inside nearly made me laugh, and that would -have meant that we should have had to take it all over again. But it -wasn’t easy,” she added. - -Her own arm was bruised, and the rope had rubbed raw a little place on -her wrist. Michael had an insane desire to kiss the raw skin, but -restrained himself. - -“What did you think of me? Did I look anything approaching graceful? I -felt like a bundle of straw!” - -“You looked—wonderful!” he said fervently, and she shot a quick glance -at him and dropped her eyes. - -“Perhaps you’re prejudiced,” she said demurely. - -“I have that feeling too,” said Michael. “What is inside?” He pointed. - -“Inside the tower? Nothing, except a lot of rock and wild bush, and a -pathetic dwarf tree. I loved it.” - -He laughed. - -“Just now you said you were glad it was over. I presume you were -referring to the play and not to the interior of the tower?” - -She nodded, a twinkle in her eye. - -“Mr. Knebworth says he may have to take a night shot if he’s not -satisfied with the day picture. Poor Mr. Connolly! He’ll throw up his -part.” - -At that moment Jack Knebworth’s voice was heard. - -“Don’t take the ladder, Collins,” he shouted. “Put it down on the grass -behind the tower. I may have to come up here to-night, so you can leave -anything that won’t be hurt by the weather, and collect it again in the -morning.” - -Adele made a little face. - -“I was afraid he would,” she said. “Not that I mind very much—it’s -rather fun. But Mr. Connolly’s nervousness communicates itself in some -way. I wish you were playing that part.” - -“I wish to heaven I were!” said Michael, with such sincerity in his -voice that she coloured. - -Jack Knebworth came toward them. - -“Did you leave anything up there, Adele?” he asked, pointing to the -tower. - -“No, Mr. Knebworth,” she said in surprise. - -“Well, what’s that?” - -He pointed to something round that showed above the edge of the tower -top. - -“Why, it’s moving!” he gasped. - -As he spoke a head came slowly into view. It was followed by a massive -pair of hairy shoulders, and then a leg was thrown over the wall. - -It was Bhag! - -His tawny hair was white with dust, his face was powdered grotesquely. -All these things Michael noticed. Then, as the creature put out his hand -to steady himself, Michael saw that each wrist was encircled by the half -of a broken pair of handcuffs! - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - BHAG’S RETURN - - -THE girl screamed and gripped Michael’s arm. - -“What is that?” she asked. “Is it the Thing that came to my—my room?” - -Michael put her aside gently, and ran toward the tower. As he did so, -Bhag took a leap and dropped on the ground. For a moment he stood, his -knuckles on the ground, his malignant face turned in the direction of -the man. And then he sniffed, and, with that queer twittering noise of -his, went ambling across the downs and disappeared over a nearby crest. - -Michael raced in pursuit. By the time he came into view, the great ape -was a quarter of a mile away, running at top speed, and always keeping -close to the hedges that divided the fields he had to cross. Pursuit was -useless, and the detective went slowly back to the alarmed company. - -“It is only an orang-outang belonging to Sir Gregory, and perfectly -harmless,” he said. “He has been missing from the house for two or three -days.” - -“He must have been hiding in the tower,” said Knebworth, and Michael -nodded. “Well, I’m darned glad he didn’t choose to come out at the -moment I was shooting,” said the director, mopping his forehead. “You -didn’t see anything of him, Adele?” - -Michael guessed that the girl was pale under her yellow make-up, and the -hand she raised to her lips shook a little. - -“That explains the mystery of the handcuffs,” said Knebworth. - -“Did you notice them?” asked Michael quickly. “Yes, that explains the -broken link,” he said, “but it doesn’t exactly explain the butyl -chloride.” - -He held the girl’s arm as he spoke, and in the warm, strong pressure she -felt something more than his sympathy. - -“Were you a little frightened?” - -“I was badly frightened,” she confessed. “How terrible! Was that Bhag?” - -He nodded. - -“That was Bhag,” he said. “I suppose he’s been hiding in the tower ever -since his disappearance. You saw nothing when you were on the top of the -wall?” - -“I’m glad to say I didn’t, or I should have dropped. There are a large -number of bushes where he might have been hidden.” - -Michael decided to look for himself. They put up the ladder and he -climbed to the broad top of the tower and looked down. At the base of -the stonework the ground sloped away in a manner curiously reminiscent -of the shell-holes he had seen during the war in France. The actual -floor of the tower was not visible under the hawthorn bushes which grew -thickly at the centre. He caught a glimpse of the jagged edges of rock, -the distorted branches of an old tree, and that was all. - -There was ample opportunity for concealment. Possibly Bhag had hidden -there most of the time, sleeping off the effects of his labour and his -wounds; for Michael had seen something that nobody else had noticed—the -gashed skin, and the ear that had been slashed in half. - -He came down the ladder again and rejoined Knebworth. - -“I think that finishes our work for to-day,” said Jack dubiously. “I -smell hysteria, and it will be a long time before I can get the girls to -come up for a night picture.” - -Michael drove the director back in his car, and all the way home he was -considering this strange appearance of the ape. Somebody had handcuffed -Bhag: he ought to have guessed that when he saw the torn link. No human -being could have broken those apart. And Bhag had escaped—from whom? -How? And why had he not returned to Griff Towers and to his master? - -When he had dropped the director at the studio he went straight on to -Gregory’s house, and found the baronet playing clock-golf on a strip of -lawn that ran by the side of the house. The man was still heavily -bandaged, but he was making good recovery. - -“Yes, Bhag is back. He returned half an hour ago. Where he has been, -heaven knows! I’ve often wished that chap could talk, but I’ve never -wished it so much as I do at this moment. Somebody had put irons on him: -I’ve just taken them off.” - -“Can I see them?” - -“You knew it, did you?” - -“I saw him. He came out of the old tower on the hill.” Michael pointed; -from where they stood, the tower was in sight. - -“Is that so? And what the devil was he doing there?” - -Sir Gregory scratched his chin thoughtfully. - -“He’s been away before, but mostly he goes to a shoot of mine about -three miles away, where there’s plenty of cover and no intruders. I -discovered that when a poacher saw him, and, like a fool, shot at -him—that poacher was a lucky man to escape with his life. Have you -found the body of Foss?” - -The baronet had resumed his playing, and was looking at the ball at his -feet. - -“No,” said Michael quietly. - -“Expect to find it?” - -“I shouldn’t be surprised.” - -Sir Gregory stood, his hands leaning on his club, looking across the -wold. - -“What’s the law in this country, suppose a man accidentally kills a -servant who tried to knife him?” - -“He would have to stand his trial,” said Michael, “and a verdict of -‘justifiable homicide’ would be returned and he would be set free.” - -“But suppose he didn’t reveal it? Suppose he—well, did away with the -body—buried it—and let the matter slide?” - -“Then he would place himself in a remarkably dangerous position,” said -Michael. “Particularly”—he watched the man closely—“if a woman friend, -who is no longer a woman friend, happened to be a witness or had -knowledge of the act.” - -Gregory Penne’s one visible eye blinked quickly, and he went that -curious purple colour which Michael had seen before when he was -agitated. - -“Suppose she tried to get money out of him by threatening to tell the -police?” - -“Then,” said the patient Michael, “she would go to prison for blackmail, -and possibly as an accessory to or after the fact.” - -“Would she?” Sir Gregory’s voice was eager. “She would be an accessory -if she saw—him cut the man down? Mind you, this happened years ago. -There’s a Statute of Limitations, isn’t there?” - -“Not for murder,” said Michael. - -“Murder! Would you call that murder?” asked the other in alarm. “In -self-defence? Rot!” - -Things were gradually being made light to Michael. Once Stella Mendoza -had called the man a murderer, and Michael’s nimble mind, which could -reconstruct the scene with almost unerring precision, began to grow -active. A servant, a coloured man, probably, one of his Malayan slaves, -had run amok, and Penne had killed him—possibly in self-defence—and -then had grown frightened of the consequences. He remembered Stella’s -description—“Penne is a bluffer and a coward at heart.” That was the -story in a nutshell. - -“Where did you bury your unfortunate victim?” he asked coolly, and the -man started. - -“Bury? What do you mean?” he blustered. “I didn’t murder or bury -anybody. I was merely putting a hypothetical case to you.” - -“It sounded more real than hypothesis,” said Michael, “but I won’t press -the question.” - -In truth, crimes of this character bored Michael Brixan; and, but for -the unusual and curious circumstances of the Head-Hunter’s villainies, -he would have dropped the case almost as soon as he came on to it. - -There was yet another attraction, which he did not name, even to -himself. As for Sir Gregory Penne, the grossness of the man and his -hobbies, the sordid vulgarity of his amours, were more than a little -sickening. He would gladly have cut Sir Gregory out of life, only—he -was not yet sure. - -“It is very curious how these questions crop up,” Penne was saying, as -he came out of his reverie. “A chap like myself, who doesn’t have much -to occupy his mind, gets on an abstract problem of that kind and never -leaves it. So she’d be an accessory after the fact, would she? That -would mean penal servitude.” - -He seemed to derive a great deal of satisfaction from this thought, and -was almost amiable by the time Michael parted from him, after an -examination of the broken handcuffs. They were British and of an old -pattern. - -“Is Bhag hurt very much?” asked Michael as he put them down. - -“Not very much; he’s got a cut or two,” said the other calmly. He made -no attempt to disguise the happenings of that night. “He came to my -assistance, poor brute! This fellow nearly got him. In fact, poor old -Bhag was knocked out, but went after them like a brick.” - -“What hat was that man wearing—the brown man?” - -“Keji? I don’t know. I suppose he wore a hat, but I didn’t notice it. -Why?” - -“I was merely asking,” said Michael carelessly. “Perhaps he lost it in -the caves.” - -He watched the other narrowly as he spoke. - -“Caves? I’ve never heard about those. What are they? Are there any caves -near by?” asked Sir Gregory innocently. “You’ve a wonderful grip of the -topography of the county, Brixan. I’ve been living here off and on for -twenty years, and I lose myself every time I go into Chichester!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - THE ADVERTISEMENT - - -THE question of the caves intrigued Michael more than any feature the -case had presented. He bethought himself of Mr. Longvale, whose -knowledge of the country was encyclopædic. That gentleman was out, but -Michael met him, driving his antique car from Chichester. To say that he -saw him is to mistake facts. The sound of that old car was audible long -before it came into sight around a bend of the road. Michael drew up, -Longvale following his example, and parked his car behind that ancient -’bus. - -“Yes, it is rather noisy,” admitted the old man, rubbing his bald head -with a brilliant bandana handkerchief. “I’m only beginning to realize -the fact of late years. Personally, I do not think that a noiseless car -could give me as much satisfaction. One feels that something is -happening.” - -“You ought to buy a ——” said Michael with a smile, as he mentioned the -name of a famous car. - -“I thought of doing so,” said the other seriously, “but I love old -things—that is my eccentricity.” - -Michael questioned him upon the caves, and, to his surprise, the old man -immediately returned an affirmative. - -“Yes, I’ve heard of them frequently. When I was a boy, my father told me -that the country round was honeycombed with caves, and that, if anybody -was lucky enough to find them, they would discover great stores of -brandy. Nobody has found them, as far as I know. There used to be an -entrance over there.” He pointed in the direction of Griff Tower. “But -many years ago——” - -He retold the familiar story of the landslide and of the passing out of -two companies of gallant knights and squires, which probably the old man -had got from the same source of information as Michael had drawn upon. - -“The popular legend was that a subterranean river ran into the sea near -Selsey Bill—of course, some distance beneath the surface of the water. -But, as you know, country people live on such legends. In all -probability it is nothing but a legend.” - -Inspector Lyle was waiting for the detective when he arrived, with news -of a startling character. - -“The advertisement appeared in this morning’s _Daily Star_,” he said. - -Michael took the slip of paper. It was identically worded with its -predecessor. - - “Is your trouble of mind or body incurable? Do you hesitate on - the brink of the abyss? Does courage fail you? Write to - Benefactor, Box——” - -“There will be no reply till to-morrow morning. Letters are to be -readdressed to a shop in the Lambeth Road, and the chief wants you to be -ready to pick up the trail.” - -The trail indeed proved to be well laid. At four o’clock on the -following afternoon, a lame old woman limped into the newsagent’s shop -on the Lambeth Road and inquired for a letter addressed to Mr. Vole. -There were three waiting for her. She paid the fee, put the letters into -a rusty old handbag and limped out of the shop, mumbling and talking to -herself. Passing down the Lambeth Road, she boarded a tramcar _en route_ -for Clapham, and near the Common she alighted and, passing out of the -region of middle-class houses, came to a jumble of tenements and ancient -tumble-down dwellings. - -Every corner she turned brought her to a street meaner than the last, -and finally to a low, arched alleyway, the paving of which had not been -renewed for years. It was a little cul-de-sac, its houses, built in the -same pattern, joined wall to wall, and before the last of these she -stopped, took out a key from her pocket and opened the door. She was -turning to close it when she was aware that a man stood in the entrance, -a tall, good-looking gentleman, who must have been on her heels all the -time. - -“Good afternoon, mother,” he said. - -The old woman peered at him suspiciously, grumbling under her breath. -Only hospital doctors and workhouse folk, people connected with charity, -called women “mother”; and sometimes the police got the habit. Her grimy -old face wrinkled hideously at this last unpleasant thought. - -“I want to have a little talk with you.” - -“Come in,” she said shrilly. - -The boarding of the passage-way was broken in half a dozen places and -was indescribably dirty, but it represented the spirit of pure hygiene -compared with the stuffy horror which was her sitting-room and kitchen. - -“What are you, horspital or p’lice?” - -“Police,” said Michael. “I want three letters you’ve collected.” - -To his surprise, the woman showed relief. - -“Oh, is that all?” she said. “Well, that’s a job I do for a gentleman. -I’ve done it for years. I’ve never had any complaint before.” - -“What is his name?” - -“Don’t know his name. Just whatever name happens to be on the letters. I -send ’em on to him.” - -From under a heap of rubbish she produced three envelopes, addressed in -typewritten characters. The typewriting Michael recognized. They were -addressed to a street in Guildford. - -Michael took the letters from her handbag. Two of them he read; the -third was a dummy which he himself had written. The most direct -cross-examination, however, revealed nothing. The woman did the work, -receiving a pound for her trouble, in a letter from the unknown, who -told her where the letters were to be collected. - -“She was a little mad and indescribably beastly,” said Michael in -disgust when he reported, “and the Guildford inquiries don’t help us -forward. There’s another agent there, who sends the letters back to -London, which they never reach. That is the mystery of the proceeding. -There simply isn’t such an address at London, and I can only suggest -that they are intercepted _en route_. The Guildford police have that -matter in hand.” - -Staines was very worried. - -“Michael, I oughtn’t to have put you on this job,” he said. “My first -thoughts were best. Scotland Yard is kicking, and say that the meddling -of outsiders is responsible for the Head-Hunter not being brought to -justice. You know something of inter-departmental jealousy, and you -don’t need me to tell you that I’m getting more kicks than I’m entitled -to.” - -Michael looked down at his chief reflectively. - -“I can get the Head-Hunter, but more than ever I’m convinced that we -cannot convict him until we know a little more about—the caves!” - -Staines frowned. - -“I don’t quite get you, Mike. Which caves are these?” - -“There are some caves in the neighbourhood of Chichester. Foss knew -about them and suspected their association with the Head-Hunter. Give me -four days, Major, and I’ll have them both. And if I fail”—he -paused—“if I fail, the next time you say good morning to me, I shall be -looking up to you from the interior of one of the Head-Hunter’s boxes!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI - JOHN PERCIVAL LIGGITT - - -IT was the second day of Michael’s visit to town, and, for a reason -which she could not analyse, Adele felt “out” with the world. And yet -the work was going splendidly, and Jack Knebworth, usually sparing of -his praise, had almost rhapsodized over a little scene which she had -acted with Connolly. So generous was he in his praise, and so -comprehensive, that even Reggie came in for his share, and was willing -and ready to revise his earlier estimate of the leading lady’s ability. - -“I’ll be perfectly frank and honest, Mr. Knebworth,” he said, in this -moment of candour, “Leamington is good. Of course, I’m always on the -spot to give her tips, and there’s nothing quite so educative—if I may -use the term——” - -“You may,” said Jack Knebworth. - -“Thanks,” said Connolly. “——as having a finished artiste playing -opposite to you. It doesn’t do me much good, but it helps her a lot; it -inspires courage and all that sort of thing. And though I’ve had a -perfectly awful, dreadful time, I feel that she pays for the coaching.” - -“Oh, do you?” growled the old man. “And I’d like to say the same about -you, Reggie! But unfortunately, all the coaching you’ve had or ever will -get is not going to improve you.” - -Reggie’s superior smile would have irritated one less equable than the -director. - -“You’re perfectly right, Mr. Knebworth,” he said earnestly. “I can’t -improve! I’ve touched the zenith of my power, and I doubt whether you’ll -ever look upon the like of me again. I’m certainly the best juvenile -lead in this, and possibly in any country. I’ve had three offers to go -to Hollywood, and you’ll never believe who is the lady who asked me to -play against her——” - -“I don’t believe any of it,” said Jack even-temperedly, “but you’re -right to an extent about Miss Leamington. She’s fine. And I agree that -it doesn’t do you much good playing against her, because she makes you -look like a large glass of heavily diluted beer.” - -Later in the day, Adele herself asked her grey-haired chief whether it -was true that Reggie would soon be leaving England for another and a -more ambitious sphere. - -“I shouldn’t think so,” said Jack. “There never was an actor that hadn’t -a better contract up his sleeve and was ready to take it. But when it -comes to a show-down, you find that the contracts they’re willing to -tear up in order to take something better, are locked away in a lawyer’s -office and can’t be got out. In the picture business all over the world, -there are actors and actresses who are leaving by the first boat to show -Hollywood how it’s done. I guess these liners would sail empty if they -waited for ’em! That’s all bluff, part of the artificial life of -make-believe in which actors and actresses have their being.” - -“Has Mr. Brixan come back?” - -He shook his head. - -“No, I’ve not heard from him. There was a tough-looking fellow called at -the studio half an hour ago to ask whether he’d returned.” - -“Rather an unpleasant-looking tramp?” she asked. “I spoke to him. He -said he had a letter for Mr. Brixan which he would not deliver to -anybody else.” - -She looked through the window which commanded a view of the entrance -drive to the studio. Standing outside on the edge of the pavement was -the wreck of a man. Long, lank black hair, streaked with grey, fell from -beneath the soiled and dilapidated golf cap; he was apparently -shirtless, for the collar of his indescribable jacket was buttoned up to -his throat; and his bare toes showed through one gaping boot. - -He might have been a man of sixty, but it was difficult to arrive at his -age. It looked as though the grey, stubbled beard had not met a razor -since he was in prison last. His eyes were red and inflamed; his nose -that crimson which is almost blue. His hands were thrust into the -pockets of his trousers, and seemed to be their only visible means of -support, until you saw the string that was tied around his lean waist; -and as he stood, he shuffled his feet rhythmically, whistling a doleful -tune. From time to time he took one of his hands from his pockets and -examined the somewhat soiled envelope it held, and then, as if satisfied -with the scrutiny, put it back again and continued his jigging vigil. - -“Do you think you ought to see that letter?” asked the girl, troubled. -“It may be very important.” - -“I thought that too,” said Jack Knebworth, “but when I asked him to let -me see the note, he just grinned.” - -“Do you know who it’s from?” - -“No more than a crow, my dear,” said Knebworth patiently. “And now let’s -get off the all-absorbing subject of Michael Brixan, and get back to the -fair Roselle. That shot I took of the tower can’t be bettered, so I’m -going to cut out the night picture, and from now on we’ll work on the -lot.” - -The production was a heavy one, unusually so for one of Knebworth’s; the -settings more elaborate, the crowd bigger than ever he had handled since -he came to England. It was not an easy day for the girl, and she was -utterly fagged when she started homeward that night. - -“Ain’t seen Mr. Brixan, miss?” said a high-pitched voice as she reached -the side-walk. - -She turned with a start. She had forgotten the existence of the tramp. - -“No, he hasn’t been,” she said. “You had better see Mr. Knebworth again. -Mr. Brixan lives with him.” - -“Don’t I know it? Ain’t I got all the information possible about him? I -should say I had!” - -“He is in London: I suppose you know that?” - -“He ain’t in London,” said the other disappointedly. “If he was in -London, I shouldn’t be hanging around here, should I? No, he left London -yesterday. I’m going to wait till I see him.” - -She was amused by his pertinacity, though it was difficult for her to be -amused at anything in the state of utter weariness into which she had -fallen. - -Crossing the market square, she had to jump quickly to avoid being -knocked down by a car which she knew was Stella Mendoza’s. Stella could -be at times a little reckless, and the motto upon the golden mascot on -her radiator—“Jump or Die”—held a touch of sincerity. - -She was in a desperate hurry now, and cursed fluently as she swung her -car to avoid the girl, whom she recognized. Sir Gregory had come to his -senses, and she wanted to get at him before he lost them again. She -pulled up the car with a jerk at the gates of Griff Towers, flung open -the door and jumped out. - -“If I don’t return in two hours, you can go into Chichester and fetch -the police,” she said. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII - GREGORY’S WAY - - -STELLA had left a note to the same effect on her table. If she did not -return by a certain hour, the police were to read the letter they would -find on her mantelpiece. She had not allowed for the fact that neither -note nor letter would be seen until the next morning. - -To Stella Mendoza, the interview was one of the most important and vital -in her life. She had purposely delayed her departure in the hope that -Gregory Penne would take a more generous view of his obligations, though -she had very little hope that he would change his mind on the -all-important matter of money. And now, by some miracle, he had -relented; had spoken to her in an almost friendly tone on the ’phone; -had laughed at her reservations and the precautions which she promised -she would take; and in the end she had overcome her natural fears. - -He received her, not in his library, but in the big apartment -immediately above. It was longer, for it embraced the space occupied on -the lower floor by the small drawing-room; but in the matter of -furnishing, it differed materially. Stella had only once been in “The -Splendid Hall,” as he called it. Its vastness and darkness had -frightened her, and the display which he had organized for her benefit -was one of her unpleasant memories. - -The big room was covered with a thick black carpet, and the floor space -was unrelieved by any sign of furniture. Divans were set about, the -walls covered with eastern hangings; there was a row of scarlet pillars -up both sides of the room, and such light as there was came from three -heavily-shaded black lanterns, which cast pools of yellow light upon the -carpet but did not contribute to the gaiety of the room. - -Penne was sitting cross-legged on a silken divan, his eyes watching the -gyrations of a native girl as she twirled and twisted to the queer sound -of native guitars played by three solemn-faced men in the darkened -corner of the room. Gregory wore a suit of flaming red coloured pyjamas, -and his glassy gaze and brute mouth told Stella all that she wanted to -know about her evil friend. - -Sir Gregory Penne was no less and no more than a slave to his appetites. -Born a rich man, he had never known denial of his desires. Money had -grown to money in a sort of cellular progression, and when the normal -pleasures of life grew stale, and he was satiated by the sweets of his -possessions, he found his chiefest satisfaction in taking that which was -forbidden. The raids which his agents had made from time to time in the -jungles of his second home gave him trophies, human and material, that -lost their value when they were under his hand. - -Stella, who had visions of becoming mistress of Griff Towers, became -less attractive as she grew more complaisant. And at last her attraction -had vanished, and she was no more to him than the table at which he sat. - -A doctor had told him that drink would kill him—he drank the more. -Liquor brought him splendid visions, precious stories that wove -themselves into dazzling fabrics of dreams. It pleased him to place, in -the forefront of his fuddled mind, a slip of a girl who hated him. A -gross bully, an equally gross coward, he could not or would not argue a -theme to its logical and unpleasant conclusion. At the end there was -always his money that could be paid in smaller or larger quantities to -settle all grievances against him. - -The native who had conducted Stella Mendoza to the apartment had -disappeared, and she waited at the end of the divan, looking at the man -for a long time before he took any notice of her. Presently he turned -his head and favoured her with a stupid, vacant stare. - -“Sit down, Stella,” he said thickly, “sit down. You couldn’t dance like -that, eh? None of you Europeans have got the grace, the suppleness. Look -at her!” - -The dancing girl was twirling at a furious rate, her scanty draperies -enveloping her like a cloud. Presently, with a crash of the guitars, she -sank, face downward, on the carpet. Gregory said something in Malayan, -and the woman showed her white teeth in a smile. Stella had seen her -before: there used to be two dancing girls, but one had contracted -scarlet fever and had been hurriedly deported. Gregory had a horror of -disease. - -“Sit down here,” he commanded, laying his hand on the divan. - -As if by magic, every servant in the room had disappeared, and she -suddenly felt cold. - -“I’ve left my chauffeur outside, with instructions to go for the police -if I’m not out in half an hour,” she said loudly, and he laughed. - -“You ought to have brought your nurse, Stella. What’s the matter with -you nowadays? Can’t you talk anything but police? I want to talk to -you,” he said in a milder tone. - -“And I want to talk to you, Gregory. I am leaving Chichester for good, -and I don’t want to see the place again.” - -“That means you don’t want to see me again, eh? Well, I’m pretty well -through with you, and there’s going to be no weeping and wailing and -gnashing of teeth on my part.” - -“My new company——” she began, and he stopped her with a gesture. - -“If your new company depends upon my putting up the money, you can -forget it,” he said roughly. “I’ve seen my lawyer—at least, I’ve seen -somebody who knows—and he tells me that if you’re trying to blackmail -me about Tjarji, you’re liable to get into trouble yourself. I’ll put up -money for you,” he went on. “Not a lot, but enough. I don’t suppose -you’re a beggar, for I’ve given you sufficient already to start three -companies. Stella, I’m crazy about that girl.” - -She looked at him, her mouth open in surprise. - -“What girl?” she asked. - -“Adele. Isn’t that her name?—Adele Leamington.” - -“Do you mean the extra girl that took my place?” she gasped. - -He nodded, his sleepy eyes fixed on hers. - -“That’s it. She’s my type, more than you ever were, Stella. And that -isn’t meant in any way disparaging to you.” - -She was content to listen: his declaration had taken her breath away. - -“I’ll go a long way to get her,” he went on. “I’d marry her, if that -meant anything to her—it’s about time I married, anyway. Now you’re a -friend of hers——” - -“A friend!” scoffed Stella, finding her voice. “How could I be a friend -of hers when she has taken my place? And what if I were? You don’t -suppose I should bring a girl to this hell upon earth?” - -He brought his eyes around to hers—cold, malignant, menacing. - -“This hell upon earth has been heaven for you. It has given you wings, -anyway! Don’t go back to London, Stella, not for a week or two. Get to -know this girl. You’ve got opportunities that nobody else has. Kid her -along—you’re not going to lose anything by it. Speak about me; tell her -what a good fellow I am; and tell her what a chance she has. You needn’t -mention marriage, but you can if it helps any. Show her some of your -jewels—that big pendant I gave you——” - -He rambled on, and she listened, her bewilderment giving place to an -uncontrollable fury. - -“You brute!” she said at last. “To dare suggest that I should bring this -girl to Griff! I don’t like her—naturally. But I’d go down on my knees -to her to beg her not to come. You think I’m jealous?” Her lips curled -at the sight of the smile on his face. “That’s where you’re wrong, -Gregory. I’m jealous of the position she’s taken at the studio, but, so -far as you’re concerned”—she shrugged her shoulders—“you mean nothing -to me. I doubt very much if you’ve ever meant more than a steady source -of income. That’s candid, isn’t it?” - -She got up from the divan and began putting on her gloves. - -“As you don’t seem to want to help me,” she said, “I’ll have to find a -way of making you keep your promise. And you did promise me a company, -Gregory; I suppose you’ve forgotten that?” - -“I was more interested in you then,” he said. “Where are you going?” - -“I’m going back to my cottage, and to-morrow I’m returning to town,” she -said. - -He looked first at one end of the room and then at the other, and then -at her. - -“You’re not going back to your cottage; you’re staying here, my dear,” -he said. - -She laughed. - -“You told your chauffeur to go for the police, did you? I’ll tell _you_ -something! Your chauffeur is in my kitchen at this moment, having his -supper. If you think that he’s likely to leave before you, you don’t -know me, Stella!” - -He gathered up the dressing-gown that was spread on the divan and -slipped his arms into the hanging sleeves. A terrible figure he was in -the girl’s eyes, something unclean, obscene. The scarlet pyjama jacket -gave his face a demoniacal value, and she felt herself cringing from -him. - -He was quick to notice the action, and his eyes glowed with a light of -triumph. - -“Bhag is downstairs,” he said significantly. “He handles people rough. -He handled one girl so that I had to call in a doctor. You’ll come with -me without—assistance?” - -She nodded dumbly; her knees gave way under her as she walked. She had -bearded the beast in his den once too often. - -Half-way along the corridor he unlocked a door of a room and pushed it -open. - -“Go there and stay there,” he said. “I’ll talk to you to-morrow, when -I’m sober. I’m drunk now. Maybe I’ll send you someone to keep you -company—I don’t know yet.” He ruffled his scanty hair in drunken -perplexity. “But I’ve got to be sober before I deal with you.” - -The door slammed on her and a key turned. She was in complete darkness, -in a room she did not know. For one wild, terrified moment she wondered -if she was alone. - -It was a long time before her palm touched the little button projecting -from the wall. She pressed it. A lamp enclosed in a crystal globe set in -the ceiling flashed into sparkling light. She was in what had evidently -been a small bedroom. The bedstead had been removed, but a mattress and -a pillow were folded up in one corner. There was a window, heavily -barred, but no other exit. She examined the door: the handle turned in -her grasp; there was not even a keyhole in which she could try her own -key. - -Going to the window, she pulled up the sash, for the room was stuffy and -airless. She found herself looking out from the back of the house, -across the lawn to a belt of trees which she could just discern. The -road ran parallel with the front of the house, and the shrillest scream -would not be heard by anybody on the road. - -Sitting down in one of the chairs, she considered her position. Having -overcome her fear, she had that in her possession which would overcome -Gregory if it came to a fight. Pulling up her skirt, she unbuckled the -soft leather belt about her waist, and from the Russian leather holster -it supported, she took a diminutive Browning—a toy of a weapon but -wholly business-like in action. Sliding back the jacket, she threw a -cartridge into the chamber and pulled up the safety-catch; then she -examined the magazine and pressed it back again. - -“Now, Gregory,” she said aloud, and at that moment her face went round -to the window, and she started up with a scream. - -Two grimy hands gripped the bars; glaring in at her was the horrible -face of a tramp. Her trembling hand shot out for the pistol, but before -it could close on the butt, the face had disappeared; and though she -went round to the window and looked out, the bars prevented her from -getting a clear view of the parapet along which the uncouth figure was -creeping. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII - THE TRAP THAT FAILED - - -TEN o’clock was striking from Chichester cathedral when the tramp, who -half an hour ago had been peering and prying into the secrets of Griff -Towers, made his appearance in the market-place. His clothes were even -more dusty and soiled, and a policeman who saw him stood squarely in his -path. - -“On the road?” he asked. - -“Yes,” whined the man. - -“You can get out of Chichester as quick as you like,” said the officer. -“Are you looking for a bed?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Why don’t you try the casual ward at the workhouse?” - -“They’re full up, sir.” - -“That’s a lie,” said the officer. “Now understand, if I see you again -I’ll arrest you!” - -Muttering something to himself, the squalid figure moved on toward the -Arundel Road, his shoulders hunched, his hands hidden in the depths of -his pockets. - -Out of sight of the policeman, he turned abruptly to the right and -accelerated his pace. He was making for Jack Knebworth’s house. The -director heard the knock, opened the door and stood aghast at the -unexpected character of the caller. - -“What do you want, bo’?” he asked. - -“Mr. Brixan come back?” - -“No, he hasn’t come back. You’d better give me that letter. I’ll get in -touch with him by ’phone.” - -The tramp grinned and shook his head. - -“No, you don’t. I want to see Brixan.” - -“Well, you won’t see him here to-night,” said Jack. And then, -suspiciously: “My idea is that you don’t want to see him at all, and -that you’re hanging around for some other purpose.” - -The tramp did not reply. He was whistling softly a distorted passage -from the “Indian Love Lyrics,” and all the time his right foot was -beating the time. - -“He’s in a bad way, is old Brixan,” he said, and there was a certain -amount of pleasure in his voice that annoyed Knebworth. - -“What do you know about him?” - -“I know he’s in bad with headquarters—that’s what I know,” said the -tramp. “He couldn’t find where the letters went to: that’s the trouble -with him. But _I_ know.” - -“Is that what you want to see him about?” - -The man nodded vigorously. - -“I know,” he said again. “I could tell him something if he was here, but -he ain’t here.” - -“If you know he isn’t here,” asked the exasperated Jack, “why in blazes -do you come?” - -“Because the police are chivvying me, that’s why. A copper down on the -market-place is going to pinch me next time he sees me. So I thought I’d -come up to fill in the time, that’s what!” - -Jack stared at him. - -“You’ve got a nerve,” he said in awe-stricken tones. “And now you’ve -filled in your time and I’ve entertained you, you can get! Do you want -anything to eat?” - -“Not me,” said the tramp. “I live on the fat of the land, I do!” - -His shrill Cockney voice was getting on Jack’s nerves. - -“Well, good night,” he said shortly, and closed the door on his -unprepossessing visitor. - -The tramp waited for quite a long time before he made any move. Then, -from the interior of his cap, he took a cigarette and lit it before he -shuffled back the way he had come, making a long detour to avoid the -centre of the town, where the unfriendly policeman was on duty. A church -clock was striking a quarter past ten when he reached the corner of the -Arundel Road, and, throwing away his cigarette, moved into the shadow of -the fence and waited. - -Five minutes, ten minutes passed, and his keen eyes caught sight of a -man walking rapidly the way he had come, and he grinned in the darkness. -It was Knebworth. Jack had been perturbed by the visitor, and was on his -way to the police station to make inquiries about Michael. This the -tramp guessed, though he had little time to consider the director’s -movements, for a car came noiselessly around the corner and stopped -immediately opposite him. - -“Is that you, my friend?” - -“Yes,” said the tramp in a sulky voice. - -“Come inside.” - -The tramp lurched forward, peering into the dark interior of the car. -Then, with a turn of his wrist, he jerked open the door, put one foot on -the running-board, and suddenly flung himself upon the driver. - -“_Mr. Head-Hunter, I want you!_” he hissed. - -The words were hardly out of his mouth before something soft and wet -struck him in the face—something that blinded and choked him, so that -he let go his grip and fought and clawed like a dying man at the air. A -push of the driver’s foot, and he was flung, breathless, to the -side-walk, and the car sped on. - -Jack Knebworth had witnessed the scene as far as it could be witnessed -in the half-darkness, and came running across. A policeman appeared from -nowhere, and together they lifted the tramp into a sitting position. - -“I’ve seen this fellow before to-night,” said the policeman. “I warned -him.” - -And then the prostrate man drew a long, sighing breath, and his hands -went up to his eyes. - -“This is where I hand in my resignation,” he said, and Knebworth’s jaw -dropped. - -It was the voice of Michael Brixan! - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV - THE SEARCH - - -“YES, it’s me,” said Michael bitterly. “All right, officer, you needn’t -wait. Jack, I’ll come up to the house to get this make-up off.” - -“For the Lord’s sake!” breathed Knebworth, staring at the detective. -“I’ve never seen a man made up so well that he deceived me.” - -“I’ve deceived everybody, including myself,” said Michael savagely. “I -thought I’d caught him with a dummy letter, instead of which the devil -caught me.” - -“What was it?” - -“Ammonia, I think—a concentrated solution thereof,” said Michael. - -It was twenty minutes before he emerged from the bathroom, his eyes -inflamed but otherwise his old self. - -“I wanted to trap him in my own way, but he was too smart for me.” - -“Do you know who he is?” - -Michael nodded. - -“Oh, yes, I know,” he said. “I’ve got a special force of men here, -waiting to effect the arrest, but I didn’t want a fuss, and I certainly -did not want bloodshed. And bloodshed there will be, unless I am -mistaken.” - -“I didn’t seem to recognize the car, and I know most of the machines in -this city,” said Jack. - -“It is a new one, used only for these midnight adventures of the -Head-Hunter. He probably garages it away from his house. You asked me if -I’d have something to eat just now, and I lied and told you I was living -on the fat of the land. Give me some food, for the love of heaven!” - -Jack went into the larder and brought out some cold meat, brewed a pot -of coffee, and sat in silence, watching the famished detective dispose -of the viands. - -“I feel a man now,” said Michael as he finished, “for I’d had nothing to -eat except a biscuit since eleven this morning. By the way, our friend -Stella Mendoza is staying at Griff Towers, and I’m afraid I rather -scared her. I happened to be nosing round there an hour ago, to make -absolutely sure of my bird, and I looked in upon her—to her alarm!” - -There came a sharp rap at the door, and Jack Knebworth looked up. - -“Who’s that at this time of night?” he asked. - -“Probably the policeman,” said Michael. - -Knebworth opened the door and found a short, stout, middle-aged woman -standing on the doorstep with a roll of paper in her hand. - -“Is this Mr. Knebworth’s?” she asked. - -“Yes,” said Jack. - -“I’ve brought the play that Miss Leamington left behind. She asked me to -bring it to you.” - -Knebworth took the roll of paper and slipped off the elastic band which -encircled it. It was the manuscript of “Roselle.” - -“Why have you brought this?” he asked. - -“She told me to bring it up if I found it.” - -“Very good,” said Jack, mystified. “Thank you very much.” - -He closed the door on the woman and went back to the dining-room. - -“Adele has sent up her script. What’s wrong, I wonder?” - -“Who brought it?” asked Michael, interested. - -“Her landlady, I suppose,” said Jack, describing the woman. - -“Yes, that’s she. Adele is not turning in her part?” - -Jack shook his head. - -“That wouldn’t be likely.” - -Michael was puzzled. - -“What the dickens does it mean? What did the woman say?” - -“She said that Miss Leamington wanted her to bring up the manuscript if -she found it.” - -Michael was out of the house in a second, and, racing down the street, -overtook the woman. - -“Will you come back, please?” he said, and escorted her to the house -again. “Just tell Mr. Knebworth why Miss Leamington sent this -manuscript, and what you mean by having ‘forgotten’ it.” - -“Why, when she came up to you——” began the woman. - -“Came up to me?” cried Knebworth quickly. - -“A gentleman from the studio called for her, and said you wanted to see -her,” said the landlady. “Miss Leamington was just going to bed, but I -took up the message. He said you wanted to see her about the play, and -asked her to bring the manuscript. She had mislaid it somewhere and was -in a great state about it, so I told her to go on, as you were in a -hurry, and I’d bring it up. At least, she asked me to do that.” - -“What sort of a gentleman was it who called?” - -“A rather stout gentleman. He wasn’t exactly a gentleman, he was a -chauffeur. As a matter of fact, I thought he’d been drinking, though I -didn’t want to alarm Miss Leamington by telling her so.” - -“And then what happened?” asked Michael quickly. - -“She came down and got in the car. The chauffeur was already in.” - -“A closed car, I suppose?” - -The woman nodded. - -“And then they drove off? What time was this?” - -“Just after half-past ten. I remember, because I heard the church clock -strike just before the car drove up.” - -Michael was cool now. His voice scarcely rose above a whisper. - -“Twenty-five past eleven,” he said, looking at his watch. “You’ve been a -long time coming.” - -“I couldn’t find the paper, sir. It was under Miss Leamington’s pillow. -Isn’t she here?” - -“No, she’s not here,” said Michael quietly. “Thank you very much; I -won’t keep you. Will you wait for me at the police station?” - -He went upstairs and put on his coat. - -“Where do you think she is?” asked Jack. - -“She is at Griff Towers,” replied the other, “and whether Gregory Penne -lives or dies this night depends entirely upon the treatment that Adele -has received at his hands.” - -At the police station he found the landlady, a little frightened, more -than a little tearful. - -“What was Miss Leamington wearing when she went out?” - -“Her blue cloak, sir,” whimpered the woman, “that pretty blue cloak she -always wore.” - -Scotland Yard men were at the station, and it was a heavily loaded car -that ran out to Chichester—too heavy for Michael, in a fever of -impatience, for the weight of its human cargo checked its speed, and -every second was precious. At last, after an eternity of time, the big -car swung into the drive. Michael did not stop to waken the -lodge-keeper, but smashed the frail gates open with the buffers of his -machine, mounted the slope, crossing the gravel parade, and halted. - -There was no need to ring the bell: the door was wide open, and, at the -head of his party, Mike Brixan dashed through the deserted hall, along -the corridor into Gregory’s library. One light burnt, offering a feeble -illumination, but the room was empty. With rapid strides he crossed to -the desk and turned the switch. Bhag’s den opened, but Bhag too was an -absentee. - -He pressed the bell by the side of the fireplace, and almost immediately -the brown-faced servitor whom he had seen before came trembling into the -room. - -“Where is your master?” asked Michael in Dutch. - -The man shook his head. - -“I don’t know,” he replied, but instinctively he looked up to the -ceiling. - -“Show me the way.” - -They went back to the hall, up the broad stairway on to the first floor. -Along a corridor, hung with swords, as was its fellow below, he reached -another open door—the great dance hall where Gregory Penne had held -revel that evening. There was nobody in sight, and Michael came out into -the hall. As he did so, he was aware of a frantic tapping at one of the -doors in the corridor. The key was in the lock: he turned it and flung -the door wide open, and Stella Mendoza, white as death, staggered out. - -“Where is Adele?” she gasped. - -“I want to ask you that,” said Michael sternly. “Where is she?” - -The girl shook her head helplessly, strove to speak, and then collapsed -in a swoon. - -He did not wait for her to recover, but continued his search. From room -to room he went, but there was no sign of Adele or the brutal owner of -Griff Towers. He searched the library again, and passed through into the -little drawing-room, where a table was laid for two. The cloth was wet -with spilt wine; one glass was half empty—but the two for whom the -table was laid had vanished. They must have gone out of the front -door—whither? - -He was standing tense, his mind concentrated upon a problem that was -more vital to him than life itself, when he heard a sound that came from -the direction of Bhag’s den. And then there appeared in the doorway the -monstrous ape himself. He was bleeding from a wound in the shoulder; the -blood fell drip-drip-drip as he stood, clutching in his two great hands -something that seemed like a bundle of rags. As Michael looked, the room -rocked before his eyes. - -The tattered, stained garment that Bhag held was the cloak that Adele -Leamington had worn! - -For a second Bhag glared at the man who he knew was his enemy, and then, -dropping the cloak, he shrank back toward his quarters, his teeth bared. - -Three times Michael’s automatic spat, and the great, man-like thing -disappeared in a flash—and the door closed with a click. - -Knebworth had been a witness of the scene. It was he who ran forward and -picked up the cloak that the ape had dropped. - -“Yes, that was hers,” he said huskily, and a horrible thought chilled -him. - -Michael had opened the door of the den, and, pistol in hand, dashed -through the opening. Knebworth dared not follow. He stood petrified, -waiting, and then Michael reappeared. - -“There’s nothing here,” he said. - -“Nothing?” asked Jack Knebworth in a whisper. “Thank God!” - -“Bhag has gone—I think I may have hit him; there is a trail of blood, -but I may not be responsible for that. He had been shot recently,” he -pointed to stains on the floor. “He wasn’t shot when I saw him last.” - -“Have you seen him before to-night?” - -Michael nodded. - -“For three nights he has been haunting Longvale’s house.” - -“Longvale’s!” - -Where was Adele? That was the one dominant question, the one thought -uppermost in Michael Brixan’s mind. And where was the baronet? What was -the meaning of that open door? None of the servants could tell him, and -for some reason he saw that they were speaking the truth. Only Penne and -the girl—and this great ape—knew, unless—— - -He hurried back to where he had left a detective trying to revive the -unconscious Stella Mendoza. - -“She has passed from one fainting fit to another,” said the officer. “I -can get nothing out of her except that once she said ‘Kill him, Adele.’” - -“Then she has seen her!” said Michael. - -One of the officers he had left outside to watch the building had a -report to make. He had seen a dark figure climbing the wall and -disappear apparently through the solid brickwork. A few minutes later it -had come out again. - -“That was Bhag,” said Michael. “I knew he was not here when we arrived. -He must have come in through the opening while we were upstairs.” - -The car that had carried Adele had been found. It was Stella’s, and at -first Michael suspected that the girl was a party to the abduction. He -learnt afterwards that, whilst the woman’s chauffeur had been in the -kitchen, virtually a prisoner, Penne himself had driven the car to the -girl’s house, and it was the sight of the machine, which she knew -belonged to Stella, that had lulled any suspicions she may have had. - -Michael was in a condition bordering upon frenzy. The Head-Hunter and -his capture was insignificant compared with the safety of the girl. - -“If I don’t find her I shall go mad,” he said. - -Jack Knebworth had opened his lips to answer when there came a startling -interruption. Borne on the still night air came a scream of agony which -turned the director’s blood to ice. - -“Help, help!” - -Shrill as was the cry, Michael knew that it was the voice of a man, and -knew that that man was Gregory Penne! - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV - WHAT HAPPENED TO ADELE - - -THERE were moments when Adele Leamington had doubts as to her fitness -for the profession she had entered; and never were those periods of -doubt more poignant than when she tried to fix her mind upon the written -directions of the scenario. She blamed Michael, and was immediately -repentant. She blamed herself more freely; and at last she gave up the -struggle, rolled up the manuscript book, and, putting an elastic band -about it, thrust it under her pillow and prepared for bed. She had rid -herself of skirt and blouse when the summons came. - -“From Mr. Knebworth?” she said in surprise. “At this time of night?” - -“Yes, miss. He’s going to make a big alteration to-morrow and he wants -to see you at once. He has sent his car. Miss Mendoza is coming into the -cast.” - -“Oh!” she said faintly. - -Then she had been a failure, after all, and had lived in a fool’s -paradise for these past days. - -“I’ll come at once,” she said. - -Her fingers trembled as she fastened her dress, and she hated herself -for such a display of weakness. Perhaps Stella was not coming into the -cast in her old part; perhaps some new character had been written in; -perhaps it was not for “Roselle” at all that she had been re-engaged. -These and other speculations rioted in her mind; and she was in the -passage and the door was opened when she remembered that Jack Knebworth -would want the manuscript. She ran upstairs, and, by an aberration of -memory, forgot entirely where the script had been left. At last, in -despair, she went down to the landlady. - -“I have left some manuscripts which are rather important. Would you -bring them up to Mr. Knebworth’s house when you find them? They’re in a -little brown jacket——” She described the appearance as well as she -could. - -It was Stella Mendoza’s car; she recognized the machine with a pang. So -Jack and she were reconciled! - -In a minute she was inside the machine, the door closed behind her, and -was sitting by the driver, who did not speak. - -“Is Mr. Brixan with Mr. Knebworth?” she asked. - -He did not reply. She thought he had not heard her, until he turned with -a wide sweep and set the car going in the opposite direction. - -“This is not the way to Mr. Knebworth’s,” she said in alarm. “Don’t you -know the way?” - -Still he made no reply. The machine gathered speed, passed down a long, -dark street, and turned into a country lane. - -“Stop the car at once!” she said, terrified, and put her hand on the -handle of the door. - -Instantly her arm was gripped. - -“My dear, you’re going to injure your pretty little body, and probably -spoil your beautiful face, if you attempt to get out while the car is in -motion,” he said. - -“Sir Gregory!” she gasped. - -“Now don’t make a fuss,” said Gregory. There was no mistaking the -elation in his voice. “You’re coming up to have a little bit of supper -with me. I’ve asked you often enough, and now you’re going willy-nilly! -Stella’s there, so there’s nothing to be afraid of.” - -She held down her fears with an effort. - -“Sir Gregory, you will take me back at once to my lodgings,” she said. -“This is disgraceful of you!” - -He chuckled loudly. - -“Nothing’s going to happen to you; nobody’s going to hurt you, and -you’ll be delivered safe and sound; but you’re going to have supper with -me first, little darling. And if you make a fuss, I’m going to turn the -car into the first tree I see and smash us all up!” - -He was drunk—drunk not only with wine, but with the lust of power. -Gregory had achieved his object, and would stop at nothing now. - -Was Stella there? She did not believe him. And yet it might be true. She -grasped at the straw which Stella’s presence offered. - -“Here we are,” grunted Gregory, as he stopped the car before the Towers -door and slipped out on to the gravel. - -Before she realized what he was doing, he had lifted her in his arms, -though she struggled desperately. - -“If you scream I’ll kiss you,” growled his voice in her ear, and she lay -passive. - -The door opened instantly. She looked down at the servant standing -stolidly in the hall, as Gregory carried her up the wide stairway, and -wondered what help might come from him. Presently Penne set her down on -her feet and, opening a door, thrust her in. - -“Here’s your friend, Stella,” he said. “Say the good word for me! Knock -some sense into her head if you can. I’ll come back in ten minutes, and -we’ll have the grandest little wedding supper that any bridegroom ever -had.” - -The door was banged and locked upon her before she realized there was -another woman in the room. It was Stella. Her heart rose at the sight of -the girl’s white face. - -“Oh, Miss Mendoza,” she said breathlessly, “thank God you’re here!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI - THE ESCAPE - - -“DON’T start thanking God too soon,” said Stella with ominous calm. “Oh, -you little fool, why did you come here?” - -“He brought me. I didn’t want to come,” said Adele. - -She was half hysterical in her fright. She tried hard to imitate the -calm of her companion, biting her quivering lips to keep them still, and -after a while she was calm enough to tell what had happened. Stella’s -face clouded. - -“Of course, he took my car,” she said, speaking to herself, “and he has -caught the chauffeur, as he said he would. Oh, my God!” - -“What will he do?” asked Adele in a whisper. - -Stella’s fine eyes turned on the girl. - -“What do you think he will do?” she asked significantly. “He’s a -beast—the kind of beast you seldom meet except in books—and locked -rooms. He’ll have no more mercy on you than Bhag would have on you.” - -“If Michael knows, he will kill him.” - -“Michael? Oh, Brixan, you mean?” said Stella with newly awakened -interest. “Is he fond of you? Is that why he hangs around the lot? That -never struck me before. But what does he care about Michael or any other -man? He can run—his yacht is at Southampton, and he depends a lot upon -his wealth to get him out of these kind of scrapes. And he knows that -decent women shrink from appearance in a police court. Oh, he’s got all -sorts of defences. He’s a worm, but a scaly worm!” - -“What shall I do?” - -Stella was walking up and down the narrow apartment, her hands clasped -before her, her eyes sunk to the ground. - -“I don’t think he’ll hurt me.” And then, inconsequently, she went off at -a tangent: “I saw a tramp at that window two hours ago.” - -“A tramp?” said the bewildered girl. - -Stella nodded. - -“It scared me terribly, until I remembered his eyes. They were Brixan’s -eyes, though you’d never guess it, the make-up was so wonderful.” - -“Michael? Is he here?” asked the girl eagerly. - -“He’s somewhere around. That is your salvation, and there’s another.” - -She took down from a shelf a small Browning. - -“Did you ever fire a pistol?” - -The girl nodded. - -“I have to, in one scene,” she said a little awkwardly. - -“Of course! Well, this is loaded. That”—she pointed—“is the safety -catch. Push it down with your thumb before you start to use it. You had -better kill Penne—better for you, and better for him, I think.” - -The girl shrank back in horror. - -“Oh, no, no!” - -“Put it in your pocket—have you a pocket?” - -There was one inside the blue cloak the girl was wearing, and into this -Stella dropped the pistol. - -“You don’t know what sort of sacrifice I’m making,” she said frankly, -“and it isn’t as though I’m doing it for somebody I’m fond of, because -I’m not particularly fond of you, Adele Leamington. But I wouldn’t be -fit to live if I let that brute get you without a struggle.” - -And then impulsively she stooped forward and kissed the girl, and Adele -put her arms about her neck and clung to her for a second. - -“He’s coming,” whispered Stella Mendoza, and stepped back with a -gesture. - -It was Gregory—Gregory in his scarlet pyjama jacket and purple -dressing-gown, his face aflame, his eyes fired with excitement. - -“Come on, you!” He crooked his finger. “Not you, Mendoza: you stay here, -eh? You can see her after, perhaps—after supper.” - -He leered down at the shrinking girl. - -“Nobody’s going to hurt you. Leave your cloak here.” - -“No, I’ll wear it,” she said. - -Her hand went instinctively to the butt of the pistol and closed upon -it. - -“All right, come as you are. It makes no difference to me.” - -He held her tightly by the hand and marched by her side, surprised and -pleased that she offered so little resistance. Down into the hall they -went, and then to the little drawing-room adjoining his study. He flung -open the door and showed her the gaily decorated table, pushing her into -the room before him. - -“Wine and a kiss!” he roared, as he pulled the cork from a champagne -bottle and sent the amber fluid splashing upon the spotless tablecloth. -“Wine and a kiss!” He splashed the glass out to her so that it spilt and -trickled down her cloak. - -She shook her head mutely. - -“Drink!” he snarled, and she touched the glass with her lips. - -Then, before she could realize what had happened, she was in his arms, -his great face pressed down to hers. She tried to escape from the -encirclement of his embrace, successfully averted her mouth and felt his -hot lips pressing against her cheek. - -Presently he let her go, and, staggering to the door, kicked it shut. -His fingers were closing on the key handle when: - -“If you turn that key I’ll kill you.” - -He looked up in ludicrous surprise, and, at the sight of the pistol in -the girl’s hand, his big hands waved before his face in a gesture of -fear. - -“Put it down, you fool!” he squealed. “Put it down! Don’t you know what -you’re doing? The damned thing may go off by accident.” - -“It will not go off by accident,” she said. “Open that door.” - -He hesitated for a moment, and then her thumb tightened on the -safety-catch, and he must have seen the movement. - -“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” he screamed, and flung the door wide open. -“Wait, you fool! Don’t go out. Bhag is there. Bhag will get you. Stay -with me. I’ll——” - -But she was flying down the corridor. She slipped on a loose rug in the -hall but recovered herself. Her trembling hands were working at the -bolts and chains; the door swung open, and in another instant she was in -the open, free. - -Sir Gregory followed her. The shock of her escape had sobered him, and -all the tragic consequences which might follow came crowding in upon -him, until his very soul writhed in fear. Dashing back to his study, he -opened his safe, took out a bundle of notes. These he thrust into the -pocket of a fur-lined overcoat that was hanging in a cupboard and put it -on. He changed his slippers for thick shoes, and then bethought him of -Bhag. He opened the den, but Bhag was not there, and he raised his -shaking fingers to his lips. If Bhag caught her! - -Some glimmering of a lost manhood stirred dully in his mind. He must -first be sure of Bhag. He went out into the darkness in search of his -strange and horrible servant. Putting both hands to his mouth, he -emitted a long and painful howl, the call that Bhag had never yet -disobeyed, and then waited. There was no answer. Again he sent forth the -melancholy sound, but, if Bhag heard him, for the first time in his life -he did not obey. - -Gregory Penne stood in a sweat of fear, but, so standing, recovered some -of his balance. There was time to change. He went up to his ornate -bedroom, flung off his pyjamas, and in a short space of time was down -again in the dark grounds, seeking for the ape. - -Dressed, he felt more of a man. A long glass of whisky restored some of -his confidence. He rang for the servant who was in charge of his car. - -“Have the machine by the postern gate,” he said. “Get it there at once. -See that the gate is open: I may have to leave to-night.” - -That he would be arrested he did not doubt. Not all his wealth, his -position, the pull he had in the county, could save him. This latest -deed of his was something more than eccentricity. - -Then he remembered that Stella Mendoza was still in the house, and went -up to see her. A glance at his face told her that something unusual had -happened. - -“Where is Adele?” she asked instantly. - -“I don’t know. She escaped—she had a pistol. Bhag went after her. God -knows what will happen if he finds her. He’ll tear her limb from limb. -What’s that?” - -It was the faint sound of a pistol shot at a distance, and it came from -the back of the house. - -“Poachers,” said Gregory uneasily. “Listen, I’m going.” - -“Where are you going?” she asked. - -“That’s no damned business of yours,” he snarled. “Here’s some money.” -He thrust some notes into her hand. - -“What have you done?” she whispered in horror. - -“I’ve done nothing, I tell you,” he stormed. “But they’ll take me for -it. I’m going to get to the yacht. You’d better clear before they come.” - -She was collecting her hat and gloves when she heard the door close and -the key turn. Mechanically he had locked her in, and mechanically took -no heed of her beating hand upon the panel of the door. - -Griff Towers stood on high ground and commanded a view of the by-road -from Chichester. As he stood in the front of the house, hoping against -hope that he would see the ape, he saw instead two lights come rapidly -along the road. - -“The police!” he croaked, and went blundering across the kitchen garden -to the gate. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII - AT THE TOWER AGAIN - - -ADELE went flying down the drive, intent only upon one object, to escape -from this horrible house. The gates were closed, the lodge was in -darkness, and she strove desperately to unfasten the iron catch, but it -held. - -Looking back toward the oblong of light which represented the tower -door, she was dimly aware of a figure moving stealthily along the grass -that bordered each side of the roadway. For a moment she thought it was -Gregory Penne, and then the true explanation of that skulking shape came -to her, and she nearly dropped. It was Bhag! - -She moved as quietly as she could along the side of the wall, creeping -from bush to bush, but he had seen her, and came in pursuit, moving -slowly, cautiously, as though he was not quite sure that she was -legitimate prey. Perhaps there was another gate, she thought, and -continued, glancing over her shoulder from time to time, and gripping -the little pistol in her hand with such intensity that it was slippery -with perspiration before she had gone a hundred yards. - -Now she left the cover of the wall and came across a meadow, and at -first she thought that she had slipped her pursuer. But Bhag seldom went -into the open, and presently she saw him again. He was parallel with -her, walking under the wall, and showing no sign of hurry. Perhaps, she -thought, if she continued, he would drop his pursuit and go off. It -might be curiosity that kept him on her trail. But this hope was -disappointed. She crossed a stile and followed a path until she realized -it was bringing her nearer and nearer to the wall where her watcher was -keeping pace with her. As soon as she realized this, she turned abruptly -from the path, and found herself walking through dew-laden grasses. She -was wet to the knees before she had gone far, but she did not even know -this—Bhag had left cover and was following her into the open! - -She wondered if the grounds were entirely enclosed by a wall, and was -relieved when she came to a low fence. Stumbling down a bank on to a -road which was evidently the eastern boundary of the property, she ran -at full speed, though where the road led she could not guess. Glancing -back, she saw, to her horror, that Bhag was following, yet making no -attempt to decrease the distance which separated them. - -And then, far away, she saw the lights of a cottage. They seemed close -at hand, but were in reality more than two miles distant. With a sob of -thankfulness she turned from the road and ran up a gentle slope, only to -discover, to her dismay, when she reached the crest, that the lights -seemed as far away as ever. Looking back, she saw Bhag, his green eyes -gleaming in the darkness. - -Where was she? Glancing round, she found an answer. Ahead and to the -left was the squat outline of old Griff Tower. - -And then, for some reason, Bhag dropped his rôle of interested watcher, -and, with a dog-like growl, leapt at her. She flew upward toward the -tower, her breath coming in sobs, her heart thumping so that she felt -every moment she would drop from sheer exhaustion. A hand clutched at -her cloak and tore it from her. That gave her a moment’s respite. She -must face her enemy, or she herself must perish. - -Spinning round, her shaking pistol raised, she confronted the monster, -who was growling and tearing at the clothing in his hand. Again he -crouched to spring, and she pressed the trigger. The unexpected loudness -of the explosion so startled her that she nearly dropped the pistol. -With a howl of anguish he fell, gripping at his wounded shoulder, but -rose again immediately. And then he began to move backward, watching her -all the time. - -What should she do? In her present position he might creep from bush to -bush and pounce upon her at any moment. She looked up at the tower. If -she could reach the top! And then she remembered the ladder that Jack -Knebworth had left behind. But that would have been collected. - -She moved stealthily, keeping her eye upon the ape, and though he was -motionless, she knew he was watching her. Then, groping in the grass, -her fingers touched the light ladder, and she lifted it without -difficulty and placed it against the wall. She had heard Jack say that -the ape could not have climbed the tower from the outside without -assistance, though it had been an easy matter, with the aid of the trees -growing against the wall inside, for him to get out. - -Bhag was still visible; the dull glow of his eyes was dreadful to see. -With a wild run she reached the top of the ladder and began pulling it -up after her. Bhag crept nearer and nearer till he came to the foot of -the tower, made three ineffectual efforts to scale the wall and failed. -She heard his twitter of rage, and guided the ladder to the inside of -the tower. - -For a long time they sat, looking at one another, the orang-outang and -the girl. And then Bhag crept away. She followed him as far as her keen -eyes could distinguish his ungainly shape, waiting until she was certain -he had gone, and then reached for the ladder. The lower rung must have -caught in one of the bushes below. She tugged, tugged again, tugged for -the third time, and it came away so smoothly that she lost her balance. -For a second she was holding the top of the wall with one hand, the -ladder with the other; then, half-sliding, half-tumbling, she came down -with a run, and picked herself up breathless. She could have laughed at -the mishap but for the eerie loneliness of her new surroundings. She -tried to erect the ladder again, but in the dark it was impossible to -get a firm foundation. - -There must be small stones somewhere about, and she began to look out -for them. She reached the bottom of the circular depression, and pushing -aside a bush to make further progress, feeling all the time with her -feet for a suitable prop, suddenly she slipped. She was dropping down a -sloping shaft into the depths of the earth! - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII - THE CAVERN OF BONES - - -DOWN, down, down she fell, one hand clawing wildly at the soft earth, -the other clenching unconsciously at the tiny pistol. She was rolling -down a steep slope. Once her feet came violently and painfully into -contact with an out-jutting rock, and the shock and the pain of it -turned her sick and faint. Whither she was going she dared not think. It -seemed an eternity before, at last, she struck a level floor and, -rolling over and over, was brought up against a rocky wall with a jolt -that shook the breath from her body. - -Eternity it seemed, yet it could not have been more than a few seconds. -For five minutes she lay, recovering, on the rock floor. She got up with -a grimace of pain, felt her hurt ankle, and worked her foot to discover -if anything was broken. Looking up, she saw a pale star above, and, -guessing that it was the opening through which she had fallen, attempted -to climb back; but with every step she took the soft earth gave under -her feet and she slipped back again. - -She had lost a shoe: that was the first tangible truth that asserted -itself. She groped round in the darkness and found it after a while, -half embedded in the earth. She shook it empty, dusted her stockinged -foot, and put it on. Then she sat down to wonder what she should do -next. She guessed that, with the coming of day, she would be able to -examine her surroundings, and she must wait, with what philosophy she -could summon, for the morning to break. - -It was then that she became conscious that she was still gripping the -earth-caked Browning, and, with a half-smile, she cleaned it as best she -could, pressed down the safety-catch and, putting the weapon inside her -blouse, thrust its blunt nose into the waistband of her skirt. - -The mystery of Bhag’s reappearance was now a mystery no longer. He had -been hiding in the cave, though it was her imagination that supplied the -queer animal scent which was peculiarly his. - -How far did the cave extend? She peered left and right, but could see -nothing; then, groping cautiously, feeling every inch of her way, her -hand struck a stone pillar, and she withdrew it quickly, for it was wet -and clammy. - -And then she made a discovery of the greatest importance to her. She was -feeling along the wall when her hand went into a niche, and by the -surface of its shelf she knew it was man-fashioned. She put her hand -farther along, and her heart leapt as she touched something which had a -familiar and homely feel. It was a lantern. Her other hand went up, and -presently she opened its glass door and felt a length of candle, and, at -the bottom of the lantern, a small box of matches. - -It was no miracle, as she was to learn; but for the moment it seemed -that that possibility of light had come in answer to her unspoken -prayers. Striking a match with a hand that shook so that the light went -out immediately, she at last succeeded in kindling the wick. The candle -was new, and at first its light was feeble; but presently the wax began -to burn, and, closing the lantern door, her surroundings came into view. - -She was in a narrow cave, from the roof of which hung innumerable -stalactites; but the dripping water which is inseparable from this queer -formation was absent at the foot of the opening where she had tumbled. -Farther along the floor was wet, and a tiny stream of water ran in a -sort of naturally carved tunnel on one side of the path. Here, where the -cave broadened, the stalactites were many, and left and right, at such -regular intervals and of such even shape that they seemed almost to have -been sculptured by human agency, were little caves within caves, narrow -openings that revealed, in the light of her lantern, the splendour of -nature’s treasures. Fairylike grottos, rich with delicate stone -traceries; tiny lakes that sparkled in the light of the lantern. Broader -and broader grew the cave, until she stood in a huge chamber that -appeared to be festooned with frozen lace. And here the floor was -littered with queer white sticks. There were thousands of them, of every -conceivable shape and size. They showed whitely in the gleam of her -lantern, in the crevices of the rocks. She stooped and picked one up, -dropping it quickly with a cry of horror. They were human bones! - -With a shuddering gasp she half walked, half ran across the great -cavern, which began to narrow again and assumed the appearance of that -portion of the cave into which she had fallen. And here she saw, in -another niche, a second lantern, with new candle and matches. Who had -placed them there? The first lantern she had not dared to think about: -it belonged to the miraculous category. But the second brought her up -with a jerk. Who had placed these lanterns at intervals along the wall -of the cave, as if in preparation for an expected emergency? There must -be somebody who lived down here. She breathed a little more quickly at -the thought. - -Going on slowly, she examined every foot of the way, the second lantern, -unlighted, slung on her arm. At one part, the floor was flooded with -running water; at another, she had to wade through a little subterranean -ford, where the water came over her ankle. And now the cave was curving -imperceptibly to the right. From time to time she stopped and listened, -hoping to hear the sound of a human voice, and yet fearing. The roof of -the cave came lower. There were signs in the roof that the stalactites -had been knocked off to afford head room for the mysterious person who -haunted these underground chambers. - -Once she stopped, her heart thumping painfully at the sound of -footsteps. They passed over her head, and then came a curious humming -sound that grew in intensity, passed and faded. A motor-car! She was -under the road! Of course, old Griff Tower stood upon the hillside. She -was now near the road level, and possibly eight or nine feet above her -the stars were shining. She looked wistfully at the ragged surface of -the roof, and, steeling herself against the terrors that rose within -her, she went on. She had need of nerve, need of courage beyond the -ordinary. - -The cave passage turned abruptly; the little grotto openings in the wall -occurred again. Suddenly she stopped dead. The light of the lantern -showed into one of the grottos. Two men lay side by side—— - -She stifled the scream that rose to her lips, pressing her hands tight -upon her mouth, her eyes shut tightly to hide the sight. They were -dead—headless! Lying in a shallow pool, the petrifying water came -dripping down upon them, as it would drip down for everlasting until -these pitiful things were stone. - -For a long time she dared not move, dared not open her eyes, but at last -her will conquered, and she looked with outward calm upon a sight that -froze her very marrow. The next grotto was similarly tenanted, only this -time there was one man. And then, when she was on the point of sinking -under the shock, a tiny point of light appeared in the gloom ahead. It -moved and swayed, and there came to her the sound of a fearful laugh. - -She acted instantly. Pulling open the door of the lantern, she stooped -and blew it out, and stood, leaning against the wall of the cave, -oblivious to the grisly relics that surrounded her, conscious only of -the danger which lay ahead. Then a brighter light blazed up and another, -till the distant spaces wherein they burnt were as bright as day. As she -stood, wondering, there came to her a squeal of mortal agony and a -whining voice that cried: - -“Help! Oh, God, help! Brixan, I am not fit to die!” - -It was the voice of Sir Gregory Penne. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX - MICHAEL KNOWS FOR SURE - - -IT was that same voice that had brought Michael Brixan racing across the -garden to the postern gate. A car stood outside, its lights dimmed. -Standing by its bonnet was a frightened little brown man who had brought -the machine to the place. - -“Where is your master?” asked Michael quickly. - -The man pointed. - -“He went that way,” he quavered. “There was a devil in the big -machine—it would not move when he stamped on the little pedal.” - -Michael guessed what had happened. At the last moment, by one of those -queer mischances which haunt the just and the unjust, the engine had -failed him and he had fled on foot. - -“Which way did he go?” - -Again the man pointed. - -“He ran,” he said simply. - -Michael turned to the detective who was with him. - -“Stay here: he may return. Arrest him immediately and put the irons on -him. He’s probably armed, and he may be suicidal; we can’t afford to -take any risks.” - -He had been so often across what he had named the “Back Field” that he -could find his way blindfolded, and he ran at top speed till he came to -the stile and to the road. Sir Gregory was nowhere in sight. Fifty yards -along the road, the lights gleamed cheerily from an upper window in Mr. -Longvale’s house, and Michael bent his footsteps in that direction. - -Still no sight of the man, and he turned through the gate and knocked at -the door, which was almost immediately opened by the old gentleman -himself. He wore a silken gown, tied with a sash about the middle, a -picture of comfort, Michael thought. - -“Who’s that?” asked Mr. Sampson Longvale, peering out into the darkness. -“Why, bless my life, it’s Mr. Brixan, the officer of the law! Come in, -come in, sir.” - -He opened the door wide and Michael passed into the sitting-room, with -its inevitable two candles, augmented now by a small silver reading-lamp -that burnt some sort of petrol vapour. - -“No trouble at the Towers, I trust?” said Mr. Longvale anxiously. - -“There was a little trouble,” said Michael carefully. “Have you by any -chance seen Sir Gregory Penne?” - -The old man shook his head. - -“I found the night rather too chilly for my usual garden ramble,” he -said, “so I’ve seen none of the exciting events which seem inevitably to -accompany the hours of darkness in these times. Has anything happened to -him?” - -“I hope not,” said Michael quietly. “I hope, for everybody’s sake, -that—nothing has happened to him.” - -He walked across and leant his elbows on the mantelpiece, looking up at -the painting above his head. - -“Do you admire my relative?” beamed Mr. Longvale. - -“I don’t know that I admire him. He was certainly a wonderfully handsome -old gentleman.” - -Mr. Longvale inclined his head. - -“You have read his memoirs?” - -Michael nodded, and the old man did not seem in any way surprised. - -“Yes, I have read what purport to be his memoirs,” said Michael quietly, -“but latter-day opinion is that they are not authentic.” - -Mr. Longvale shrugged his shoulders. - -“Personally, I believe every word of them,” he said. “My uncle was a man -of considerable education.” - -It would have amazed Jack Knebworth to know that the man who had rushed -hotfoot from the tower in search of a possible murderer, was at that -moment calmly discussing biography; yet such was the incongruous, -unbelievable fact. - -“I sometimes feel that you think too much about your uncle, Mr. -Longvale,” said Michael gently. - -The old gentleman frowned. - -“You mean——?” - -“I mean that such a subject may become an obsession and a very unhealthy -obsession, and such hero-worship may lead a man to do things which no -sane man would do.” - -Longvale looked at him in genuine astonishment. - -“Can one do better than imitate the deeds of the great?” he asked. - -“Not if your sense of values hasn’t got all tangled up, and you ascribe -to him virtues which are not virtues—unless duty is a virtue—and -confuse that which is great with that which is terrible.” - -Michael turned and, resting his palms on the table, looked across to the -old man who confronted him. - -“I want you to come with me into Chichester this evening.” - -“Why?” The question was asked bluntly. - -“Because I think you’re a sick man, that you ought to have care.” - -The old man laughed and drew himself even more erect. - -“Sick? I was never better in my life, my dear sir, never fitter, never -stronger!” - -And he looked all that he said. His height, the breadth of his -shoulders, the healthy glow of his cheeks, all spoke of physical -fitness. - -A long pause, and then: - -“Where is Gregory Penne?” asked Michael, emphasizing every word. - -“I haven’t the slightest idea.” - -The old man’s eyes met his without wavering. - -“We were talking about my great-uncle. You know him, of course?” he -asked. - -“I knew him the first time I saw his picture, and I thought I had -betrayed my knowledge, but apparently I did not. Your -great-uncle”—Michael spoke deliberately—“was Sanson, otherwise -Longval, hereditary executioner of France!” - -Such a silence followed that the ticking of a distant clock sounded -distinctly. - -“Your uncle has many achievements to his credit. He hanged three men on -a gallows sixty feet high, unless my memory is at fault. His hand struck -off the head of Louis of France and his consort Marie Antoinette.” - -The look of pride in the old man’s face was startling. His eyes kindled, -he seemed to grow in height. - -“By what fantastic freak of fate you come to have settled in England, -what queer kink of mind decided you secretly to carry on the profession -of Sanson and seek far and wide for poor, helpless wretches to destroy, -I do not know.” - -Michael did not raise his voice, he spoke in a calm, conversational -tone; and in the same way did Longvale reply. - -“Is it not better,” he said gently, “that a man should pass out of life -through no act of his own, than that he should commit the unpardonable -crime of self-murder? Have I not been a benefactor to men who dared not -take their own lives?” - -“To Lawley Foss?” suggested Michael, his grave eyes fixed on the other. - -“He was a traitor, a vulgar blackmailer, a man who sought to use the -knowledge which had accidentally come to him, to extract money from me.” - -“Where is Gregory Penne?” - -A slow smile dawned on the man’s face. - -“You will not believe me? That is ungentle, sir! I have not seen Sir -Gregory.” - -Michael pointed to the hearth, where a cigarette was still smouldering. - -“There is that,” he said. “There are his muddy footprints on the carpet -of this room. There is the cry I heard. Where is he?” - -Within reach of his hand was his heavy-calibred Browning. A move on the -old man’s part, and he would lie maimed on the ground. Michael was -dealing with a homicidal lunatic of the most dangerous type, and would -not hesitate to shoot. - -But the old man showed no sign of antagonism. His voice was gentleness -itself. He seemed to feel and express a pride in crimes which, to his -brain, were not crimes at all. - -“If you really wish me to go into Chichester with you to-night, of -course I will go,” he said. “You may be right in your own estimation, -even in the estimation of your superiors, but, in ending my work, you -are rendering a cruel disservice to miserable humanity, to serve which I -have spent thousands of pounds. But I bear no malice.” - -He took a bottle from the long oaken buffet against the wall, selected -two glasses with scrupulous care, and filled them from the bottle. - -“We will drink our mutual good health,” he said with his old courtesy, -and, lifting his glass to his lips, drank it with that show of enjoyment -with which the old-time lovers of wine marked their approval of rare -vintages. - -“You’re not drinking?” he said in surprise. - -“Somebody else has drunk.” - -There was a glass half empty on the buffet: Michael saw it for the first -time. - -“He did not seem to enjoy the wine.” - -Mr. Longvale sighed. - -“Very few people understand wine,” he said, dusting a speck from his -coat. Then, drawing a silk handkerchief from his pocket, he stooped and -dusted his boots daintily. - -Michael was standing on a strip of hearth-rug in front of the fireplace, -his hand on his gun, tense but prepared for the moment of trial. Whence -the danger would come, what form it would take, he could not guess. But -danger was there—danger terrible and ruthless, emphasized rather than -relieved by the suavity of the old man’s tone—he felt in the creep of -his flesh. - -“You see, my dear sir,” Longvale went on, still dusting his boots. - -And then, before Michael could realize what had happened, he had grasped -the end of the rug on which the detective was standing and pulled it -with a quick jerk toward him. Before he could balance himself, Michael -had fallen with a crash to the floor, his head striking the oaken -panelling, his pistol sliding along the polished floor. In a flash, the -old man was on him, had flung him over on his face and dragged his hands -behind him. Michael tried to struggle, but he was as a child in that -powerful grip, placed at such a disadvantage as he was. He felt the -touch of cold steel on his wrists, there was a click, and, exerting all -his strength, he tried to pull his other hand away. But gradually, -slowly, it was forced back, and the second cuff snapped. - -There were footsteps on the path outside the cottage. The old man -straightened himself to pull off his silken gown and wrapped it round -and round the detective’s head, and then a knock came at the door. One -glance to see that his prisoner was safe, and Longvale extinguished the -lamp, blew out one of the candles, and carried the other into the -passage. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and the Scotland Yard officer, who -was the caller, apologized for disturbing a man who had apparently been -brought down from his bedroom to answer the knock. - -“Have you seen Mr. Brixan?” - -“Mr. Brixan? Yes, he was here a few minutes ago. He went on to -Chichester.” - -Michael heard the voices, but could not distinguish what was being said. -The silken wrapper about his head was suffocating him, and he was losing -his senses when the old man came back alone, unfastened the gown, and -put it on himself. - -“If you make a noise I will sew your lips together,” he said, so -naturally and good-naturedly that it seemed impossible he would carry -his threat into execution. But Michael knew that he was giving chapter -and verse; he was threatening that which his ancestor had often -performed. That beautiful old man, nicknamed by the gallants of Louis’ -court “Monsieur de Paris,” had broken and hanged and beheaded, but he -had also tortured men. There were smoke-blackened rooms in the old -Bastille where that venerable old hangman had performed nameless duties -without blenching. - -“I am sorry in many ways that you must go on,” said the old man, with -genuine regret in his voice. “You are a young man for whom I have a -great deal of respect. The law to me is sacred, and its officers have an -especially privileged place in my affections.” - -He pulled open a drawer of the buffet and took out a large serviette, -folded it with great care and fixed it tightly about Michael’s mouth. -Then he raised him up and sat him on a chair. - -“If I were a young and agile man, I would have a jest which would have -pleased my uncle Charles Henry. I would fix your head on the top of the -gates of Scotland Yard! I’ve often examined the gates with that idea in -my mind. Not that I thought of you, but that some day providence might -send me a very high official, a Minister, even a Prime Minister. My -uncle, as you know, was privileged to destroy kings and leaders of -parties—Danton, Robespierre, every great leader save Murat. Danton was -the greatest of them all.” - -There was an excellent reason why Michael should not answer. But he was -his own cool self again, and though his head was aching from the violent -knock it had received, his mind was clear. He was waiting now for the -next move, and suspected he would not be kept waiting long. What scenes -had this long dining-room witnessed! What moments of agony, mental and -physical! It was the very antechamber to death. - -Here, then, Bhag must have been rendered momentarily unconscious. -Michael guessed the lure of drugged wine, that butyl chloride which was -part of the murderer’s equipment. But for once Longvale had misjudged -the strength of his prey. Bhag must have followed the brown folk to -Dower House—the man and woman whom the old man in his cunning had -spared. - -Michael was soon to discover what was going to happen. The old man -opened the door of the buffet and took out a great steel hook, at the -end of which was a pulley. Reaching up, he slipped the end of the hook -into a steel bolt, fastened in one of the overhead beams. Michael had -noticed it before and wondered what purpose it served. He was now to -learn. - -From the cupboard came a long coil of rope, one end of which was -threaded through the pulley and fastened dexterously under the -detective’s armpits. Stooping, Longvale lifted the carpet and rolled it -up, and then Michael saw that there was a small trap-door, which he -raised and laid back. Below he could see nothing, but there came to him -the sound of a man’s groaning. - -“Now I think we can dispense with that, sir,” said Mr. Longvale, and -untied the serviette that covered the detective’s mouth. - -This done, he pulled on the rope, seemingly without an effort, and -Michael swung in mid-air. It was uncomfortable; he had an absurd notion -that he looked a little ridiculous. The old man guided his feet through -the opening and gradually paid out the rope. - -“Will you be good enough to tell me when you touch ground,” he asked, -“and I will come down to you?” - -Looking up, Michael saw the square in the floor grow smaller and -smaller, and for an unconscionable time he swung and swayed and turned -in mid-air. He thought he was not moving, and then, without warning, his -feet touched ground and he called out. - -“Are you all right?” said Mr. Longvale pleasantly. “Do you mind stepping -a few paces on one side? I am dropping the rope, and it may hurt you.” - -Michael gasped, but carried out instructions, and presently he heard the -swish of the falling line and the smack of it as it struck the ground. -Then the trap-door closed, and there was no other sound but the groaning -near at hand. - -“Is that you, Penne?” - -“Who is it?” asked the other in a frightened voice. “Is it you, Brixan? -Where are we? What has happened? How did I get here? That old devil gave -me a drink. I ran out—and that’s all I remember. I went to borrow his -car. My God, I’m scared! The magneto of mine went wrong.” - -“Did you shout when you ran from the house?” - -“I think I did. I felt this infernal poison taking effect and dashed -out—I don’t remember. Where are you, Brixan? The police will get us out -of this, won’t they?” - -“Alive, I hope,” said Michael grimly, and he heard the man’s frightened -sob, and was sorry he had spoken. - -“What is he? Who is he? Are these the caves? I’ve heard about them. It -smells horribly earthy, doesn’t it? Can you see anything?” - -“I thought I saw a light just then,” said Michael, “but my eyes are -playing tricks.” And then: “Where is Adele Leamington?” - -“God knows,” said the other. He was shivering, and Michael heard the -sound of his chattering teeth. “I never saw her again. I was afraid Bhag -would go after her. But he wouldn’t hurt her—he is a queer devil. I -wish he was here now.” - -“I wish somebody was here,” said Michael sincerely. - -He was trying to work his wrists loose of the handcuffs, though he knew -that bare-handed he stood very little chance against the old man. He had -lost his pistol, and although, in the inside of his waistcoat, there -remained intact the long, razor-sharp knife that had cleared him out of -many a Continental scrape, the one infallible weapon when firearms -failed, he knew that he would have no opportunity for its employment. - -Sitting down, he tried to perform a trick that he had seen on a stage in -Berlin—the trick of bringing his legs through his manacled hands and so -getting his hands in front of him, but he struggled without avail. There -came the sound of a door opening, and Mr. Longvale’s voice. - -“I won’t keep you a moment,” he said. He carried a lantern in his hand -that swung as he walked, and seemed to intensify the gloom. “I don’t -like my patients to catch cold.” - -His laughter came echoing back from the vaulted roof of the cave, -intensified hideously. Stopping, he struck a match and a brilliant light -appeared. It was a vapour lamp fixed on a shelf of rock. Presently he -lit another, and then a third and a fourth, and, in the white, unwinking -light, every object in the cave stood out with startling distinctness. -Michael saw the scarlet thing that stood in the cave’s centre, and, -hardened as he was, and prepared for that fearsome sight, he shuddered. - -It was a guillotine! - - - - - CHAPTER XL - “THE WIDOW” - - -A GUILLOTINE! - -Standing in the middle of the cave, its high framework lifted starkly. -It was painted blood-red, and its very simplicity had a horror of its -own. - -Michael looked, fascinated. The basket, the bright, triangular knife -suspended at the top of the frame, the tilted platform with its dangling -straps, the black-painted lunette shaped to receive the head of the -victim and hold it in position till the knife fell in its oiled groove. -He knew the machine bolt by bolt, had seen it in operation on grey -mornings before French prisons, with soldiers holding back the crowd, -and a little group of officials in the centre of the cleared space. He -knew the sound of it, the “_clop!_” as it fell, sweeping to eternity the -man beneath. - -“‘The Widow’!” said Longvale humorously. He touched the frame lovingly. - -“Oh God, I’m not fit to die!” It was Penne’s agonized wail that went -echoing through the hollow spaces of the cavern. - -“The Widow,” murmured the old man again. - -He was without a hat; his bald head shone in the light, yet there was -nothing ludicrous in his appearance. His attitude toward this thing he -loved was in a sense pathetic. - -“Who shall be her first bridegroom?” - -“Not me, not me!” squealed Penne, wriggling back against the wall, his -face ashen, his mouth working convulsively. “I’m not fit to die——” - -Longvale walked slowly over to him, stooped and raised him to his feet. - -“Courage!” he murmured. “It is the hour!” - - * * * * * - -Jack Knebworth was pacing the road when the police car came flying back -from Chichester. - -“He’s not there, hasn’t been to the station at all,” said the driver -breathlessly as he flung out of the car. - -“He may have gone into Longvale’s house.” - -“I’ve seen Mr. Longvale: it was he who told me that the Captain had gone -into Chichester. He must have made a mistake.” - -Knebworth’s jaw dropped. A great light suddenly flashed upon his mind. -Longvale! There was something queer about him. Was it possible——? - -He remembered now that he had been puzzled by a contradictory statement -the old man had made; remembered that, not once but many times, Sampson -Longvale had expressed a desire to be filmed in a favourite part of his -own, one that he had presented, an episode in the life of his famous -ancestor. - -“We’ll go and knock him up. I’ll talk to him.” - -They hammered at the door without eliciting a response. - -“That’s his bedroom.” Jack Knebworth pointed to a latticed window where -a light shone, and Inspector Lyle threw up a pebble with such violence -that the glass was broken. Still there was no response. - -“I don’t like that,” said Knebworth suddenly. - -“You don’t like it any better than I do,” growled the officer. “Try that -window, Smith.” - -“Do you want me to open it, sir?” - -“Yes, without delay.” - -A second later, the window of the long dining-room was prized open; and -then they came upon an obstacle which could not be so readily forced. - -“The shutter is steel-lined,” reported the detective. “I think I’d -better try one of the upper rooms. Give me a leg up, somebody.” - -With the assistance of a fellow, he reached up and caught the sill of an -open window, the very window from which Adele had looked down into the -grinning face of Bhag. In another second he was in the room, and was -reaching down to help up a second officer. A few minutes’ delay, and the -front door was unbarred and opened. - -“There’s nobody in the house, so far as I can find out,” said the -officer. - -“Put a light on,” ordered the inspector shortly. - -They found the little vapour lamp and lit it. - -“What’s that?” The detective officer pointed to the hook that still hung -in the beam with the pulley beneath, and his eyes narrowed. “I can’t -understand that,” he said slowly. “What was that for?” - -Jack Knebworth uttered an exclamation. - -“Here’s Brixan’s gun!” he said, and picked it up from the floor. - -One glance the inspector gave, and then his eyes went back to the hook -and the pulley. - -“That beats me,” he said. “See if you fellows can find anything -anywhere. Open every cupboard, every drawer. Sound the walls—there may -be secret doors; there are in all these old Tudor houses.” - -The search was futile, and Inspector Lyle came back to a worried -contemplation of the hook and pulley. Then one of his men came in to say -that he had located the garage. - -It was an unusually long building, and when it was opened, it revealed -no more than the old-fashioned car which was a familiar object in that -part of the country. But obviously, this was only half the -accommodation. The seemingly solid whitewashed wall behind the machine -hid another apartment, though it had no door, and an inspection of the -outside showed a solid wall at the far end of the garage. - -Jack Knebworth tapped the interior wall. - -“This isn’t brickwork at all, it’s wood,” he said. - -Hanging in a corner was a chain. Apparently it had no particular -function, but a careful scrutiny led to the discovery that the links ran -through a hole in the roughly plastered ceiling. The inspector caught -the chain and pulled, and, as he did so, the “wall” opened inwards, -showing the contents of the second chamber, which was a second car, so -sheeted that only its radiator was visible. Knebworth pulled off the -cover, and: - -“That’s the car.” - -“What car?” asked the inspector. - -“The car driven by the Head-Hunter,” said Knebworth quickly. “He was in -that machine when Brixan tried to arrest him. I’d know it anywhere! -Brixan is in the Dower House somewhere, and if he’s in the hands of the -Head-Hunter, God help him!” - -They ran back to the house, and again the hook and pulley drew them as a -magnet. Suddenly the police officer bent down and jerked back the -carpet. The trap-door beneath the pulley was plainly visible. Pulling it -open, he knelt down and gazed through. Knebworth saw his face grow -haggard. - -“Too late, too late!” he muttered. - - - - - CHAPTER XLI - THE DEATH - - -THE shriek of a man half crazy with fear is not nice to hear. Michael’s -nerves were tough, but he had need to drive the nails into the palms of -his manacled hands to keep his self-control. - -“I warn you,” he found voice to say, as the shrieking died to an -unintelligible babble of sound, “Longvale, if you do this, you are -everlastingly damned!” - -The old man turned his quiet smile upon his second prisoner, but did not -make any answer. Lifting the half-conscious man in his arms as easily as -though he were a child, he carried him to the terrible machine, and laid -him, face downwards, on the tilted platform. There was no hurry. Michael -saw, in Longvale’s leisure, an enjoyment that was unbelievable. He -stepped to the front of the machine and pulled up one half of the -lunette; there was a click, and it remained stationary. - -“An invention of mine,” he said with pride, speaking over his shoulder. - -Michael looked away for a second, past the grim executioner, to the -farther end of the cave. And then he saw a sight that brought the blood -to his cheeks. At first he thought he was dreaming, and that the strain -of his ordeal was responsible for some grotesque vision. - -Adele! - -She stood clear in the white light, so grimed with earth and dust that -she seemed to be wearing a grey robe. - -“If you move I will kill you!” - -It was she! He twisted over on to his knees and staggered upright. -Longvale heard the voice and turned slowly. - -“My little lady,” he said pleasantly. “How providential! I’ve always -thought that the culminating point of my career would be, as was the -sainted Charles Henry’s, that moment when a queen came under his hand. -How very singular!” - -He walked slowly toward her, oblivious to the pointed pistol, to the -danger in which he stood, a radiant smile on his face, his small, white -hands extended as to an honoured guest. - -“Shoot!” cried Michael hoarsely. “For God’s sake, shoot!” - -She hesitated for a second and pressed the trigger. There was no -sound—clogged with earth, the delicate mechanism did not act. - -She turned to flee, but his arm was round her, and his disengaged hand -drew her head to his breast. - -“You shall see, my dear,” he said. “The Widow shall become the Widower, -and you shall be his first bride!” - -She was limp in his arms now, incapable of resistance. A strange sense -of inertia overcame her; and, though she was conscious, she could -neither of her own volition, move nor speak. Michael, struggling madly -to release his hands, prayed that she might faint—that, whatever -happened, she should be spared a consciousness of the terror. - -“Now who shall be first?” murmured the old man, stroking his shiny head. -“It would be fitting that my lady should show the way, and be spared the -agony of mind. And yet——” He looked thoughtfully at the prostrate -figure strapped to the board, and, tilting the platform, dropped the -lunette about the head of Gregory Penne. The hand went up to the lever -that controlled the knife. He paused again, evidently puzzling something -out in his crazy mind. - -“No, you shall be first,” he said, unbuckled the strap and pushed the -half-demented man to the ground. - -Michael saw him lift his head, listening. There were hollow sounds -above, as of people walking. Again he changed his mind, stooped and -dragged Gregory Penne to his feet. Michael wondered why he held him so -long, standing so rigidly; wondered why he dropped him suddenly to the -ground; and then wondered no longer. Something was crossing the floor of -the cave—a great, hairy something, whose malignant eyes were turned -upon the old man. - -It was Bhag! His hair was matted with blood; his face wore the powder -mask which Michael had seen when he emerged from Griff Towers. He -stopped and sniffed at the groaning man on the floor, and his big paw -touched the face tenderly. Then, without preliminary, he leapt at -Longvale, and the old man went down with a crash to the ground, his arms -whirling in futile defence. For a second Bhag stood over him, looking -down, twittering and chattering; and then he raised the man and laid him -in the place where his master had been, tilting the board and pushing it -forward. - -Michael gazed with fascinated horror. The great ape had witnessed an -execution! It was from this cave that he had escaped, the night that -Foss was killed. His half-human mind was remembering the details. -Michael could almost see his mind working to recall the procedure. - -Bhag fumbled with the frame, touched the spring that released the -lunette, and it fell over the neck of the Head-Hunter. And at that -moment, attracted by a sound, Michael looked up, saw the trap above -pulled back. Bhag heard it also, but was too intent upon his business to -be interrupted. Longvale had recovered consciousness and was fighting to -draw his head from the lunette. Presently he spoke. It was as though he -realized the imminence of his fate, and was struggling to find an -appropriate phrase, for he lay quiescent now, his hands gripping the -edge of the narrow platform on which he lay. - -“Son of St. Louis, ascend to heaven!” he said, and at that moment Bhag -jerked the handle that controlled the knife. - -Inspector Lyle from above saw the blade fall, heard the indescribable -sound of the thud that followed, and almost swooned. Then, from below: - -“It’s all right, inspector. You may find a rope in the buffet. Get down -as quickly as you can and bring a gun.” - -The buffet cupboard contained another rope, and a minute later the -detective was going down hand over hand. - -“There’s no danger from the monkey,” said Michael. - -Bhag was crooning over his senseless master, as a mother over her child. - -“Get Miss Leamington away,” said Michael in a low voice, as the -detective began to unlock the handcuffs. - -The girl lay, an inanimate and silent figure, by the side of the -guillotine, happily oblivious of the tragedy which had been enacted in -her presence. Another detective had descended the rope, and old Jack -Knebworth, despite his years, was the third to enter the cave. It was he -who found the door, and aided the detective to carry the girl to safety. - -Unlocking the handcuffs from the baronet’s wrists, Michael turned him -over on his back. One glance at the face told the detective that the man -was in a fit, and that his case, if not hopeless, was at least -desperate. As though understanding that the man had no ill intent toward -his master, Bhag watched passively, and then Michael remembered how, the -first time he had seen the great ape, Bhag had smelt his hands. - -“He’s filing you for future reference as a friend,” had said Gregory at -the time. - -“Pick him up,” said Michael, speaking distinctly in the manner that -Gregory had addressed the ape. - -Without hesitation, Bhag stooped and lifted the limp man in his arms, -and Michael guided him to the stairway and led him up the stairs. - -The house was full of police, who gaped at the sight of the great ape -and his burden. - -“Take him upstairs and put him on the bed,” ordered Michael. - -Knebworth had already taken the girl off in his car to Chichester, for -she had shown signs of reviving, and he wanted to get her away from that -house of the dead before she fully recovered. - -Michael went down into the cave again and joined the inspector. Together -they made a brief tour. The headless figures in the niches told their -own story. Farther on, Michael came to the bigger cavern, with its floor -littered with bones. - -“Here is confirmation of the old legend,” he said in a hushed voice, and -pointed. “These are the bones of those warriors and squires who were -trapped in the cave by a landslide. You can see the horses’ skeletons -quite plainly.” - -How had Adele got into the cave? He was not long before he found the -slide down which she had tumbled. - -“Another mystery is explained,” he said. “Griff Tower was obviously -built by the Romans to prevent cattle and men from falling through into -the cave. Incidentally, it has served as an excellent ventilator, and I -have no doubt the old man had this way prepared, both as a hiding-place -for the people he had killed and as a way of escape.” - -He saw a candle-lantern and matches that the girl had missed, and this -he regarded as conclusive proof that his view was right. - -They came back to the guillotine with its ghastly burden, and Michael -stood in silence for a long time, looking at the still figure stretched -on the platform, its hands still clutching the sides. - -“How did he persuade these people to come to their death?” asked the -inspector in a voice little above a whisper. - -“That is a question for the psychologist,” said Michael at last. “There -is no doubt that he got into touch with many men who were contemplating -suicide but shrank from the act, and performed this service for them. I -should imagine his practice of leaving around their heads for -identification arose out of some poor wretch’s desire that his wife and -family should secure his insurance. - -“He worked with extraordinary cunning. The letters, as you know, went to -a house of call and were collected by an old woman, who posted them to a -second address, whence they were put in prepared envelopes and posted, -ostensibly to London. I discovered that the envelopes were kept in a -specially light-proof box, and that the unknown advertiser had -stipulated that they should not be taken out of that box until they were -ready for posting. An hour after those letters were put in the mail the -address faded and became invisible, and another appeared.” - -“Vanishing ink?” - -Mike nodded. - -“It is a trick that criminals frequently employ. The new address, of -course, was Dower House. Put out the lights and let us go up.” - -Three lamps were extinguished, and the detective looked round fearfully -at the shadows. - -“I think we’ll leave this down here,” he said. - -“I think we will,” said Michael, in complete agreement. - - - - - CHAPTER XLII - CAMERA! - - -THREE months had passed since the Dower House had yielded up its grisly -secrets. A long enough time for Gregory Penne to recover completely and -to have served one of the six months’ imprisonment to which he was -sentenced on a technical charge. The guillotine had been re-erected in a -certain Black Museum on the Thames Embankment, where young policemen -come to look upon the equipment of criminality. People had ceased to -talk about the Head-Hunter. - -It seemed a million years ago to Michael as he sat, perched on a table, -watching Jack Knebworth, in the last stages of despair, directing a -ruffled Reggie Connolly in the business of love-making. Near by stood -Adele Leamington, a star by virtue of the success that had attended a -certain trade show. - -Out of range of the camera, a cigarette between her fingers, Stella -Mendoza, gorgeously attired, watched her some time friend and -prospective leading man with good-natured contempt. - -“There’s nobody can tell me, Mr. Knebworth,” said Reggie testily, “how -to hold a girl! Good gracious, heavens alive, have I been asleep all my -life? Don’t you think I know as much about girls as you, Mr. Knebworth?” - -“I don’t care a darn how you hold your girl,” howled Jack. “I’m telling -you how to hold _my_ girl! There’s only one way of making love, and -that’s _my_ way. I’ve got the patent rights! Your arm round her waist -again, Connolly. Hold your head up, will you? Now turn it this way. Now -drop your chin a little. Smile, darn you, smile! Not a prop smile!” he -shrieked. “Smile as if you liked her. Try to imagine that she loves you! -I’ll apologize to you, afterwards, Adele, but try to imagine it, -Connolly. That’s better. You look as if you’d swallowed a liqueur of -broken glass! Look down into her eyes—look, I said, not glare! That’s -better. Now do that again——” - -He watched, writhing, gesticulating, and at last, in cold resignation: - -“Rotten, but it’ll have to do. Lights!” - -The big Kreisler lights flared, the banked mercury lamps burnt bluely, -and the flood lamps became blank expanses of diffused light. Again the -rehearsal went through, and then: - -“Camera!” wailed Jack, and the handle began to turn. - -“That’s all for you to-day, Connolly,” said Jack. “Now, Miss -Mendoza——” - -Adele came across to where Michael was sitting and jumped up on to the -table beside him. - -“Mr. Knebworth is quite right,” she said, shaking her head. “Reggie -Connolly doesn’t know how to make love.” - -“Who does?” demanded Michael. “Except the right man?” - -“He’s supposed to be the right man,” she insisted. “And, what’s more, -he’s supposed to be the best lover on the English screen.” - -“Ha ha!” said Michael sardonically. - -She was silent for a time, and then: - -“Why are you still here? I thought your work was finished in this part -of the world.” - -“Not all,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve still an arrest to make.” - -She looked up at him quickly. - -“Another?” she said. “I thought, when you took poor Sir Gregory——” - -“Poor Sir Gregory!” he scoffed. “He ought to be a very happy man. Six -months’ hard labour was just what he wanted, and he was lucky to be -charged, not with the killing of his unfortunate servant but with the -concealment of his death.” - -“Whom are you arresting now?” - -“I’m not so sure,” said Michael, “whether I shall arrest her.” - -“Is it a woman?” - -He nodded. - -“What has she done?” - -“The charge isn’t definitely settled,” he said evasively, “but I think -there will be several counts. Creating a disturbance will be one; -deliberately endangering public health—at any rate, the health of one -of the public—will be another; maliciously wounding the feelings——” - -“Oh, _you_, you mean?” - -She laughed softly. - -“I thought that was part of your delirium that night at the hospital, or -part of mine. But as other people saw you kiss me, it must have been -yours. I don’t think I want to marry,” she said thoughtfully. “I am——” - -“Don’t say that you are wedded to your art,” he groaned. “They all say -that!” - -“No, I’m not wedded to anything, except a desire to prevent my best -friend from making a great mistake. You’ve a very big career in front of -you, Michael, and marrying me is not going to help you. People will -think you’re just infatuated, and when the inevitable divorce comes -along——” - -They both laughed together. - -“If you have finished being like a maiden aunt, I want to tell you -something,” said Michael. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you.” - -“Of course you have,” she said calmly. “That’s the only possible way you -_can_ love a girl. If it takes three days to make up your mind it can’t -be love. That’s why I know I don’t love you. I was annoyed with you the -first time I met you; I was furious with you the second time; and I’ve -just tolerated you ever since. Wait till I get my make-up off.” - -She got down and ran to her dressing-room. Michael strolled across to -comfort an exhausted Jack Knebworth. - -“Adele? Oh, she’s all right. She really has had an offer from -America—not Hollywood, but a studio in the East. I’ve advised her not -to take it until she’s a little more proficient, but I don’t think she -wanted any advice. That girl isn’t going to stay in the picture -business.” - -“What makes you think that, Knebworth?” - -“She’s going to get married,” said Jack glumly. “I can recognize the -signs. I told you all along that there was something queer about her. -She’s going to get married and leave the screen for good—that’s her -eccentricity.” - -“And whom do you think she will marry?” asked Michael. - -Old Jack snorted. - -“It won’t be Reggie Connolly—that I can promise you.” - -“I should jolly well say not!” said that indignant young man, who had -remarkably keen ears. “I’m not a marrying chap. It spoils an artist. A -wife is like a millstone round his neck. He has no chance of expressing -his individuality. And whilst we are on that subject, Mr. Knebworth, are -you perfectly sure that I’m to blame? Doesn’t it strike you—mind you, I -wouldn’t say a word against the dear girl—doesn’t it strike you that -Miss Leamington isn’t quite—what shall I say?—seasoned in love—that’s -the expression.” - -Stella Mendoza had strolled up. She had returned to the scene of her -former labours, and it looked very much as if she were coming back to -her former position. - -“When you say ‘seasoned’ you mean ‘smoked,’ Reggie,” she said. “I think -you’re wrong.” - -“I can’t be wrong,” said Reggie complacently. “I’ve made love to more -girls in this country than any other five leading men, and I tell you -that Miss Leamington is distinctly and fearfully immature.” - -The object of their discussion appeared at the end of the studio, nodded -a cheery good night to the company and went out, Michael on her heels. - -“You’re fearfully immature,” he said, as he guided her across the road. - -“Who said so? It sounds like Reggie: that is a favourite word of his.” - -“He says you know nothing whatever about love-making.” - -“Perhaps I don’t,” she said shortly, and so baffling was her tone that -he was not prepared to continue the subject, until they reached the -long, dark road in which she lived. - -“The proper way to make love,” he said, more than a little appalled at -his own boldness, “is to put one hand on the waist——” - -Suddenly she was in his arms, her cool face against his. - -“There isn’t any way,” she murmured. “One just does!” - - THE END - JOHN LONG, LTD., PUBLISHERS, LONDON, ENGLAND, 1926 - NORTHUMBERLAND PRESS LIMITED, NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE - - - - - THE LATEST - LIBRARY NOVELS - Seven Shillings & Sixpence Net Each - - PASSIONATE YOUTH EDWARD CHARLES REED - _Author of “A Wise Fool,” the Prize-Winning Novel in the John_ - _Long (2nd) £500 Prize Competition for the Best First Novel_ - THE AVENGER EDGAR WALLACE - IT CAME TO PASS VERA, COUNTESS CATHCART - THE UNDYING FLAME ARTHUR APPLIN - THE SLEUTH HOUND GASTON LEROUX - JUDGE NOT CECIL H. BULLIVANT - THE SOLE CONDITION VERA CAUDWELL - SALTED DIAMONDS H. M. EGBERT - A MOTH AT MONTE LESLIE BERESFORD (“PAN”) - PETER CURTIS . . . HELEN G. DAVIES - THE WONDERFUL AWAKENING HELEN EASTWOOD - THE HUMMING-TOP LOUISE HEILGERS - THE SLAPPED WOMAN FREDERICK BROCK - THE MAN FROM MOROCCO EDGAR WALLACE - OUR TRESPASSES E. W. SAVI - THE ONE STEP AMY J. BAKER - DEFIANCE TEMPLE LANE - THE MASTER PASSION HALLIWELL SUTCLIFFE - THE GREY PHANTOM’S RETURN HERMAN LANDON - HER LADYSHIP DECIDES CECIL H. BULLIVANT - THE MAJOR’S MASCOT NAT GOULD - THE OTHER MR. NORTH LESLIE BERESFORD (“PAN”) - THE CELLINI PLAQUE HAROLD MACGRATH - THE SMOKES OF SPRING A. M. BURRAGE - MINGLED WINE HELEN G. DAVIES - MRS. ORMESBY’S PROPOSAL EDWARD CHARLES REED - A KING BY NIGHT EDGAR WALLACE - STORM HALLIWELL SUTCLIFFE - A FATEFUL ESCAPADE E. W. SAVI - NO JUST CAUSE TEMPLE LANE - THIS REPROACH FREDERICK BROCK - RIDING TO ORDERS NAT GOULD - THE SLIM OUTLINE AMY J. 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