{"id":1850461,"date":"2025-06-17T18:00:06","date_gmt":"2025-06-17T18:00:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/1850461\/"},"modified":"2025-06-17T18:00:06","modified_gmt":"2025-06-17T18:00:06","slug":"%f0%9f%8e%a9-kate-plus-10-%f0%9f%95%b5%ef%b8%8f%e2%99%80%ef%b8%8f-a-brilliant-criminal-mastermind-unleashed","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/1850461\/","title":{"rendered":"\ud83c\udfa9 Kate Plus 10 \ud83d\udd75\ufe0f\u200d\u2640\ufe0f | A Brilliant Criminal Mastermind Unleashed!"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\"  width=\"580\" height=\"385\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/cver4LYxmds\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen><\/iframe><br \/>\n<br \/>\n\ud83c\udfa9 Kate Plus 10 \ud83d\udd75\ufe0f\u200d\u2640\ufe0f | A Brilliant Criminal Mastermind Unleashed!<br \/>\n<br \/>\nWelcome to Storytime Haven. Today, we delve into the thrilling world of high-stakes crime and cunning deception with Edgar Wallace&#8217;s &#8216;Kate plus 10&#8242;. At the heart of the tale is Kate Wasthanger, a brilliant young woman whose genius for planning makes her the mastermind behind ten of the most daring criminals in England. With her intellect, charm, and fearless spirit, Kate orchestrates heists and evades capture in a gripping game of cat and mouse. Prepare to be swept into a whirlwind of suspense, sharp wit, and unexpected turns as we begin this unforgettable adventure. Chapter 1. EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS ON A STRING. The Earl of Flanborough pressed a bell push by the side of his study table and, after an interval of exactly three seconds, pressed it again, though the footman\u2019s lobby could not have been far short of fifty yards from the library and the serving man was never born who could sprint that distance in three seconds. Yet, in such awe was his lordship held that morning by his man-servants, his maid-servants and everything within his gates, that Sibble, the first footman, made the distance in five. \u201cWhy the dickens don\u2019t you answer my bell when I ring?\u201d snapped the Earl and glared at his red-faced servant. Sibble did not reply, knowing by experience that, even as silence was insolence, speech could be nothing less than impertinence. Lord Flanborough was slightly over middle age, thin, bald and dyspeptic. His face was mean and insignificant and if you looked for any resemblance to the somewhat pleasant faces of the Feltons and Flanboroughs of past generations which stared mildly or fiercely, or (as in the case of the first Baron Felton and Flanborough, a poet and contemporary of Lovelace) with gentle melancholy from their massive frames in the long hall, you looked in vain. For George Percy Allington Felton, Earl of Flanborough, Baron Felton and Baron Sedgely of Waybrook, was only remotely related to the illustrious line of Feltons and had inherited the title and the heavily mortgaged estates of his great-uncle by sheer bad luck. This was the uncharitable view of truer Feltons who stood, however, more remotely in the line of succession. Lord Flanborough had been Mr. George Felton of Felton, Heinrich and Somes, a firm which controlled extensive mining properties in various parts of the world, and the one bright spot in his succession to the peerage lay in the fact that he brought some two millions sterling to the task of freeing the estates of their encumbrances. He was a shrewd man and an unpleasant man, but he had never been so objectionably unpleasant until he assumed the style and title of Flanborough and never so completely and impossibly unpleasant in the period of his lordship as he had been that morning. \u201cNow, what did I want you for?\u201d asked Lord Flanborough in vexation. \u201cI rang for something&#8211;if you had only answered at once instead of dawdling about, I should&#8211;ah, yes&#8211;tell Lady Moya that I wish to see her.\u201d Sibble made his escape thankfully. Lord Flanborough pulled at his weedy moustache and looked at the virgin sheet of paper before him. Then he took up his pen and wrote: \u201cLost or Stolen: Valuable pearl chain consisting of eighty-three graduated pearls. Any person giving information which will lead to their recovery will receive a reward of two hundred pounds.\u201d He paused; scratched out \u201ctwo hundred pounds\u201d and substituted \u201cone hundred pounds.\u201d This did not satisfy him and he altered the sum to \u201cfifty pounds.\u201d He sat considering even this modest figure and eventually struck out that amount and wrote, \u201cwill be suitably rewarded.\u201d He heard the door click and looked up. \u201cAh&#8211;Moya. I am just tinkering away at an advertisement,\u201d he said with a smile. The Lady Moya Felton was twenty-two and pretty. She re-collected in her admirable person many of the traditional family graces which had so malignantly avoided her parent. Well-shaped and of a gracious carriage, though no more than medium in height, the face with its delicacy of moulding was wholly Felton. If the stubborn chin, the firm mouth and the china-blue eyes had come from the dead and gone Sedgelys, the hair of bronze gold was peculiarly Feltonesque. When she spoke, however, the carping critic might complain that her voice lacked the rich quality upon which the family prided itself, for the Feltons were orators in those days when a parliamentary speech read like something out of a book. Moya\u2019s voice was a trifle hard and without body; it was also just a little unsympathetic. Lord Flanborough boasted with good cause that his daughter was a \u201cpractical little woman\u201d and at least one man beside her father could testify to this quality. \u201cDear, don\u2019t you think it is a little absurd&#8211;advertising?\u201d asked the girl. She seated herself at the other side of the desk and, reaching out her hand, opened a silver box and helped herself to one of her father\u2019s cigarettes. \u201cWhy absurd, darling?\u201d asked Lord Flanborough testily; \u201clost property has been found before now, by means of advertising. I remember years ago when I was in the city, there was a fellow named Goldberg&#8211;\u201d \u201cPlease forget all about the city for a moment,\u201d she smiled, lighting her cigarette, \u201cand review all the circumstances. Firstly, I had the pearls when I was at Lady Machinstones\u2019 house. I danced with quiet, respectable people&#8211;Sir Ralph Sapson, Sir George Felixburn, Lord Fethington, Major Aitkens, and that awfully nice boy of Machinstones. _They_ didn\u2019t steal them. I had the pearls when I left, because I saw them as I was fastening my fur cloak. I had them in the car because I touched them just before we reached the house. I don\u2019t remember taking them off&#8211;but then I was dead tired and hardly remember going to bed. Obviously, Martin is the thief. She is the only person who has access to my room; she helped me undress; it is as plain as a pikestaff. \u201d Lord Flanborough tapped his large teeth with his penholder, a practice of his which annoyed his daughter beyond words, though at the moment she deemed it expedient to overlook the fault. The loss had frightened her, for the pearls were worth three thousand pounds and she was one of those people whose standard of values had a currency basis. \u201cI have asked Scotland Yard to send their very best man,\u201d said Lord Flanborough importantly. \u201cWhere is Martin?\u201d \u201cLocked in her room&#8211;I have told Fellows to sit outside her door,\u201d said the girl, and then, interestedly, \u201cWhen will the detective arrive?\u201d Lord Flanborough picked up an open telegraph form from the table. \u201c\u2018Sending Inspector Pretherston\u2019&#8211;by Jove!\u201d He blinked across the desk at his daughter. \u201cPretherston,\u201d she repeated thoughtfully; \u201cisn\u2019t it strange?\u201d \u201cPretherston&#8211;hum,\u201d said her father and looked at her again. If he expected to see any confusion, any heightening of color, even so much as a faltering of glance, he was relieved, for she met his gaze steadfastly, save that there was a far-away look in her eyes and a certain speculative narrowing of lids. The romance was five years old, and if she cherished the memory of it, it was the charity which she might show to a favored piece in her china cupboard; it was something to be taken out and dusted at intervals. Michael Pretherston was a bad match from every point of view, though his invalid cousin was a peer of the realm and Michael would one day be Pretherston of Pretherston. He was hideously poor, he was casual, he had no respect for wealth, he held the most outrageous views on the church, society and the state; he was, in fact, something as nearly approaching an anarchist as Lord Flanborough ever expected or feared to meet. His wooing had been brief but tempestuous. The girl had been overwhelmed and had given her promise. Recovering her reason in the morning and realizing (as she said) that love was not \u201ceverything,\u201d she had written him a letter of fourteen pages in which she had categorically set forth the essential conditions to their union. These called for the abandonment of all his principles, the re-establishment of all his shattered beliefs and an estimate of the cost of placing Pretherston Court in a state of repair suitable for the reception of the Lady Moya Pretherston (_n\u00e9e_ Felton). To her fourteen pages, he had returned a thirty-two page letter which was at once an affront and a justification for anarchy. It was not a love-letter; rather was it something between a pamphlet by Henry George and a treatise by Jean Jacques Rousseau, interspersed with passionate appeals to her womanhood and offensive references to her \u201chuckster-souled\u201d father. \u201cHe was always a wild sort of chap,\u201d said Lord Flanborough, shaking his head darkly. \u201cI understood that he had gone abroad.\u201d \u201cI suppose there are other Pretherstons,\u201d said the girl; \u201cstill it _is_ strange, isn\u2019t it?\u201d \u201cDo you ever feel\u2026?\u201d began her father awkwardly. She smiled and laid down her cigarette on the crystal ash-tray. \u201cHe was wholly impossible,\u201d she agreed. There came a gentle tap at the door and a girl entered. She was dressed neatly in black, and her prettiness was of a different type to that of her employer (for Lady Moya indulged in the luxury of a secretary). It was a beautiful face with a hint of tragedy in the down-turned lips and, it seemed, a history of wild sorrow in her big grey eyes. Yet of sorrow she knew nothing, and such tragedy as she had met had left her unmoved. Her abundant hair was of a rich brown; the hand that clasped a note-book to her bosom was small and artistic. She was an inch taller than Lady Moya, but because she did not show the same erectness of carriage she seemed shorter. \u201cFather, you asked me to let you have Miss Tenby this morning,\u201d said Lady Moya with a nod for the girl. \u201cI don\u2019t know whether you will still want her?\u201d \u201cI am _so_ sorry this dreadful thing has happened, Lord Flanborough,\u201d said the girl in a low voice; \u201cit must be terrible to feel that there is a thief in the house.\u201d Lord Flanborough smiled good-humoredly. \u201cWe shall recover the pearls, I am certain,\u201d he said; \u201cdon\u2019t let it worry you, Miss Tenby&#8211;I hope you are comfortable?\u201d \u201cVery, Lord Flanborough,\u201d said the girl gratefully. \u201cAnd the work is not too hard, eh?\u201d The girl smiled slightly. \u201cIt is nothing&#8211;I feel awfully ashamed of myself sometimes. I have been with you a month and have hardly earned my salt.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s all right,\u201d replied his lordship with great condescension; \u201cyou have already been of the greatest assistance to me and we shall find you plenty of other work. I was glad to see you in church on Sunday. The vicar tells me that you are a regular attendant.\u201d The girl inclined her head, but said nothing. For a while she waited and then at a word of polite dismissal, she left the library. \u201cDeuced nice girl, that,\u201d said his lordship approvingly. \u201cShe works well and quickly, and she can read French beautifully&#8211;I was very fortunate,\u201d said Moya carelessly. \u201cWhat were we talking about when she came in? Oh, yes&#8211;Michael Pretherston. I wonder now&#8211;\u201d The door opened and a footman announced, \u201cInspector Pretherston, m\u2019lord.\u201d \u201cInspector Michael Pretherston, you silly ass,\u201d corrected the annoyed young man in the doorway. It was Michael, then! A little older, a little better-looking, a little more decisive&#8211;but Michael, as impetuous and irresponsible as ever. \u201cHe spoilt my entrance, Moya,\u201d he laughed, as he came with rapid strides toward the girl; \u201chow are you after all these years&#8211;as pretty as ever, confound you. Ah, Lord Flanborough, you\u2019re wearing well&#8211;I read your speech in the House of Lords on the Shipping Bill&#8211;a fine speech; did you make it up yourself?\u201d Moya laughed softly and saved what might have been a most embarrassing situation&#8211;for his lordship was framing a dignified protest against the suggestion that he had shared the honours of authorship. \u201cYou are not changed, Michael,\u201d she said, looking at him with undisguised, but none the less, detached admiration; \u201cbut what on earth are you doing in the police force?\u201d \u201cExtraordinary,\u201d murmured Lord Flanborough, and added humorously, \u201cand an anarchist, too.\u201d \u201cIt is a long story,\u201d said Michael. \u201cI really received my promotion in the Special Branch&#8211;the Foreign Office Branch&#8211;and was transferred to the C.I.D. after we caught the Callam crowd, the Continental confidence tricksters. It is disgraceful that I should be an inspector, isn\u2019t it? But merit tells!\u201d He chuckled again, then of a sudden grew serious. \u201cI\u2019m forgetting I\u2019ve a job to do&#8211;what\u2019s the trouble?\u201d Lord Flanborough explained the object of his urgent call, and a look of disappointment appeared upon Michael Pretherston\u2019s face. \u201cA miserable little larceny,\u201d he said reproachfully. \u201cI thought at least Moya had been kidnapped. Now, tell me all that happened on the night you lost the pearls.\u201d Step by step the girl related her movements and the periods at which she had evidence that the pearls were still with her. \u201cAnd then you reached your bedroom,\u201d said Michael, \u201cand what happened there? First of all, you took your fur wrap off.\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d nodded the girl. \u201cWere you in a cheerful frame of mind or were you rather cross?\u201d \u201cDoes that matter?\u201d she asked in surprise. \u201cEverything matters to the patient and systematic officer of the law. Temperamental clues are as interesting and material as any other.\u201d \u201cWell, if the truth were told,\u201d she confessed, \u201cI was rather cross and very tired.\u201d \u201cDid you take your cloak off, or did your woman?\u201d \u201cI took it off myself,\u201d she said after a pause, \u201cand hung it up.\u201d He asked her a few more questions. \u201cNow, we will see the sorrowful Martin,\u201d he said, \u201cand let me tell you this, Moya, that if this girl is innocent she has grounds for action against you for false imprisonment.\u201d \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d demanded Lord Flanborough with asperity. \u201cI have a perfect right to detain anybody I think is guilty of theft.\u201d \u201cYou have no more right to lock a woman in a room,\u201d said the other calmly, \u201cthan I have to stand you on your head. But that is beside the point. Lead me to the prisoner.\u201d The prisoner was very pale and very tearful; a middle-aged woman who felt her position acutely and between sobs and wails made an incoherent protest of her innocence. \u201cI suppose you have searched everywhere?\u201d asked Michael, turning to the girl. \u201cEverywhere,\u201d she replied emphatically. \u201cI have had every box and every corner of the room examined.\u201d \u201cSuppose the string of the pearls broke, would they all fall off?\u201d \u201cNo, they would still remain on, because each pearl was secured. Father gave them to me as a birthday present and he was very particular on that point.\u201d \u201cI would like to bet,\u201d said Michael suddenly, \u201cthat those pearls are not out of this room. Show me your wardrobe.\u201d The girl\u2019s wardrobe occupied the whole of one wall of her dressing-room, and the tearful Martin opened the rosewood doors for his inspection. \u201cThis is your fur cloak, I presume? Did you examine this after the loss?\u201d \u201cExamine the cloak,\u201d said Lady Moya in surprise, \u201cof course not. What has the cloak to do with the loss? There are no pockets in it.\u201d \u201cBut if I know anything about the fur cloaks that are fashionable this season,\u201d said Michael, wisely, \u201cI should say that there is a possibility that this luxurious garment had a great deal to do with the loss. In fact, my dear Moya,\u201d he said, \u201cyour mysterious loss has been duplicated and triplicated this year. In two cases the police were called in, and in the other case the owner had the intelligence to find her lost trinket without assistance.\u201d He lifted the cloak down very carefully and opened it to show the silk lining and there, caught in one of the long flat hooks, dangled the pearls. The girl uttered an exclamation of delight and slipped them from its fastening. \u201cWonderful, isn\u2019t it?\u201d said Michael dryly. \u201cThat is what has happened, not three times but half-a-dozen times since these flat hooks have been introduced. You take the cloak off in a bad temper, the hook catches the chain, breaks it, you bundle the cloak in your wardrobe and there you have the beginning of a great jewel mystery.\u201d \u201cI can\u2019t tell you how delighted I am,\u201d said the girl. \u201cMichael, you\u2019re wonderful!\u201d Michael did not reply. He turned to the frightened waiting-woman with a kindly smile. \u201cI am so sorry you have been worried about this, Mrs. Martin,\u201d he said, \u201cbut when people lose very valuable property they are also inclined to lose their very valuable heads. I am sure Lady Moya is sorry and will make you due compensation for any inconvenience you have been put to.\u201d The girl stared at him resentfully. \u201cOf course, I am awfully sorry, Martin,\u201d she said, coldly. \u201cOh, my lady,\u201d said the woman eagerly, \u201cI am only too pleased that you have recovered your chain. The worry of it has made me quite ill.\u201d \u201cYou can have a week\u2019s holiday,\u201d said Lord Flanborough, magnificently. \u201cI will get you a free railway ticket to Seahampton,\u201d he added. \u201cSo you see, Mrs. Martin,\u201d said Michael with that bland air of his which scarcely veiled the sarcasm so irritating to his lordship, \u201cyour generous employers will leave no stone unturned to minister to your comfort, regardless of expense. And when you are at Seahampton, Mrs. Martin, (I trust you will not lose the return half of your free ticket) you will be allowed to walk up and down the promenade on equal terms with the aristocracy and breathe the ozone which, ordinarily, is created for your betters. You may sit on the free seats and watch the pageant of life step past you and, reflecting upon the generosity of your betters, you may appreciate the good fortune which brought you into hourly contact with the aristocracy of England. And on Sundays, Mrs. Martin, you may go to church where quite a number of the seats are also free and may even share a hymn-book with a Gracious Person who is so vastly above you in social standing that he will never recognize you again, and there, I trust, you will pray with a new fervence that the deliberations of the House of Lords may receive divine inspiration.\u201d \u201cOh, indeed I will, sir,\u201d said Mrs. Martin almost stunned by his eloquence. He left the woman, overwhelmed, and returned with a very ruffled Lord Flanborough and an indignant Moya to the library. \u201cWhat utter nonsense you talk, Michael,\u201d said the girl angrily. \u201cI don\u2019t think it was kind of you to attempt to set my servants against me. \u201cBeastly bad taste,\u201d said Lord Flanborough, \u201cand really, Pretherston, you came here as an officer of the law and not as an old acquaintance and I think that you exceed your duties, if you don\u2019t mind my saying so.\u201d \u201cOld acquaintances,\u201d said Michael, picking up his hat and his coat from a chair where he had put them before the interview, \u201care especially made to be forgotten, a peculiarity of which one is reminded in that Bacchanalian anthem which is sung at all public dinners where sobriety is bad form. I was merely endeavouring to inculcate into the mind of your slave a few moral principles, beneficial to you, and to society.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t tell me that,\u201d growled Lord Flanborough, \u201cas though I didn\u2019t recognize your sarcasm.\u201d \u201cChildren and the lower orders never recognize sarcasm,\u201d said Michael with a broad smile. He held out his hand and somewhat reluctantly his lordship extended his own flabby paw. \u201cBefore I go,\u201d he said, \u201cI suppose I had better take a full account of this case. You haven\u2019t a secretary or anybody to whom you can dictate the circumstances? You see I have to make a report to my cold-blooded superiors.\u201d Moya had reached the stage where whatever remains there was in her friendship with Michael Pretherston had not only died but had been cremated in the fires of her smothered anger and she was as anxious to see the end of this interview as was her father. \u201cPerhaps you will ring for Miss Tenby,\u201d she said after a pause. Her father pressed the bell and the waiting Sibble answered it. \u201cSend Miss Tenby,\u201d said his lordship. \u201cAnd I do hope, Michael,\u201d said the girl severely, \u201cthat when Miss Tenby is here you will not make such extravagant comments as you did before Martin.\u201d \u201cMiss Tenby,\u201d interposed Lord Flanborough, \u201cwill not welcome such talk. She is a young girl with&#8211;er&#8211;\u201d \u201cI know, I know,\u201d said Michael solemnly, \u201cshe is genteel. She does forty words a minute on the typewriter and goes to church, filling in her odd moments with needlework and accompanying you on the piano.\u201d \u201cIt must be a wonderful thing to be a detective,\u201d said Moya, sarcastically; \u201cas a matter of fact Miss Tenby is one of the fastest typists in the world.\u201d Michael swung round on her with an odd look on his face. \u201cFastest typists in the world,\u201d he repeated with all the humor gone out of his tone; \u201cdoes she sing?\u201d It was the girl\u2019s turn to be astonished. \u201cYes, she does, and very beautifully.\u201d \u201cDoes she prefer Italian opera?\u201d he asked. At this, the girl laughed aloud. \u201cSomebody has been telling you all about her and you are trying to be mysterious,\u201d she accused. Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of the girl, who walked in, closed the door and came straight to the desk. She stopped dead at sight of Michael. Moya saw the meeting, saw the girl stiffen and her sorrowful eyes fixed upon the detective\u2019s face. \u201cWhy, Kate!\u201d said Michael Pretherston softly. \u201cWell, well, well! and to think that we meet again under such noble auspices.\u201d Miss Tenby said nothing. \u201cAnd what is the great game?\u201d asked Michael, banteringly. \u201cWhat beautiful impulse brought you to this sheltered home and how is the Colonel and friend Gregori and all those dear boys? By-the-way, the Colonel must be out by now, Kate. What did he get, three years?\u201d Still Miss Tenby made no reply. \u201cWhat is the meaning of this?\u201d demanded Lord Flanborough, feeling that the moment had arrived to assert himself. \u201cDo you know this lady?\u201d \u201cDo I _know_ her,\u201d said Michael, ecstatically; \u201cwhy, I am one of her greatest admirers, aren\u2019t I, Kate?\u201d The girl\u2019s sad face softened to a smile which showed the regular lines of her white teeth. She spoke and her voice was gentle and appealing. \u201cIt is perfectly true, Lord Flanborough,\u201d she said quietly, \u201cMr. Pretherston knows me. He also knows that my uncle, Colonel Westhanger, has been mixed up in a very serious scandal which brought him within the reach of the law. It is perfectly true that when I was a little girl I was known as Kate. It is just as true that I am trying now to live down my association with law-breakers and am trying to rehabilitate myself in the world.\u201d \u201cH\u2019m,\u201d murmured Lord Flanborough, a little taken back, \u201cvery creditable.\u201d Moya turned to Michael indignantly. \u201cI suppose that you think you are rendering a great service to the world in trying to drag this poor girl down to the gutter, in exposing her to her employers and in obtaining her dismissal from honest employment.\u201d \u201cI do,\u201d said Michael shamelessly. \u201cI think it is a barbarous thing to do!\u201d said Moya angrily. She had not yet decided in her own mind as to what steps she would take in face of this revelation. In view of her own character, it is possible that \u201cMiss Tenby\u201d would have a very short shift at her hands. But for the moment the opportunity for the display of benevolence and Christian charity was not to be passed over. She saw the girl\u2019s appealing eyes and clasped hands and, for a moment, she felt a sincere thrill of pity for a brave sister struggling to escape the octopus tentacles of law and crime; for a moment she felt a genuinely unselfish desire to help another. If she expected Inspector the Hon. Michael Pretherston&#8211;for such was his incongruous title&#8211;to wilt under her reproaches, she was disappointed. Michael had not taken his eyes from the secretary, nor had the twinkle in those eyes abated. He nodded to \u201cMiss Tenby.\u201d \u201cKate,\u201d he said, \u201cyou are really a wonder, and to think that you have never yet come into the clutches of the law until now.\u201d \u201cUntil now,\u201d said the girl quickly, raising her voice. He nodded. \u201cThe Prevention of Crimes Act,\u201d murmured Michael. \u201cI _can_ take you,\u201d&#8211;he emphasized the \u201ccan\u201d&#8211;\u201con a charge of obtaining employment with forged letters of recommendation, also with being a Suspected Person.\u201d The girl dropped her attitude of humility, threw back her head and laughed, showing her even white teeth. \u201cOh, you Mike!\u201d she railed him. \u201cOh, you busy fellow!\u201d Her amusement did not last long for instantly her face was set again and the grey eyes blazed with rage. \u201cOne of these days you will be too clever,\u201d she said bitterly. \u201cI have seen better men than you and cleverer men than you go out, Michael Pretherston. You and your Prevention of Crimes Act! You can\u2019t put that bluff over me. The Act does not come into operation until you have a conviction against my name, and that you will never get, you brute!\u201d \u201cKate, Kate!\u201d murmured Michael. \u201cThere\u2019s a lady present.\u201d She nodded. \u201cI guess I\u2019ll get my kit together,\u201d she said; \u201cit hasn\u2019t been exactly a holiday trip.\u201d \u201cMy sympathies are entirely with you,\u201d said Michael; \u201cit must have been awfully dull after the gay orgies of Crime Street.\u201d \u201cThere is one thing I have always wanted to know,\u201d said the girl, pinching her lip thoughtfully. She walked to the desk, and Lord Flanborough was too much taken back to arrest her progress. Without a word she opened the silver box on the table and took out a cigarette. \u201cI have always wanted to know what kind of dope this dear old gentleman smoked.\u201d She looked at the cigarette critically and with an exclamation of disgust threw it back on the desk. \u201cGold Flavours!\u201d she said scornfully; \u201ccan you beat it, Mike? And he has a hundred thousand a year!\u201d \u201cYou must make allowances for the decadence of the governing classes,\u201d said the soothing Michael. He turned and nodded farewell to the girl and with Miss Tenby\u2019s arm in his he passed out of the room, and Lord Flanborough and his daughter looked at one another in speechless amazement. Chapter 2. MIKE SAID NOTHING&#8211;THERE WAS NOTHING TO SAY. \u201cYou might do worse than lunch with me,\u201d said Michael Pretherston. He stood outside Felton House with the girl whose belongings in one small Gladstone bag had been deposited on the curb, pending the arrival of a taxi-cab. \u201cWhy should I lunch with you?\u201d she asked insolently. \u201cI thought you were going to pinch me.\u201d \u201cYour vulgarity is appalling!\u201d said Michael, shaking his head in reproof. \u201cI cannot pinch you in the vulgar sense. I have no desire to perform that operation in the corporeal sense. You had better compromise and lunch with me.\u201d The girl hesitated. \u201cThink of my reputation,\u201d she said. \u201cThoughts of your reputation keep me awake at night,\u201d answered Michael lightly and called a taxi. They found a little restaurant in Soho and in an underground cellar where the bad ventilation was compensated for by a blaze of light, they ate their simple meal. \u201cNow, Kate, I want to ask you what your little game is,\u201d said Michael; \u201cand I need the information because I know it isn\u2019t a little game.\u201d \u201cI was scared sick over those pearls,\u201d said the girl, ignoring the question. \u201cIt would have been horrible bad luck to have been taken for a job I had nothing to do with and such a paltry job, too!\u201d \u201cYou owe me something,\u201d said Michael. \u201cI owe you more than I can ever repay you,\u201d said the girl significantly. \u201cI suppose one of these days,\u201d suggested the detective after an interval of thought, \u201cyou will instruct some of your hired pals, Gregori or the Colonel or little Stockmar, to inflict on me a painful injury.\u201d \u201cYou!\u201d said the girl scornfully. \u201cIf there were not men like you in the police we should have been destroyed years ago! You are a sort of an insurance scheme and it pays us to keep you alive and well. Why, Crime Street would go into mourning the day you were buried.\u201d \u201cYou are not trying to be rude to me, are you?\u201d he asked. She looked at him slyly from under her long lashes and her eyes were dancing with fun. \u201cWhy do you think I went to Lord Flanborough?\u201d she asked. He shook his head. \u201cI\u2019m blessed if I know,\u201d he confessed. \u201cOf course, I knew it was you the moment I heard of the rapid typewriting and the Italian songs. Now listen: I am not trying to speak to you for your good.\u2026\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t!\u201d she said laconically. \u201cBut I have often wondered why a well-educated girl and a nice girl, as far as I know to the contrary, should prefer the life of a crook to.\u2026\u201d \u201cTo earning \u00a32 or \u00a33 a week and working all day to earn it,\u201d she finished for him; \u201cto living my life in one little room on a top floor in Bloomsbury, waiting my turn every morning for my bath. To being made love to by the assistant manager and sacrificing my immortal soul for a half-a-crown dinner and a bottle of red wine! It is funny, isn\u2019t it! I have had the experience for professional purposes and I don\u2019t like it a bit, Mike.\u201d She looked at him straight in the eyes. She had dropped her air of flippancy, her slang; the voice that spoke was not to be distinguished from that of any other gentlewoman. \u201cYou see, a woman is differently circumstanced to a man. She wants nice things and her attitude toward life, and indeed the whole of her conduct, depends entirely upon the degree of niceness she requires. Men don\u2019t do things for women for nothing. They lend to their men friends all the money in the world and are grateful if they get it back. They expect nothing more than their money and are surprised when they get it. But if I were a typist in a city office and I borrowed \u00a32 from the assistant manager or from the chief bookkeeper or a fiver from one of the partners, why, Mike, I should be booked for supper on Wednesday. Men want more from women than a _quid pro quo_; they want two _quid pro quo_. In return for the \u00a32 I borrowed, I should pay interest well outside the range of the multiplication table. Suppose a man lent you \u00a32 and asked you in exchange, not only to repay the money, but to renounce all your dearest principles for the sake of the loan; if he asked you to betray your friends, where you had been loyal to them, and lie, where you had been truthful; break your word where you had been faithful, be a thief where you had been honest? Would you surrender every reticence, every honourable instinct, every precious faith?\u201d Mike said nothing. For there was nothing to say. He paid the bill and escorted the girl to a cab. \u201cI am not going to be sorry for you,\u201d he said; \u201cyou are having The Life. One of these days I shall come along and take you; but I shall hate it. Hop in, Kate!\u201d Kate literally hopped into the waiting taxi, waved her hand in farewell and was gone. Michael Pretherston stood for fully five minutes on the edge of the pavement, meditating upon what the girl had said. She had struck a responsive note in his soul, for she spoke no more than was the truth, as he knew. He went, a little sadly, back to headquarters, remembering en route that he had forgotten to write the report. Should he go back to the Yard and compose it from memory or should he return to the unsympathetic atmosphere of Felton House? He decided upon the latter and surprised Lord Flanborough in the act of taking an afternoon nap. Michael was full of apologies and was so unusually respectful that his lordship forgot to be annoyed. \u201cMoya\u2019s out,\u201d he explained. \u201cI will endeavour to bear up,\u201d replied Michael, seating himself at his lordship\u2019s desk and preparing to take a note of the circumstances which had led to his lordship\u2019s call for assistance. He finished the report, blotted and folded it and placed the document in his pocket. \u201cI only want to ask you one or two questions and they concern Kate&#8211;or Miss Tenby, as you call her. I\u2019m afraid I gave you a shock this morning.\u201d \u201cIt was certainly a surprise,\u201d admitted Lord Flanborough cautiously; \u201cwho is this Kate? We have made a very careful search of the house but nothing is missing so far as we can tell.\u201d Michael laughed. \u201cYou needn\u2019t worry about that. Kate is not a pilferer. Her real name is Katharine Westhanger; they call her Kate and she is the Colonel\u2019s niece. Her age is eighteen or nineteen, and from a child she has been brought up to regard the world as her oyster. Her mother was a wholesome parson\u2019s daughter, her father was a rascal who was kicked out of the army in \u201989 for an offence against the Law of Property. Her maternal grandfather was General Sir Shaun Masserfield, the greatest strategist the British army has ever held&#8211;Kate inherits his genius but has not learnt his code. Her father died when she was a child and her uncle, who is a greater scoundrel than her father was&#8211;the family on the Westhanger side has a criminal history which goes back at intervals for two hundred years&#8211;completed her education. Kate has been brought up to be a thief, but a big thief. She is, I believe, the brains of the biggest criminal organisation in the world. Every member of the gang has been taken, but no evidence has ever been offered against Kate. She plans the big swindles and each one is bigger than the last&#8211;but never once have we traced the offence to her door.\u201d \u201cWhy is it that the police&#8211;?\u201d began Lord Flanborough. \u201cThe police, my dear Flanborough,\u201d said Michael wearily, \u201care human beings who have to deal with human beings. They are not angels, nor thought readers, nor are they clairvoyant. The laws of this country are so framed that the criminal has six chances to every one possessed by his enemy. We know Kate was concerned in that big bank smashing exploit which took two million crowns from the treasury of the Bank of Holland. It was Kate who organised the raid upon the London jewellers in June of last year. Kate is the mother of Crime Street. You don\u2019t know that thoroughfare, but one of these days I\u2019ll introduce you to it, if you are curious&#8211;but I warn you that if you expect to steep your soul in sordidness, you will be disappointed&#8211;it is the most respectable street in London. Her ingenuity is remarkable, her patience beyond praise, and that is partly why I have come back: I want to know why she was here and what she was doing?\u201d \u201cAs I say\u2026\u201d began Lord Flanborough again. \u201cFor Heaven\u2019s sake,\u201d interrupted Michael, \u201cdon\u2019t tell me that you haven\u2019t missed things! I tell you Kate would not touch a pin in your house. In the first place she is a well-off woman. Why in Heaven\u2019s name should she bother her head about your belongings? I don\u2019t suppose, if she had the full run of your house, she could find \u00a3100 worth of realisable property! No, that is not why Kate came to you. How long has she been here?\u201d \u201cNearly a month,\u201d said Lord Flanborough, a little annoyed that the result of his own private investigations had so utterly failed to impress a representative of Scotland Yard. \u201cWhat work has she been doing?\u201d \u201cOrdinary secretarial work for Moya. She came with excellent letters of recommendation.\u201d \u201cYou can forget those,\u201d interrupted Michael testily; \u201cthe gentleman who wrote them lives at No. 9, Crime Street and his name is Millet.\u201d \u201cShe was a wonderful typist,\u201d began his lordship, who was seeking about in his own mind for some excuse which would explain why he had been deceived. \u201cThat I also know. She is, as you say, one of the fastest typists in the world. In fact, no aspect of her education has been neglected. She speaks five languages and read French fluently when she was nine. What work has she done for you?\u201d Lord Flanborough considered for a while. \u201cShe has copied a few letters and reports.\u201d \u201cWhat kind of reports?\u201d \u201cReports from our South African companies. You see, Michael, I still retain the direction of most of my old interests.\u201d \u201cWere they very important&#8211;the reports, I mean?\u201d \u201cYes and no,\u201d replied Lord Flanborough slowly; \u201cthey were merely records of output, cost of production and projected shipments.\u201d \u201cOn what other work was she employed?\u201d \u201cLet me think,\u201d said Lord Flanborough. \u201cI _am_ letting you!\u201d replied Michael tartly. \u201cYou used to have a very private code-book if I remember rightly.\u201d \u201cThat is true,\u201d said Lord Flanborough, \u201cbut of course, she did not see that.\u201d \u201cWhere did you keep it?\u201d \u201cIn my desk,\u201d said Lord Flanborough. \u201cIs it possible that she could have seen it?\u201d \u201cIt is possible, but wholly impossible that she could have copied it.\u201d \u201cFor how long a time together was she left alone?\u201d \u201cFive minutes was the longest period she was left in the library alone,\u201d said his lordship after consideration. Michael fingered his chin. \u201cDid you ever come into the library and find her in a semi-fainting condition?\u201d he asked. Lord Flanborough looked at him with open-mouthed amazement. \u201cDid she tell you?\u201d Michael shook his head. \u201cNo, she has told me nothing. I gather from your question that there was such an occurrence?\u201d \u201cIt is remarkable that you should ask the question,\u201d said his lordship. \u201cI _did_ come in one morning to find the poor girl&#8211;er, the wretched girl, in a semi-fainting condition.\u201d \u201cAnd you went out and got her a glass of water and sent for your housekeeper, I suppose,\u201d said Michael, his lip curling. \u201cYes, I did,\u201d admitted his lordship. \u201cWhich means, in plain language,\u201d smiled Michael, \u201cthat you surprised her in the act of examining some of your private documents and that whilst you were getting the water and calling assistance, she was replacing whatever she was looking at where she had found it. Did she on any other occasion draw your attention, on your entering the room, to some peculiar circumstance, such as one of the pictures not hanging straight or a broken vase?\u201d Again Lord Flanborough looked astounded. \u201cYes, once she pointed to the china cupboard and asked me who cracked the glass. As a matter of fact, the glass was not cracked at all,\u201d he explained. \u201cBut you went over and examined it?\u201d \u201cNaturally,\u201d said his lordship. \u201cThat was exactly the same trick,\u201d said Michael; \u201cwhilst you were making your inspection she was able to replace any documents she had been examining and close the drawer&#8211;if they were in a drawer. Now, I wonder what her game is?\u201d \u201cYou don\u2019t suggest,\u201d began his lordship in alarm, \u201cthat she is scheming to rob me?\u201d \u201cI hope not,\u201d said Michael gravely; \u201cfrom the idea of your being robbed, the imagination reels.\u201d \u201cI wish you wouldn\u2019t be so sarcastic. I am afraid you have never quite forgiven Moya&#8211;\u201d \u201cI bless Moya every time I think of her,\u201d said Michael quickly; \u201cshe rendered me the greatest service that one human being can render to another, when she refused me. I hope to do better than Moya. As Moya\u2019s father, you utter a pained protest. I know, I know,\u201d said Michael, and he waved his hand cheerfully from the door. Chapter 3. OTHER EYES WATCHED MICHAEL. Michael Pretherston was back at the Yard in time to catch his chief before he departed for the day. Commissioner T.B. Smith, to whose recommendation this young scion of the aristocracy owed his promotion, was not helpful. \u201cIf we took Kate on any charge it would not prevent the swindle going forward,\u201d he said; \u201cyou may be sure she has mobilized all her resources and her little army is ready to the last button of the last gaiter. There is supposed to be a fellow watching her all the time, but he seems to have missed her rather cleverly. Anyway, I don\u2019t think there is much to be gained from shadowing her, because she knows she is under observation and acts accordingly. But I have a word of advice to you, my young Hibernian friend, and that is to keep a sharp eye on your own precious life. Kate is afraid of you.\u201d \u201cShe didn\u2019t give me that impression this afternoon,\u201d said Michael sadly. \u201cKate is a bluff; you mustn\u2019t take any notice of what she says. You accept a friend\u2019s advice and go very carefully to work. I am not so sure that you didn\u2019t behave indiscreetly this afternoon.\u201d \u201cThat is impossible!\u201d said Michael stoutly, and T.B. Smith laughed. \u201cThe thing to have done was not to have recognized her and to have kept her under observation, pursuing your enquiries in the usual way.\u201d \u201cIf you can suggest any method by which I could have prevented her from recognizing me and recognizing the fact that I recognized her I will admit that I was wrong,\u201d and T.B. Smith agreed. \u201cYou may be right,\u201d he said; \u201canyway, look after yourself.\u201d Michael promptly forgot his chief\u2019s advice and spent his evening making a solitary reconnaissance of Crime Street. Crime Street does not appear upon any plan of London, but if you will look at any large survey of the Hampstead district, you will find in a somewhat irregular tangle of buildings within a stone\u2019s throw of the Heath, a curious oval which is conspicuous on the plan, not only by its own symmetry but by the graceful lines of the thoroughfares which radiate therefrom. This is Amberscombe Gardens. The centre of the oval is occupied by four houses, Numbers Two, Four, Six and Eight; the northern side of the gardens by five houses, Numbers One, Three, Five, Seven and Nine. Into Amberscombe Gardens from the north run three roads, the first of which (opening into the oval between Numbers One and Three) being called The Approach; the second, dividing Numbers Five and Seven, called Bethburn Avenue; the third between Numbers Seven and Nine, Coleburn Avenue. On the south side of the oval the arrangement of the streets is very similar. Originally, the central space had been occupied by nine houses but these had been pulled down by the proprietors of the remaining four and a private garden, common to all four houses, had been laid out by the owners of these properties. So that on the southern side of the central oval, there were no buildings, but a wall bisected at regular intervals by plain garden doors which form such a common feature of London suburban residences. In reality, the roadway to the north and south of the plot is all Amberscombe Gardens, but the oval which curves round to the north was, at the period this story covers, known to the police as \u201cCrime Street,\u201d and in this description the nine houses on both sides of the northern curve were involved. Number One, the most modest of all the buildings, was in the occupation of Dr. Philip Garon, an American practitioner who made frequent visits across the Atlantic and invariably returned to deposit a very handsome surplus in the local branch of the London and Western Counties Bank. Dr. Garon was successful as a result of the sublime assurance of all ocean-going passengers, that the notice, conspicuously displayed in the smoking-room warning passengers not to play cards with strangers, did not apply to them. Number Three, a pretty house smothered in clematis in the proper season of the year, with its white window sashes and its sober red front, was the town house of Mr. Cunningham, who, apparently, had no initial and no Christian name. He was known to his intimate friends as Mush, the derivation of which is a little obscure. Mr. Cunningham described himself as independent, which meant no more than that he was independent of the ordinary necessities of making an honest living. In a sense, he was by far the best known of the Colony, for Mush had served two terms of penal servitude, one in an English and one in a French prison. He had the reputation of being able to cut holes in steel safes with a greater rapidity than any other gentleman in his profession, and it is said, probably with truth, that he had improved upon the oxy-hydrogen jet and had introduced a new element which shortened the work by half. The tenant of Number Five was a gentleman, benign of countenance and very good to the poor. He was called the Bishop by friends and foes alike. His real name was Brown and he had been concerned in more bank swindles than any of the other colonists, though he had only one conviction to his discredit and that a comparative flea-bite of nine months\u2019 hard labour. The owner of Number Seven was described as \u201cMr. Colling Jacques, Civil Engineer,\u201d in the local directories. The official police \u201cWho\u2019s Who\u201d noted that he was a wonderful pistol shot, and recorded, in parenthesis, that on the occasion of his arrest in connection with the smashing of the Bank of Holland, no weapon was found upon him. It was also added that there was no conviction against him in England, though he, too, had seen the inside of a French prison. Number Nine was pointed out to sightseers, with a certain amount of local pride by the guide, as the home of Millet the forger, who had received on one occasion a fifteen years\u2019 sentence, but had been released after serving two years, an act of grace on the part of the authorities which earned for him a certain unpopularity with his peers and was held to be not unconnected with the subsequent arrest of a few of his former associates, the suggestion being that Mr. Millet had turned King\u2019s evidence. At Number Two, on the \u201coval\u201d side of the street, lived H. Mulberry, a respectable and methodical man, who went to his little office in Chancery Lane every morning of his life by the 9:15 and returned to his home at exactly 5:30 P.M. year in and year out. Mulberry was a begging letter writer on a magnificent scale. He had a wonderful literary style which seldom failed to extract the necessary emolument which he sought. Number Four, a much larger house, indeed the second largest in Crime Street, was the habitat of \u201cSe\u00f1or Gregori, a teacher of languages.\u201d Unfortunately for him, he had in the course of his thrilling career taught other things than the liquid tongue of Spain. For example, he had taught the Bank of Chili that their \u201cunforgeable\u201d notes which, it was boasted, defied photographic reproduction could be turned out by the tens of thousands and that the six tints in which a gold bond was printed offered no insuperable difficulty to a clever craftsman with an artist\u2019s eye and a sense of colour. In Number Eight lived the two brothers Thomas and Francis Stockmar of Austrian extraction, who were described as political refugees but were undoubtedly criminals of a peculiarly dangerous type. The Stockmars were dour, white-faced men with short bristling hair and were certainly the least presentable of all the colonists. Number Six has been left to the last, for this was the most important house in Crime Street. It was a story higher than any other, built squarely, with no attempt at beauty. It is said that the third floor consisted of one room and that from its many windows it was possible to command, not only all the approaches to the northern side of the gardens, but those to the south; it has even been suggested that it was so planned, that, in case of necessity, the house could be converted into a fortress, from the third floor of which a last desperate stand might be made. This then was Number Six, the abiding place of Colonel Westhanger and his brilliant niece. Michael Pretherston was no stranger to Crime Street. He had made many visits to this locality, and it had been at his initiative that the roadway of Amberscombe Gardens had been dug up one fine morning by a gang of road-breakers and there had been revealed that remarkable subterranean passage which connected the one side of the street with the other. The passageway led from the summer house in the gardens of the oval to a stable in Number Three. The Colonists, however, swore stoutly that they knew nothing whatever of the existence of this passage and that it must have existed years before they came to the street. The civil engineer, Colling Jacques, pointed out to the district surveyor that the very character of the passage suggested that this was some storm water drain which had been laid down and forgotten by the contractor. Or else it had been laid down in error and the contractor had been either too lazy or too rushed to break it up. There were many other explanations, none of which was wholly acceptable. Michael, swinging his stick, passed that portion of the road in which the passage had run and wondered with a reminiscent smile where the new tunnel was, for that there was a new one, he did not doubt. Night was falling, and Dr. Philip Garon\u2019s dining-room windows blazed with light. Mr. Mulberry\u2019s, on the right, was more modestly illuminated. Mr. Cunningham\u2019s house was in darkness, as also was \u201cThe Bishop\u2019s.\u201d There were lights in the bedroom at Number Seven but Number Six was black as also was Number Eight. He saw Millet standing at his garden gate, smoking, and crossed the road toward him, realizing that the keen-eyed gentleman had already observed his presence. Millet, a florid man with a genial, almost fulsome, manner met him with a friendly nod. \u201cGood evening, Mr. Pretherston,\u201d he said. \u201cI hope you are not looking for trouble. \u201d Michael leant on the top bar of the gate and shook his head. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t come here for trouble,\u201d he said; \u201cthis is the most law-abiding spot in London.\u201d Mr. Millet sighed and murmured something about misfortunes which overtake mankind and added a pious expression of his desire to forget the past and to end his days in that security and peace which sin denies its votaries. \u201cVery pretty,\u201d said Michael blandly, \u201cand how are all our good neighbours? I was thinking of taking a house here myself. By-the-way,\u201d he added innocently, \u201cI suppose you don\u2019t know any that are to be let?\u201d Mr. Millet shook his head. \u201cI am all alone here,\u201d he said, \u201cif you were really serious about wishing to live in this neighbourhood, I should be honoured to act as your host, Mr. Pretherston.\u201d \u201cAnd how is Kate?\u201d demanded Michael, ignoring the invitation. \u201cKate?\u201d asked the puzzled Mr. Millet; \u201coh, you mean, Miss Westhanger. I haven\u2019t seen her for several days&#8211;I think it was last Tuesday afternoon I saw her last.\u201d \u201cYes, at 2:30 in the afternoon,\u201d mocked Michael, \u201cshe was wearing a blue dress with white spots and a green hat with an ostrich feather. You remember her distinctly because she dropped her bag and you crossed to pick it up. You needn\u2019t start the alibi factory working, Millet; I have nothing against Kate for the moment.\u201d Mr. Millet laughed softly. \u201cYou will have your joke,\u201d he said. \u201cI will,\u201d said Michael with grim emphasis, \u201cbut it is going to be a long time developing. I haven\u2019t seen the Stockmars lately either.\u201d \u201cI never see them at all,\u201d Mr. Millet hastened to state. \u201cI have very little in common with foreigners. Whatever there is against me, Mr. Pretherston, I am a patriot through and through. I am proud to be English and I don\u2019t take kindly to foreign gentlemen and never will. \u201cYour patriotism does you credit, Millet,\u201d said the detective dryly as he prepared to move on. \u201cI wish you would be patriotic enough to give me a tip as to what game is on,\u201d he lowered his voice. \u201cYou know all that is happening here and you might do yourself a little bit of good.\u201d \u201cIf I knew anything,\u201d said the other earnestly, \u201cI would tell you in a moment, Mr. Pretherston, but here I am, out of the world, so to speak. Nobody ever consults me and I am glad they don\u2019t. I want to be left alone to forget the past&#8211;\u201d \u201cCut all that Little Eva stuff out, Uncle Tom,\u201d said Michael coarsely. Other eyes had watched Michael, from behind blinds, through unsuspected peep-holes, a dozen pairs of eyes had followed him as he took his slow promenade along Crime Street. Colonel Westhanger, a tall, grey man, stood in that big room on the third floor of his house, his hands folded behind him, his chin upon his breast, following every movement of the detective. Gregori, handsome and lithe, stood at his elbow, shading the glow of his cigarette in the palm of his hand. \u201cColonel _mio_,\u201d he said softly, \u201cI would give much for an opportunity of meeting that gentleman in a nice dark passage, in one of those old Harrison Ainsworth houses which were providentially built over a river.\u201d \u201cYou will have your wish one of these days,\u201d said the Colonel gruffly; \u201cI don\u2019t like that fellow. He is not one of the ordinary run of policemen. They are bad enough, but this fellow knows too much.\u201d He nibbled his white moustache, shook his head and turned away from the window as Michael took his farewell of the forger. \u201cWatch him on the other side,\u201d he said, \u201cand send one of the boys out to follow him.\u201d He descended the thickly carpeted stairs to the first floor, which was the living suite. The drawing-room in which he turned was a beautifully furnished apartment, and the girl who had been sitting at the piano, her nimble hands running over the keys, looked up as he entered. Chapter 4. \u201cTHE IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST\u201d. \u201cWhere did he go?\u201d she asked. \u201cHe went to Millet,\u201d said the Colonel, throwing himself down to a divan and biting off the end of a fresh cigar. \u201cI wonder what the dickens he wants?\u201d he mused. Kate Westhanger made a little grimace. \u201cYou can never tell whether a policeman finds his duty a pleasure or his pleasure a duty,\u201d she said. \u201cI suppose he is just renewing acquaintance with Crime Street.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t use that phrase,\u201d snapped her uncle. \u201cI shall use whatever phrase I wish,\u201d she said calmly. \u201cYou are getting nervous. Why?\u201d \u201cI\u2019m not nervous,\u201d he protested loudly; \u201cI am getting old I suppose, and the job is such a big one. It is almost too big for me and if I occupied the position I had a few years ago, Kate, I would drop it. After all, we have made a good deal of money and we might as well all of us live to enjoy it.\u201d She was back at the piano again and was playing with the soft pedal down. \u201cCan\u2019t you find anything more cheerful than the \u2018Death of Asa\u2019?\u201d growled her relative. \u201cIt is nerves, of course; I am awfully sorry.\u201d She got up and closed the piano with a bang which made him jump. \u201cI don\u2019t know what to do about Mike,\u201d she mused. \u201cGregori has a solution,\u201d said the Colonel. \u201cTo cut his throat, I suppose,\u201d said the girl coolly. \u201cGregori is so elemental and so horrific! I can\u2019t imagine that he ever has cut a throat in his life, but I suppose he feels that it is in keeping with his sunny southern nature to talk like that. No, Colonel _mio_,\u201d she mimicked, \u201cwe have stopped short of murder so far and I think we will remain on the safe side. My theory coincides with Mike\u2019s. I was reading an article of his in a Socialistic paper the other day and it was all about the Right to Live. I don\u2019t believe in killing people. I believe in bleeding those who have grown apoplectic with their money and I don\u2019t even know whether I believe in that.\u201d \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d the Colonel looked up at her under his shaggy brows. She shrugged her shoulders. \u201cI mean,\u201d she said slowly, \u201cI never know whether my views are my own views or whether they are just your views which I reflect like a mirror. You see, dear,\u201d she said, \u201cI am very young but I have a logical mind and my logical mind tells me that no girl can have any very definite views at nineteen, not of her own, I mean. Perhaps when I am twenty-five I shall look upon you as a terrible person, and all this,\u201d she spread her hands out, \u201cas something to think of with a shudder.\u201d \u201cIn the meantime,\u201d said her uncle practically, \u201cyou are Miss Ali Baba, chief strategist of our little army and a very exigent young lady&#8211;by-the-way, Gregori is kicking.\u201d She looked at him with a contemptuous little twist of her lips. \u201cThere is a great centre forward lost in Gregori,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat has moved that dago\u2019s feet?\u201d \u201cHush, hush, my child,\u201d cautioned her uncle, \u201cour admirable friend is upstairs and, anyway, it doesn\u2019t do to speak disrespectfully of one\u2019s criminal associates. There is a certain punctilio in our profession which you may have noticed.\u201d \u201cHow queer it sounds!\u201d she said, leaning forward and clasping her knee. \u201cDo you know, uncle, I cannot think straight. Ever since I was so high,\u201d she stretched her hand out before her, \u201cI have never known a desire to secure anything I wanted, save by taking it from somebody else. At the school in Lausanne I seemed to be amongst the queerest people and, honestly, although you had warned me, I thought they were all mad. All their fathers made money in business, which seems to be a slow method of stealing which is allowed by the law. Think of the horrible monotony of working steadily day after day without any holidays, with no excitement, no adventures, save the artificial thrill of a theatre and the adventures that meet you on your way home.\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t even know there were those kind of adventures,\u201d said the Colonel, fingering his trim moustache and enjoying with closed eyes the fragrance of his cigar. \u201cOh, yes,\u201d nodded the girl, \u201cyou meet all sorts of men who raise their hats and say, \u2018Good-evening, Miss,\u2019 or \u2018Haven\u2019t we met before?\u2019 I don\u2019t think they have ever said anything else,\u201d she reflected thoughtfully,&#8211;\u201cthey all belong to the \u2018Good-evening\u2019 or the \u2018Met you before\u2019 school, and they all want to know if you are \u2018going their way.\u2019\u201d \u201cWhat happens then?\u201d asked the amused Colonel, carefully removing his cigar in order that he might laugh without detriment to the accumulating ash. \u201cI have only had one experience,\u201d said Kate. \u201cIt was with a young man with a horribly weak chin. He had studied in both schools, for his \u2018Good-evening\u2019 was followed by a request for information upon my immediate plans and I let him walk with me. I expected something very dreadful but he talked mostly about his mother and the difficulties he had about getting a latch-key. He wanted to take my arm but I told him it wasn\u2019t done and then he suggested that I should meet him on Sunday. By this time I had learnt all about his family, his mother and the girl he was prepared to sacrifice to retain a continuation of our intimacy. I also discovered his name was Ernest and that he was the cleverest man in his office.\u201d \u201cHe wanted to kiss you, I\u2019ll be bound,\u201d said the Colonel. \u201cI think he did,\u201d admitted the girl, \u201cbut he didn\u2019t say so. All he said was that he hoped it didn\u2019t rain and asked if he might write to me. I told him he might, but, unfortunately, he forgot to ask me my address&#8211;\u201d she broke off suddenly, \u201cwhat is Gregori kicking about?\u201d \u201cThat Madrid affair didn\u2019t go off as well as it might,\u201d said the Colonel, avoiding her eye. She nodded. \u201cI know; and Gregori blames me, I presume.\u201d \u201cGregori never blames you,\u201d said the Colonel, \u201cI think Gregori would knife anybody who said a word against you.\u201d \u201cNo,\u201d she said, nodding her head, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall, \u201cthe Madrid affair went badly, in spite of the fact that there were forty-two sheets of manuscript in Spanish and English giving the most elaborate directions. It was a month\u2019s work for me and it was all wasted and the greater part of a hundred thousand pesetas because Gregori\u2019s trusted Se\u00f1or Rahboulla thought he could improve upon my instructions and joined the train at Cordova in a light grey suit when I told him to wear the conventional black of the _madrilleno_ and when I insisted upon his making his entrance to Madrid from Toledo. I knew that Cordova was watched by the French and Spanish police and I knew too that they would be looking for a stranger. Rahboulla advertised himself, was arrested and the chain, which I had carefully pieced together, was broken. By the time he had shaken off the police and arrived in Madrid the closing hour of the Prado had been advanced from six to five and the consequence is, that the Velasquez is still in the picture gallery and we are a hundred thousand pesetas the poorer.\u201d The Colonel shook his head. \u201cYou are a wonderful girl and I will admit you are right. Heavens! the patience required to work out these details!\u201d \u201cThe ideal criminal is a strategist,\u201d said the girl. \u201cHe foresees every move of the enemy and forestalls him. He makes a diversion at one point and his real attack at another. He prepares the way for retreat at the same time as he is preparing his advance. It took me six months to obtain all the information I wanted and it took six minutes for Rahboulla to upset our plans.\u201d She laughed. \u201cIf things go wrong, you blame the general,\u201d she said. \u201cThree years ago, Gregori the Kicker introduced an Italian into one of our schemes&#8211;the business of the Nottingham Post Office. That went wrong, too.\u201d \u201cThere I admit you were right,\u201d the Colonel hurried to say; \u201cTolmini made a mess of it.\u201d[1] \u201cAnd tried to drag us all into it when he was caught,\u201d said the girl; \u201che went to prison under the impression that I had led him into a trap&#8211;though the fool was told the mail bags were not to be touched until the night shift came on duty.\u201d \u201cWhy do you mention him now with such emphasis?\u201d asked the Colonel curiously. \u201cBecause he\u2019s out of prison&#8211;and he\u2019ll be kicking, too,\u201d she replied, \u201cjust as Gregori kicks!\u201d \u201c\u2018Let the dead past bury the dead,\u2019\u201d quoted the Colonel. \u201cAnd how is the new scheme?\u201d \u201cMuch farther advanced than you think. There are still one or two roads to be made smooth, one or two outposts to be rushed, some barbed wire to be cut.\u201d \u201cBy Gad!\u201d cried the Colonel admiringly. \u201cYou ought to have been a soldier, Kate.\u201d She leant back in the chair with her hands clasped behind her head and looked at him searchingly. \u201cYou were once a gentleman, uncle,\u201d she said in that direct way of hers and Colonel Westhanger flushed and frowned. \u201cWell, my dear uncle,\u201d she expostulated, \u201cyou are not a gentleman by the ordinary code now are you?\u201d \u201cI have certain instincts,\u201d protested the Colonel gruffly; \u201chang it all, Kate, you don\u2019t let a fellow down very lightly. \u201cI suppose you are still something of a gentleman,\u201d said the girl reflectively; \u201cthe mere fact that you are annoyed at the suggestion that you are not proves that. But what I mean to say is this: there was a time when you obeyed another code, when you thought stealing was a disgraceful thing and robbery under arms a crime. You must have associated with men on whose word you could rely and who would never commit a dishonest or a mean action&#8211;men who were prepared in battle to give their lives for you. And you must have commanded men who had the same views and have punished soldiers who stepped aside from the straight path and committed little crimes which, compared with yours, were as pin-heads to the dome of St. Paul\u2019s.\u201d \u201cI can\u2019t see why you want to talk about the past,\u201d said the Colonel irritably. He was still a fine figure of a man, grey-moustached, broad of shoulder, tall and straight of back and had about him that indefinable something which men who have commanded men never entirely lose. \u201cI am merely comparing you with me,\u201d she said; \u201cyou have the advantage of having seen both sides. Tell me, which is the better?\u201d \u201cWhich do you think?\u201d he demanded suspiciously. She tossed her cigarette into the grate. \u201cI think this is the better,\u201d she said frankly; \u201cit is very pleasant and very exciting. And all the good people I have met have been very dull. I think that is because all good people are dull.\u201d \u201cThere are some good people,\u201d said the Colonel virtuously, \u201cwho are very interesting.\u201d \u201cNot because of their goodness,\u201d rejoined the girl quickly; \u201cif you meet a very popular good man it is because there is something about him which is not absolutely good. If you hear a man speak of a parson as a good fellow you will generally discover that he goes to the National Sporting Club and sees boxing or rides to hounds or does something which is quite unassociated with his professional duties or the exercise of his innocent qualities. But you have not answered me. Which is better?\u201d \u201cIf I had my life to live over again&#8211;\u201d began the Colonel with a wry face. \u201cThat\u2019s silly,\u201d said the girl calmly. \u201cYou won\u2019t have your life to live over again, so why speculate upon the possibility? Anyway, if you could live your life over again, you could not possibly benefit by your present experience, because you would not remember it. You have lived two lives, which is the better?\u201d \u201cYou are in a queer mood, to-night,\u201d said Colonel Westhanger, rising and stalking past her to the fire-place. \u201cHave you got religion, or something?\u201d \u201cWhich is the better?\u201d she asked again. \u201cTo be a free thief or to be in the dull bondage of honesty?\u201d \u201cFor your peace of mind the honest life is the better,\u201d said the Colonel. \u201cYou have no sleepless nights, no agony of mind which you have to conceal with whatever skill you possess at every knock at the door, no fear of the police, no wondering what the next day is going to bring forth.\u201d \u201cReally!\u201d she looked up at him quizzically. \u201cDo honest men never have any of those experiences? Do honest men get into debt, for example, and dread the coming of the collector? Does an honest man who is getting grey feel a little sickening sensation in his heart every time his employer looks at him thoughtfully?\u201d The Colonel turned round and snarled over his shoulder. \u201cAs you seem to have all your answers ready-made, I don\u2019t know why you trouble to ask me,\u201d he snapped; \u201cthere are advantages and disadvantages on both sides of the picture. \u201d The girl was in a restless mood and presently she sprang up, walked to the window, opened the little square of shutter and looked out into the darkening street. Then she crossed to her little desk at one side of the fireplace. She sat down and wrote for a while, then, as suddenly, she dropped her pen and got up again. \u201cYou are going to ask another question,\u201d warned the Colonel. \u201cOnly one,\u201d she pleaded. \u201cWell, fire away,\u201d he grumbled ungraciously. \u201cWhat would induce you to forsake your career and apply your undoubted talents, as the assize judge said to poor dear Mr. Mulberry, to better purpose?\u201d \u201cWealth,\u201d said the Colonel promptly,&#8211;\u201cenough stuff put aside to bring me in a nice little income. And here again, let me say, Kate, that you and I could well afford to knock off&#8211;\u201d She interrupted him. \u201cThat is a purely material inducement,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat other&#8211;spiritual or ethical?\u201d \u201cOh, rot!\u201d he snapped. \u201cWhy do you ask these fool questions?\u201d \u201cBecause I am wondering,\u201d she said, \u201cwhat influence could be brought to bear upon me. The opinion of my fellow creatures? No, I don\u2019t care what they think. I know they are mostly fools and so why should they influence me? Wealth? No, if I were rich as Cr\u0153sus I should go on, for the sport of it. Punishment? No, I should use my spare time in correcting the faults in me which had resulted in my detection. I am afraid I am incorrigible, uncle, for there is something about this life which appeals to me no end&#8211;and now I am going to dress,\u201d she said, making for the door. \u201cGoing out?\u201d asked the Colonel in surprise. She nodded. \u201cBut Gregori&#8211;\u201d \u201cGregori can wait,\u201d said Kate, \u201cand Gregori bores me. He is always trying to make love.\u201d \u201cIs that remarkable?\u201d suggested the Colonel archly. \u201cIt is remarkably annoying,\u201d said the girl. She flung open the door and stepped back. Gregori, politest of cavaliers, stood deferentially in the entrance and she surveyed him coolly. \u201cWere you listening?\u201d she asked. \u201cSe\u00f1orita!\u201d he said, shocked. She laughed and passed out. Gregori watched her as she mounted the stairs till she turned out of sight, then he closed the door and came across to the Colonel. \u201cOur little friend is hard on me,\u201d he said with no hint of malice in his voice. \u201cShe is a queer girl, Gregori,\u201d replied the Colonel, shaking his head. \u201cShe is a queer girl,\u201d repeated Gregori; \u201cqueer indeed, yes.\u201d He stroked his little black moustache. \u201cShe doesn\u2019t like me.\u201d \u201cWho does she like?\u201d snapped the older man. \u201cYou, I trust,\u201d smiled the Spaniard. The Colonel tossed his head despairingly. \u201cI hardly know,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat a reversal of positions!\u201d The Spaniard took the seat the girl had vacated. \u201cI know what you are thinking about,\u201d he nodded; \u201ca few years ago she was the obedient child absorbing our code&#8211;to-day she is the tyrannical mistress of the situation.\u201d He deftly unrolled and rolled a Spanish cigarette, licked its edges and fumbled for a match in his waistcoat pocket. \u201cShe is all brain, our Kate,\u201d he said admiringly, \u201cbut her heart&#8211;pouf!\u201d he puffed out a cloud of smoke to emphasize the word. \u201cThere is no end to her energy,\u201d he went on; \u201csometimes I think she is dangerous and then when I come to consider all things it is impossible to say that she can be. After all, hers is only the plan. The responsibility for the bungling is with us&#8211;the plan is so perfect that you can hardly pick a hole in it. She works out to the last minute detail the chronology of a coup, she dresses it, rehearses it. She never fails. Yes, it was Rahboulla,\u201d he agreed, \u201cand I was wrong to kick. What was it she called me, a \u2018centre forward\u2019 and a \u2018dago\u2019,\u201d he laughed softly. \u201cShe is very young,\u201d said the Colonel apologetically, \u201cand a little impetuous of speech&#8211;she talks too much, I think.\u201d \u201cA pretty woman can never talk too much,\u201d said the gallant Gregori; \u201cshe can think too much and talk too little. A person who talks is like a lighted house with all the blinds up and the doors open, you know where you are. Now, Colonel _mio_, how far have we got with this new scheme?\u201d The Colonel brought a chair in one hand and a light table in the other to where the Spaniard sat, produced from his inside-pocket a bunch of memoranda and in a few minutes the men were deep in the discussion of the most remarkable, the most startling and the most daring enterprise that Crime Street had ever undertaken. Chapter 5. A CHORUS GIRL AT SEBO\u2019S. Sebo\u2019s Club was crowded, for it was the dinner hour and Sebo\u2019s is the most extensively patronized of the dining clubs. Here, all that was beautiful, all that was smart, all that was famous and brilliant in the world of society, letters and the drama met on common ground&#8211;the inherent and universal desire which humanity has for careless comfort. A Cabinet Minister and his party sat at the next table to that presided over by a great revue actress; the owner of a Derby winner sat back to back against a famous Radical satirist. The editor of a great London daily could look across his table and without shifting his eyes could count in his field of vision the pretty dancer from the Empiredrome, a royal physician, a peer of the realm and a ragtime singer. The big dining hall blazed with lights, the little tables were crowded together so as to leave scarcely room for the waiters who, by some mysterious dispensation of Providence, seemed able to thread their ways through impossible spaces. The noisy band kept up its rhythmic pandemonium in one corner of the room, but did not drown the rippling laughter and the buzz of light-hearted talk. In the little vestibule a young man, very tall and very thin, paced the tesselated floor with that evidence of resignation which tells so eloquently the story of the Unpunctual Guest. He was very fair and very pink. His countenance was vacant and the vacancy was by no means relieved when he screwed a gold-rimmed monocle into his right eye. Presently the glass doors swung and a girl came hurriedly toward him, holding out her gloved hand. \u201cI am awfully sorry I am late, Reggie,\u201d she said with easy familiarity. \u201cIf you were an hour late or five hours late or a day late,\u201d said the young man with gentle ecstasy, \u201cI should be content to wait, Miss Flemming.\u201d She flashed a dazzling smile at him. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t be horribly shocked if you called me Vera,\u201d she said. The young man went pinker than ever, coughed, stuttered, ran his gloved finger inside the high upstanding collar about his thin throat, dropped his eye-glass, retrieved it and did all this in the space of four seconds, thereby betraying his perturbation and his gratitude. \u201cYou have a table, I suppose?\u201d said the girl when she had returned from depositing her coat. \u201cRather!\u201d said the young man, and added after a second\u2019s thought, \u201cRather!\u201d He fussily shepherded her through the mass of tables where his own attenuation enabled him to emulate the deeds of the agile serving man and brought her to a corner table which was smothered with rare flowers. Heads were turned, sharp eyes focussed the couple, some smiled, though for the girl the glances held nothing but admiration or cold-blooded appraisement, according to the sex of the observer. \u201cReggie Boltover!\u201d said one young man. \u201cWho is Reggie Boltover?\u201d asked his companion. \u201cA human being loosely attached to a million,\u201d was the laconic description. The girl was radiant, the smile hardly left her face and the eyes which glanced shyly up to her tall companion were full of wonder and delight. \u201cSo this is Sebo\u2019s,\u201d she said. \u201cIsn\u2019t it a dreadfully wicked place?\u201d Reggie Boltover\u2019s face creased alarmingly&#8211;he, too, was smiling. \u201cMy dear Miss&#8211;my dear Vera,\u201d he said boldly, \u201cshould I bring you to a wicked place, now I ask you; should I bring you to a wicked place, should I?\u201d His conversational powers were not brilliant but his heart was pure. He was not really a wicked young man about town and his chief wickedness lay in his implicit belief that he was. He had met the girl one night by accident. A more daring friend of his, and nearer approaching Reggie\u2019s own ideal of doggishness, had induced him (he protesting feebly) to call at a stage-door where he was meeting a charming friend to take her to supper. The charming friend in the generous large-hearted way of chorus girls had introduced _her_ friend, Vera Flemming, a new-comer to the ranks of the chorus, and they had all supped together and Vera had been very charming to Mr. Reggie Boltover and he had asked her to go with him up the river and had serious thoughts, because of her evident refinement, of introducing her to his mother, which shows that Reggie had reached the most dangerous stage of infatuation. There was really nothing wrong about Reggie Boltover and nothing remarkably terrible about this strangely initiated friendship. Chorus girls are merely shop-girls with a taste for caviare and peaches. They are no more sinful than their sisters in the same social strata and the only difference between them is that, whilst they are exposed to similar temptations, the chorus girl has a larger field to pick from and the candidates are much more presentable. A shop-girl accepts the hospitality of a tea-shop, the chorus-girl goes to the Ritz. Both have one consuming passion, a desire for good food, for which they do not have to pay. Reggie Boltover, who, to do him justice, knew everybody, entertained the girl for half-an-hour by pointing out the various celebrities in the room and Vera Flemming was interested without being enthusiastically so. \u201cI would rather you talked about yourself,\u201d she said, \u201cyou are ever so much more interesting than these people.\u201d \u201cOh, no,\u201d said Reggie, with a little giggle; \u201coh, no!\u201d \u201cYou are, indeed, you are,\u201d she said earnestly. \u201cOh, come,\u201d said Reggie; \u201coh, come! no! I am not interesting; oh, dear no!\u201d His life he admitted frankly was very ordinary. All that he did was to sign a few cheques, liquidate a few debts, see a few \u201cfellows\u201d about \u201cthings\u201d and \u201cthere you are,\u201d said Reggie. \u201cIt must be wonderful to be in a position of power,\u201d said the girl musingly. \u201cOf course, I come from a very poor family. We only think in shillings where you think in thousands of pounds. And it is awfully hard to realize what it feels like to order people to do things instead of being ordered.\u201d Reggie Boltover, who had never ordered anybody to do anything in his life and would not have dared to dispute the judgment of the innumerable managers and directors whom his sainted father had appointed in his life-time, wondered himself what it felt like. He had often meditated, with a shudder, upon the necessity which might one day arise, for his taking the initiative in the conduct of his business. He dimly realized that, in time, all his managers and directors would die and he had dimly speculated upon the question as to who would replace them. He had a feeling that perhaps one might go to Whiteleys and order some new ones, but it had never occurred to him that at his autocratic word managers and people of that description could be made out of mud, or that an order affecting the business which he was supposed to control would be acted upon if he were to give that order. \u201cWell, you know,\u201d he said, \u201cI never really tell people to do anything. You see, I never see them except very occasionally. Of course, they make reports and all that sort of thing and I have a man who reads them so everything is all right and I just sign cheques and see a few fellows and there you are.\u201d Under the genial influence of her sympathetic interest he expanded a little and proved that he was not as wholly incompetent as he pretended to be. For instance, he knew that the iron works and ship-building yard which still bore his father\u2019s name, and incidentally his own, made \u201ca deuced lot of money\u201d every year and that certain other properties made no money. There was one property of which he spoke with great bitterness but only because his father, in his life-time, had also spoken of that matter with similar violence and asperity. Apparently, the one redeeming feature about Boltover\u2019s Cement Works lay in the fact that it had no manager and therefore produced no reports. It was in fact a deserted shell of a building so infamously unprofitable that Boltover senior (now in Heaven) had directed almost with his last breath, if you believed Reggie, that his name should be erased from the official designation of the company. \u201cYou see it was bad cement; you know how cement is made, don\u2019t you?\u201d \u201cI should love to,\u201d said the girl, her eyes shining, \u201cI have often wondered.\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d said Reggie looking round the table for something to illustrate the object lesson, \u201cyou dig in the river and you take out a lot of stuff and you chuck it in a cart and then you chuck it into a fire and you pull it out and do something to it and there you are! That\u2019s cement. Only our cement wasn\u2019t cement, if you understand. That is what made the beastly thing so awkward.\u201d \u201cHow wonderful!\u201d said the girl. \u201cI shall always remember that.\u201d \u201cOf course, we\u2019ve got our eyes open,\u201d said Reggie now fairly launched upon the story of his life, \u201cand one of these days we shall catch a mug.\u201d \u201cCatch a&#8211;?\u201d asked the girl, puzzled. Reggie went very pink, but he was excited and grateful at this demonstration of the girl\u2019s refinement. \u201cForgive the vulgarity, Miss&#8211;Vera; I mean we shall find a purchaser. I once nearly sold the beastly thing for \u00a310,000 and the day the deed was to be signed, they took the poor chap away to a lunatic asylum, poor old bird, not right in his head, you know. That is why he wanted to buy our cement works. Comic, isn\u2019t it? \u201cD\u2019you know,\u201d said Mr. Boltover, suddenly, \u201cwhen I came round to the stage door that night I never expected to meet you?\u201d She looked at him in innocent surprise. \u201cDidn\u2019t you really?\u201d she said incredulously as though the idea had occurred to her for the first time, and then, thoughtfully, \u201cI suppose you didn\u2019t.\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t expect to meet you,\u201d repeated Mr. Boltover, who, when he had got hold of one complete sentence, held tight to it until his groping mentality had reached out and securely grasped another. \u201cNo, I didn\u2019t expect to meet you, but I\u2019m awfully glad. I feel I owe that young lady more than I can ever repay. \u201d He said this with an unusual display of sentimentality. \u201cThat young lady\u201d was his companion\u2019s chorus girl friend, who at that moment was retailing to her youthful companion at the far side of the room such details of Vera\u2019s life as she had been able to secure in a seven-day acquaintance. \u201cVera\u2019s not in our show now, of course,\u201d she said; \u201cI don\u2019t think she had ever been on the stage before. She\u2019s an awfully fresh kid. Came late to rehearsals and all that sort of thing, but I like her immensely.\u201d She smiled and bowed to Vera who, at that moment, had caught her eye. \u201cShe\u2019s very pretty,\u201d said her companion. \u201cYes; isn\u2019t she?\u201d agreed the girl, her interest in her friend suddenly evaporating. But there was one in that crowded dining-room whose every disengaged moment was employed in watching the girl and her companion. It involved his getting into the way of other waiters and called down upon his head execrations in Neapolitan, Sicilian and the choicest slang of the Montmartre. He was a man who had prayed for two years for such a moment as this, and his soul rejoiced in savage exaltation that so Heaven-sent an opportunity had come. As the night wore on his plan took a definite shape. For the consequence he cared nothing. Here was his opportunity, here was his enemy. He seized a moment, slipped through the service door and passed down a flight of stone steps to the crowded kitchen filled at that moment with a babble of sound as the orders were repeated across the steaming brass pots and the blistering hot plates. He passed through the kitchen to the larder department, and found what he sought in the big cool vault where the butchers worked. It was a long thin knife. He waited until the butcher\u2019s back was turned and slipped it up his sleeve, passed rapidly through the kitchen, ignoring the chef\u2019s demand as to his business, and reached the warm, bright restaurant again. He had no time to waste. The butcher might at any moment detect the theft and the thief hauled into the service room to explain his conduct. He made his way across the room to where Mr. Reginald Boltover and his fair companion sat. Reggie thought the man had a message, but Vera, looking up, saw the man\u2019s evil face&#8211;and knew. She half twisted, half flung herself against Reginald Boltover as the waiter\u2019s hand came up to strike. She saw the knife glitter for a space of a second and closed her eyes, then there was the sound of a struggle and she opened them in time to see the vengeful man flung backward to the floor and an immaculate Michael Pretherston standing over him examining the knife with some interest. She met the inspector\u2019s eye and smiled, though the smile was forced, for even as he bowed, she heard the mockery of his surprise. \u201cWhy, Kate!\u201d he murmured. \u201cI\u2019m always meeting you.\u201d Chapter 6. KATE CAME TO THE FLAT. \u201cAt 9:40 on the night of the 15th instant I was present at Sebo\u2019s Club. The room was full of diners and amongst them was Mr. Reginald Boltover and a girl giving the name of Miss Vera Flemming, who was in reality Kate Westhanger. At 9:52 an Italian named Emil Tolmini, employed as a waiter at Sebo\u2019s Club, attempted to stab Kate Westhanger but was prevented and taken into custody. In the course of the struggle in which he was disarmed he sustained a slight scalp wound and permission was given for him to be taken to the kitchen to have the wound dressed. I regret to state that he succeeded in making his escape. He is a convict on license (record No. P.C.A.\/C.C.C. 85943). He is an old associate of the Crime Street gang and was obviously attempting to avenge himself upon the girl for some injury, real or imaginary, which he had suffered. \u201cI made no attempt to warn Mr. Boltover as to the character of his companion, but subsequently calling at his flat in Piccadilly on the pretence that I wished to get information about the attempted murder, I discovered that he had been introduced to the girl at a theatre where she was posing as a chorus girl. She had evidently laid a deep plan to meet him, for what reason it is not clear. He is a very wealthy man and it may be necessary at a later stage to warn him, but at present I have taken upon myself the responsibility of refraining from that act.\u201d Michael Pretherston ended off the report with his neat signature, folded it and inserted it into an official envelope which he addressed to his chief. By good fortune he met that brilliant man coming into Scotland House as Michael was going out. \u201cI think you did right,\u201d said T.B., after he had heard the story; \u201cI wonder what her game is? I have a good mind to detail a man to take the whole case up.\u201d \u201cLet me do it,\u201d said Michael, eagerly. T.B. Smith pursed his lips. \u201cYou are rather a big man for a job like that, Michael,\u201d he said, \u201cit may turn out to be nothing more than a common or garden chorus girl\u2019s romance.\u201d \u201cKate isn\u2019t the chorus girl type,\u201d said Michael, \u201cif it is big enough for her to be in it, it is quite big enough for me.\u201d The chief thought for a moment. \u201cVery well then,\u201d he said at length, \u201cyou can take on the job. Do it by yourself if you possibly can, I haven\u2019t any men to spare. But keep in touch with me. Blowing a whistle won\u2019t be of any service to you if these people mean business and get after you.\u201d He hesitated again. \u201cConfound Kate!\u201d he said. \u201cI suppose you have circulated a description of the ice-cream merchant?\u201d All Latin criminals came under this generic description with T.B. Michael nodded. \u201cWell, good luck,\u201d said the chief, \u201cbut be careful!\u201d When the young man had gone T.B. beckoned to an officer who was passing. \u201cYou\u2019re the very man, Barr,\u201d he said; \u201cpick up Mr. Pretherston and don\u2019t lose him&#8211;you may choose your own opposite number.\u201d The sergeant saluted and hurried out after his charge. Michael went back to his rooms with a light heart. It was the kind of job that he liked better than any other. He had not told the chief all his suspicions. Kate\u2019s game was a big one. High-flyer as she was, she was out for a height record&#8211;that he realised. There was some association between her month with Lord Flanborough and the careful cultivation of Reggie Boltover\u2019s acquaintance. When he came to think of it she must have met Boltover while she was still with Flanborough. He had taken it for granted that the girl was a resident secretary but possibly he had arrived at this conclusion in error. So it proved next morning when he called Lord Flanborough\u2019s house on the telephone and had a private conversation with the butler. The young lady, during the time she had been at Felton House, had left every afternoon at four o\u2019clock. A little talk with the stage manager at the theatre showed that the girl had never attended any of the morning rehearsals and had missed one of the matin\u00e9es. Michael saw this part of the scheme plainly enough. Kate, through her spies, had discovered that Boltover had an acquaintance who had a friend at the theatre. She had come to the stage with no other object than making a friend of the girl who all unwittingly was the instrument by which she was to meet Reggie. The detective knew that this was no chance acquaintance. He followed the man\u0153uvres of Kate through all their devious paths. He took the opportunity in the afternoon to call upon Reggie at his office which was something between a board room and a boudoir. Reggie\u2019s theoretical interests were multifarious. He was the nominal head of a dozen different corporations which his industrious father had created for his profit. In practice he knew very little about any of them and nothing about some. \u201cI hope your lady was not alarmed,\u201d said Michael, with spurious anxiety. \u201cOh, no, the lady was not alarmed; oh, no,\u201d said Reggie, shaking his head violently. \u201cOh, dear no. She was not alarmed. Of course, it would have been different if she had been alone, but being with me, naturally she&#8211;er she&#8211;er was not alone.\u201d \u201cNaturally,\u201d agreed Michael. \u201cNo, she was not alarmed,\u201d said Mr. Boltover, \u201cin fact, she was very cool, remarkably cool. I have never seen anybody so cool.\u201d \u201cI hope when you see her again,\u201d said Michael, \u201cyou will tell her I asked.\u201d \u201cCertainly,\u201d said Mr. Boltover heartily; \u201ccertainly I shall tell her you asked.\u201d And he added after a moment, \u201cWhen I meet her again.\u201d \u201cShe seemed, if you will forgive the impertinence, so interested in everything,\u201d encouraged Michael. \u201cYou are quite right,\u201d said Reggie eagerly, \u201cyou are perfectly right. That just describes her. She is interested in everything.\u201d \u201cIt is nice to meet people who are interested in one\u2019s business,\u201d Michael went on artlessly. \u201cI never mind people being interested in my business, do you?\u201d \u201cOh, dear no,\u201d replied Mr. Boltover in alarm, as though the very thought that anybody should be discouraged from an interest in his affairs, caused him acute mental unhappiness; \u201coh, dear no. Certainly not. Not at all.\u201d \u201cOf course,\u201d smiled Michael, \u201cshe could not very well understand all the complexities of your business, Mr. Boltover&#8211;it is such an enormous one.\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d hesitated the other, \u201cI don\u2019t know. I am not so sure. She is a very intelligent young lady. I was talking to her about my business when this dreadful affair happened and she was so calm that she just went on talking about it, don\u2019t you know. My business, I mean. I thought it was a most remarkable instance of coolness. I was telling one of our directors to-day about it, and he thought it was a remarkable instance of coolness. Yes, even when I was taking her home she told me a lot about herself and&#8211;things. Her grandfather is a very wealthy man, a financier. I didn\u2019t know that.\u201d Michael might have said that he too was unaware of the fact, but he knew just the moment when a tactless interpolation might dry up the fount of Mr. Boltover\u2019s eloquence. \u201cVery intelligent lady indeed,\u201d wandered Mr. Boltover, \u201coh, yes, I was talking about her grandfather&#8211;he is a very rich man. She thought that he might be able to take one of our properties off our hands. I was awfully surprised. Naturally, I did not think she had any money being in the chorus and all that&#8211;I hope I haven\u2019t been indiscreet?\u201d he asked anxiously. \u201cYou possibly did not know that she was on the stage.\u201d \u201cOh, yes, I did,\u201d said Michael with a smile; \u201cyou have betrayed nothing, Mr. Boltover.\u201d \u201cI am awfully glad,\u201d replied the other, relieved; \u201cwhat was I saying, about her grandfather, yes. I think I might sell him that property. I hate parting with properties&#8211;we have refused quite a number of good offers&#8211;sheer sentiment, don\u2019t you know?\u201d \u201cBut perhaps this is not a paying property.\u201d \u201cOh, no, not at all,\u201d said Mr. Boltover; \u201cby no manner of means whatever. Still we don\u2019t like parting with them. Of course, I talk a lot of rot about people wanting to buy the works and I always tell that great joke about a lunatic&#8211;ha, ha&#8211;but really it isn\u2019t true. No, not really true, oh, no.\u201d Michael had never heard the great joke about the lunatic. What he was anxious to hear were details of Kate\u2019s projected purchase but in this he was foiled. There was precious little of the business man about Mr. Reggie Boltover but one lesson he had learnt, and learnt thoroughly, and that was the art of silence. His revered father was wont to say, \u201cIf you never open your mouth, Reggie, nobody will know what an ass you are,\u201d and in business, at any rate, Reggie most religiously lived up to this injunction. What was the girl\u2019s object? Michael was puzzled. Strangely enough the obvious never occurred to him, or if it did he dismissed it without a second consideration. He did not look upon Kate as the type that would find any amusement, whatever the profit might be, in the inveigling of a young fool to the altar. Kate wanted the excitement, not the money. That was her history. He had first met her when he was in the Special Department and it had been over a little matter of a King\u2019s messenger\u2019s despatch bag which on a cross-channel journey had mysteriously disappeared, though it was practically handcuffed to the owner\u2019s wrist, that he had first become acquainted with the girl. He was interested in her, but only mildly so, because, at the time, he arrived at a somewhat hasty judgment. It was later, when the strong-room of the \u201cMuranic\u201d was forced and twenty-five packets of diamonds vanished in mid-ocean and when he had been in charge of the investigations which had resulted in the imprisonment of Colonel Westhanger, that he had first formed a true estimate of the girl\u2019s character&#8211;an estimate which he had had cause to modify, but never to change. Michael lived in a big block of flats near Baker Street, where he maintained a somewhat elaborate establishment for an inspector of police. He had, however, a private income of his own which he had inherited from his maternal grandmother and as he was a man of simple tastes and very few extravagant needs, he was able to live very comfortably indeed. He reached his home a little before 8 o\u2019clock and was astonished as he came through the lobby of the flat to meet Beston, his man-servant, clad in fine raiment and going forth. \u201cHello, Beston, where are you off to?\u201d he asked in surprise. The man touched his hat cheerfully. \u201cI am going to the theatre, sir, and thank you very much for the tickets,\u201d he said. \u201cCook went ten minutes ago and I stayed behind to tidy things up.\u201d \u201cOh, cook went ten minutes ago, did she?\u201d said Michael. \u201cThat\u2019s good. When did the tickets arrive?\u201d \u201cAbout an hour ago, sir, by a district messenger. It was very kind of you to wire to us that you were sending them.\u201d Michael laughed softly. \u201cYour surprise at my consideration hurts me, Beston,\u201d he said. \u201cI always do things like that. By the way, did they spell your name correctly in the telegram?\u201d \u201cI think so, sir,\u201d said the man in surprise, fumbled in his pocket and produced the orange slip. \u201cI am sending you two tickets for the theatre to-night. May not be home until to-morrow. Pretherston.\u201d Thus read the wire, which had been handed in at the Strand Office. Beston sensed some difficulty. \u201cI hope it\u2019s all right, sir,\u201d he asked anxiously. \u201cQuite all right,\u201d replied Michael with a cheerful nod. \u201cDon\u2019t wait for me now, I shall not be in very long.\u201d He mounted the carpeted stairs, opened the door of his flat and closed it carefully behind him. He went straight to his study, pulled down the blinds and drew the thick curtains across the windows, then he turned on the light, took up the telephone and gave a Treasury number. \u201cIs that Sergeant Pears?\u201d he asked. \u201cIs there a telegram waiting at the Yard for me?\u201d \u201cYes, sir,\u201d said the sergeant\u2019s voice. Michael winked at the wall. \u201cDo you mind opening and reading it?\u201d There was a little pause and then the sergeant repeated into the receiver: \u201cTo Inspector Michael Pretherston, Scotland House. Come up by the earliest train. Am staying at Adelphi. T.B.\u201d \u201cHanded in at Manchester, I suppose?\u201d \u201cYes, sir,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cat three-fifteen.\u201d \u201cIs the chief in Manchester?\u201d \u201cYes, sir; he went by the morning train.\u201d \u201cExcellent,\u201d said Michael, \u201cthank you very much, sergeant.\u201d He hung up the receiver. This was Kate\u2019s work&#8211;the beautiful detail of it, the knowledge she possessed of T.B. Smith\u2019s movement. She had probably sent a man up on the same train with the chief and had given him the telegram in advance, with exact instructions as to the minute it was to be handed in. Yes, it was Kate. Yet (he became uncomfortable at the thought) it was not like her to leave things to chance. How came she to miss him at the Yard? He returned to the telephone and again called up his assistant. \u201cWhat time did the telegram arrive?\u201d he asked. The sergeant\u2019s voice was apologetic. \u201cI am very sorry, sir, I am afraid it arrived while you were here, this afternoon. It was given to a messenger to take in to you and in some extraordinary way the constable forgot it. I have reprimanded him.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s all right,\u201d said Michael, relieved. His relief, curiously founded, he might have found it difficult to explain. It was the relief which the matador feels when he sees the bull, which steps so proudly into the ring, will put up a good fight. It was the relief of the huntsman when a strong fox breaks from covert. He wanted Kate and that extraordinary organization, which he had set himself to conquer, to be at its best that his victory might be the more satisfactory. He looked at his watch. It was five minutes past eight. He knew that his visitor would give the servants an hour and he must employ that hour profitably. He began to write rapidly on a pad of scribbling paper, tearing off the sheets as fast as he had filled them. He had been working for an hour when he heard a bell tinkle. Some one was at the front door. He switched out the light, walked into the passage (he had already removed his shoes) and listened. Whoever was coming had sent an agent in advance to discover whether the flat was empty. Again the bell rang. Michael made no sign. It rang a third and last time. The detective made his way stealthily to the window and slipped behind the curtains. He had left his study door open, so that he could hear every sound. He had ten minutes to wait before the faint click of the lock told him that the door had been opened. He knew that the visitor would come to the study last, and he proved to be right. Three minutes passed&#8211;as near as he could judge&#8211;before he caught the flash of a lamp which was directed cautiously to the curtained window. The light passed slowly along the floor until it reached the skirting, travelled round until it found the lower edge of the drawn curtain. Through the slit he had cut in the heavy velvet hangings Michael witnessed the search. Presently the light went out after focussing itself upon the electric switch. There was a click and the room was illuminated. The girl who stood by the desk was soberly dressed and was apparently in no hurry. She pulled her gloves off slowly, whilst she allowed her eyes to rove over the littered table. Half a dozen sheets of writing attracted her attention and when her gloves were removed she picked the papers up, pulled the big writing chair to the table and sat down to read. She read the notes through carefully and once she smiled. When she had finished she put them down, leaned back in the chair and looked around the room, then, \u201cCome out, Mike,\u201d she said. Michael stepped forth without embarrassment. \u201cI was nearly deceived,\u201d she said, \u201cwith your precious account of the happening at Sebo\u2019s and then I realized that this could not have been written more than five minutes before. You forgot to blot the last sheet and the ink is still damp.\u201d She rubbed her fingers over to prove the fact. \u201cWhy aren\u2019t you in Manchester?\u201d she asked. The staggering question nearly took his breath away. \u201cWell, if you aren\u2019t the real Kate!\u201d he said admiringly. \u201cI\u2019m in your chair I\u2019m afraid,\u201d she said. \u201cNot a bit.\u201d He dropped into a deep settee. \u201cNow tell me all the news. But before we go any farther,\u201d he said with mock concern, \u201cwouldn\u2019t you like a chaperone?\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t worry,\u201d she replied, \u201cI have a chaperone.\u201d \u201cNot in my flat I hope,\u201d he said in a tone of alarm. \u201cYou, I can trust, Kate, but the idea of your low thieving friends being up against all my movable goods gives me a little pain.\u201d She fished in her bag and produced a little gold case. She opened it and took out a cigarette. \u201cYou won\u2019t have one, of course?\u201d \u201cNot one of yours, Kate,\u201d he said reproachfully. \u201cNo, I\u2019ll have one of my own if you don\u2019t mind.\u201d \u201cI think you are very rude,\u201d she said with a lift of her brows. \u201cIt\u2019s better to be rudely awake than politely asleep,\u201d he said meaningly. \u201cWhen one has to deal with clever criminals one has to take all sorts of precautions.\u201d She laughed and looked at him curiously. \u201cI wonder what made you a policeman?\u201d \u201cNature,\u201d he said promptly. She was puzzled. \u201cI don\u2019t quite get your humor,\u201d she said. \u201cNature provides all things with some form of protection. It gives the oyster its shell and the tiger its stripes. It gives the squid his ink-sack and the shark his teeth. Nature always produces antidotes. When criminals are stupid they have stupid policemen to deal with them. When criminals are extraordinarily clever, Nature provides the police force with an officer of unusual intelligence. I came to the police in blind obedience to the laws of Nature.\u201d She laughed softly in his face. \u201cIt\u2019s so nice to be able to discuss things with a man of sensibility,\u201d she said. \u201cOf course, some of my friends are awfully clever and uncle is very philosophical, but then they all take a very one-sided view of things, and I think it\u2019s so much better to hear the other side of every question. You can get two views on all subjects except crime,\u201d she went on. \u201cIf you believe in Darwin\u2019s theory you can meet hosts of clever people who bitterly oppose it. If you are a Christian Scientist you can meet hosts of Theosophists. Even if you are a firm believer in monogamy you can generally hire a Mormon to argue on the other side. It is only when we come down to crime that you meet the truly insular view, held by people who know nothing whatever about its finesse, or the genius necessary to break the laws without leaving a big hole to show where you went in and another to show where you came out. That is why I like you, Mike,\u201d she said frankly. \u201cAny appreciation is very gratifying to me,\u201d said Michael, \u201cbut that which is so enthusiastic that it leads my admirer to break into my flat to ravish my secret thoughts, is a little overwhelming.\u201d \u201cI wanted to know what you were saying about me,\u201d she said, \u201cthough I ought to have known that you would not leave things about for me to read&#8211;still,\u201d she justified herself, \u201cto do myself justice, I did not expect to find your confidential reports on your desk.\u201d There was a big safe in one corner of the room. \u201cI was going to open that.\u201d She nodded toward the strong-box. \u201cYou saw me the other night,\u201d she turned the conversation suddenly. \u201cAt Sebo\u2019s&#8211;yes,\u201d he said, \u201cI saw you.\u201d \u201cWhat did you think?\u201d she asked quietly. \u201cI thought you were with the loquacious Mr. Boltover for a special reason of your own,\u201d he said slowly. \u201cHe _is_ an orator,&#8211;isn\u2019t he?\u201d she agreed,&#8211;\u201cbut he\u2019s quite a nice boy, really. God didn\u2019t give him brains and it\u2019s not fair to make fun of a man\u2019s deficiencies.\u201d \u201cWhat did you want of Reggie?\u201d asked Michael. \u201cI just wanted to know all about him,\u201d she said, \u201cthat kind of people are always interesting to me.\u201d \u201cWhat did you want of Reggie?\u201d he asked again. \u201cHow insistent you are!\u201d she laughed. She got up and began strolling about the room, taking down books from the big bookshelf and examining their titles. \u201cWhat catholic tastes you have, Mike&#8211;and Tennyson, too. How depraved!\u201d \u201cYou will find a Browning somewhere,\u201d he said carelessly. \u201cThat\u2019s more encouraging,\u201d she smiled. \u201cIt\u2019s an awfully comfortable room. Quite like the room I thought you would have.\u201d She looked at a book plate on the cover of one volume. \u201cYou were at Winchester, I see. So was uncle.\u201d \u201cThe poison and the antidote!\u201d \u201cYou are not fair with uncle. He\u2019s a mental degenerate, too. Crime is a disease with him.\u201d \u201cAnd with you?\u201d said Michael quickly. \u201cIt\u2019s a hobby. It\u2019s a tremendous excitement.\u201d She put the book down and turned to him. \u201cYou don\u2019t know what it\u2019s like. To work things out and make them happen, to cover a couple of sheets of paper with writing and then see all sorts of things move in obedience to those instructions, to see thousands and tens of thousands of pounds change hands, to know that men are going long journeys, that special trains are being run, that telegraph wires are humming all over the Continent, that a dozen brilliant thief-catchers are working and worrying in a vain attempt to undo all that twenty or thirty lines of writing have done.\u201d \u201cThis will be used in evidence against you,\u201d warned Michael flippantly. The girl was not posing. Of that he was convinced. Her big grey eyes were brighter, her whole face was alight with the excitement of the thought, her voice had a new thrill. She was exalted, transfigured at the thought of the power which her shrewd brain gave to her. \u201cWhat did you want of Reggie?\u201d he asked again. The light faded out of her eyes and she was her normal self again. \u201cOh, I wanted to pick his pocket,\u201d she said mockingly; \u201cor, no, I know something better&#8211;I wanted to marry him. He\u2019s worth two millions.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t think you will ever marry for money,\u201d said Michael. \u201cWhat makes you say that?\u201d she asked quickly. He shrugged his shoulders. \u201cThat is the estimate I have formed of you. I may be wrong.\u201d \u201cI shall never marry,\u201d she said with decision. \u201cI\u2019m not of the marrying kind. I hate men in some ways. I hate them so much, that it gives me a real joy to take away the one thing in the world that they really love. You know the Claude Duval tradition&#8211;I mean the idealized Claude Duval of tradition, not the sneak-thief valet of actuality&#8211;of robbing the rich and never robbing the poor&#8211;well, I rob men, and I never rob women.\u201d \u201cIn fact you rob the people who have the money,\u201d said Michael. \u201cThat isn\u2019t clever.\u201d \u201cNo, but it sounds awfully good. I\u2019m thinking of including it in the great speech I shall deliver one of these days at the Old Bailey.\u201d \u201cWhat did you want from Reggie?\u201d he asked. \u201cYou are almost monotonous,\u201d she laughed. \u201cWell, I wanted information.\u201d She turned and again he saw that bright light in her eye and that eager look in her face. \u201cI will tell you, Michael Pretherston,\u201d she said, pointing a white finger toward him. \u201cWe will play fair. I am going to do a big thing. I am going to make the most wonderful steal that the world has ever known. That is why I found Reggie. That is why I made a martyr of myself and endured the boredom of Lord Flanborough\u2019s society.\u201d She clapped her hands like a child. \u201cIt\u2019s a big thing, Michael, but it\u2019s full of complications, wonderfully full of strategy, and I am going to do it all with your assistance.\u201d He jumped up and flung out his hand. \u201cPut it there, Kate,\u201d he said. \u201cThis is going to be the big thing for both of us and I am going to be the victor. If you win you have whatever you\u2019re after. If I win, you have me,\u201d she said with a little laugh. He looked at her in silence. \u201cI can almost see you gripping my arm and pushing me into the steel pen,\u201d she said. \u201cI can see you sitting in court in a brown&#8211;no, a blue&#8211;overcoat, with your hat nicely balanced on your knees, looking up at me in the dock and wondering how I am going to take it.\u201d A cloud passed over his face. \u201cYou\u2019re a pessimistic little devil,\u201d he growled. \u201cNo, I wasn\u2019t thinking about that.\u201d \u201cWhat were you thinking about?\u201d she asked, her eyes wide open in surprise. \u201cI was thinking I\u2019d marry you,\u201d he said. She looked at him in amusement. \u201cYou\u2019re mad, aren\u2019t you?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d he said; \u201cdidn\u2019t you know?\u201d \u201cMarry you!\u201d she said scornfully. \u201cGreat Heavens!\u201d \u201cYou might do worse,\u201d he said with his cheerful smile. \u201cCan you name anything I could do that would be more hopelessly degrading than marry a policeman?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d he said, \u201cyou might be an old maid and keep cats. You take it for granted, of course,\u201d he went on, \u201cthat I am letting you go now.\u201d \u201cNaturally,\u201d she replied, \u201cI have given you something to live for.\u201d \u201cYou may be right,\u201d he said quietly and opened the door for her. They walked down the felt covered passage to the front door. \u201cI owe you something,\u201d she said as they stood in the doorway. \u201cThe young man from the South nearly put an end to my promising career.\u201d \u201cA little thing like that is hardly worth mentioning. Good night, Kate, are you sure it is safe for you to be out alone so late?\u201d She made a little face at him and went tripping down the stairs. She turned into the street, but had not gone two paces when a hand caught her arm. \u201cExcuse me,\u201d said a voice. By the light of a street lamp she recognized her captor as a detective sergeant from Scotland Yard. Before she could protest a voice spoke from the darkness of the balcony above and it was the voice of Michael. \u201cAll right, sergeant,\u201d he said. She shook herself free of the man and looked wrathfully up at the dim figure. \u201cI forgot you\u2019d have your nurse handy, Michael,\u201d she jeered. \u201cGood night, dear,\u201d said the voice from the balcony and to her intense annoyance she felt an extraordinary sensation wholly new to her, but which with her quick woman\u2019s wit she correctly diagnosed, as she hurried angrily along the street. For Kate Westhanger had blushed for the first time in her life. Chapter 7. THE PRINCESS BACHEFFSKI&#8211;BEAUTIFULLY DRESSED. Lord Flanborough gave a dinner party. He was a methodical man and invariably made his arrangements a long time in advance, and he was not unnaturally annoyed, when, at the eleventh hour, his daughter suggested a change in the plans. \u201cMy dear Moya,\u201d he said testily, \u201cdon\u2019t be absurd. Surely after what has passed&#8211;after his extraordinary attitude&#8211;\u201d \u201cOh, daddy, what nonsense!\u201d said the girl. \u201cMichael is really a good sort and he will be amusing. I really cannot sit out a dinner with all those boring people, and if you don\u2019t invite him, I shall have a headache.\u201d \u201cBut, my dear,\u201d protested her father, \u201cSir Ralph will be quite entertainment enough, surely?\u201d \u201cSir Ralph is the biggest bore of all,\u201d she said calmly. \u201cPlease let me have my way.\u201d So to his surprise and amusement Michael received an invitation to dinner, couched in such gracious terms that he formed the wholly incorrect impression that some other guest had failed Moya and that he was being called in to relieve her of the responsibility for thirteen people sitting at table. It was even a more dreary dinner-party than Moya had imagined. Sir Ralph Sapson was amusing in his own way, but his own way was not Moya\u2019s way. He was a stout, handsome, young man on the right side of thirty, immensely wealthy and, according to her father, immensely capable. Though there had been no definite arrangement it was understood, mainly by Lord Flanborough, that Sir Ralph desired a closer association with the Flanborough family than his directorships gave him. The remainder of the guests were even less entertaining than Sir Ralph. There were three other members of the peerage. Old Lord Katstock who was a political lord who had once occupied a position as under-secretary in some forgotten administration, the Marquis of Cheddar who was a sporting lord and had theories on the Bruce Low system of breeding, Lord Dumburton who was a soldier lord, very poor and very wicked, unless rumour lied, and an assortment of directors which included Mr. Reginald Boltover who recognized Michael with a guilty start and took no interest whatever in his dinner but waited with bated breath for Michael to reveal his guilty secret. There were two or three ladies who gave Michael the impression that they had been dipped in diamonds by their herculean maids, there was a thin, dowdily dressed lady with a hooked nose. (\u201cHas the Duchess borrowed anything, Moya?\u201d said Michael under his breath. \u201cNot from me,\u201d said the girl significantly, \u201cbut father is rather susceptible. She\u2019s an awfully good sort really, but I do wish she wouldn\u2019t take snuff.\u201d) Michael knew, or was known to, them all. \u201cIt\u2019s a rum idea of yours, going into the police, Pretherston,\u201d said Sir Ralph with that air of patronage which he reserved for people poorer than himself. \u201cIt\u2019s just as rum an idea as your going into trade and keeping shops,\u201d said Michael. Sir Ralph smiled indulgently. \u201cWe have to do something to make an honest living,\u201d he said. \u201cI suppose the reference to the shops is my association with the Colonial Retail Stores. That makes a hundred thousand a year, Pretherston. \u201cThen you have a hundred thousand reasons for selling bad jam,\u201d said Michael; \u201cI\u2019ve given up buying things at your shops.\u201d \u201cThat is a tragedy,\u201d said Sir Ralph with heavy humor. \u201cTry us again and we will endeavour to merit your patronage.\u201d \u201cI have another bone to pick with you,\u201d said Michael. He did not like Sir Ralph Sapson. \u201cI came up the other day from Seahampton, the railway carriage was beastly, hadn\u2019t been cleaned for a month, and the train was fifty minutes late. The London and Seahampton is another of your profitable ventures isn\u2019t it?\u201d \u201cI am told that I have an interest in it,\u201d said Sir Ralph, with a smile at the girl, \u201cbut, really, my dear Pretherston, when you find a railway so badly conducted you ought to complain to the police.\u201d This amused him so much that he laughed without restraint and was, as a result, compelled to explain his joke to fourteen people who were anxious to share it. Michael had to leave early. \u201cI should dearly love to stay and play bridge with you,\u201d he said. \u201cMichael, you are a little horrid, aren\u2019t you?\u201d asked the girl. \u201cHorrid?\u201d he asked, puzzled. \u201cYou are so practical, you weren\u2019t always like that.\u201d \u201cAnd you weren\u2019t always unpractical,\u201d he laughed. She had hoped&#8211;she did not know exactly what she had hoped, but the new Michael was so unlike the old that she could almost have cried with vexation. Gone was the old recklessness, the old extravagance (save in directions annoying to her guests) and the old adoration which shone in his eyes. There was an unpleasant feeling that he was laughing at her all the time and that did not add to her happiness. \u201cI don\u2019t think you\u2019re nice, anyway,\u201d she said; \u201cwon\u2019t you come more often to see us?\u201d \u201cWhen you lose a pearl necklace, or find the hired lady surreptitiously carrying off your provisions, drop a line to Inspector Michael Pretherston, Room 26, Scotland House and I will be with you in a jiffy.\u201d \u201cBy which I understand you don\u2019t want to see us at all,\u201d she said petulantly; \u201cI am sorry I asked you to-night.\u201d \u201cI, for my part, am very glad,\u201d he said. Later, when Michael had left, Sir Ralph was to find her a very unamusing companion, though why she should be annoyed with her sometime suitor only a woman can understand. She did not love him. In some ways she rather disliked him, and possibly the underlying reason for her inviting him at all, was in order to confirm and seal her indifference. If Michael had been in the least way attentive, had shown the slightest desire to recover the lost ground and to resume the old romance, she would have found an intense satisfaction in checking him and would have gone to bed that night happy in the knowledge that she had permanently attached to her one for whom she had not the slightest tenderness. This is the way of women who, when offered a dish, a dress, a colour, a material or a man, invariably say, \u201cI would like to see something else.\u201d Her abstraction was so marked that Sir Ralph thought she was ill, which instantly produced that headache which it is every woman\u2019s privilege to adopt at a moment\u2019s notice. \u201cYou ought to take care of Moya, Flanborough,\u201d he said to his host at parting, \u201cshe\u2019s not at all well.\u201d \u201cI have noticed it,\u201d said the dutiful parent who had noticed nothing of the kind and had inwardly remarked that Moya was sulking about something. \u201cYou have an extraordinary eye for things of that kind, Sir Ralph. \u201cI understand human beings,\u201d admitted Sir Ralph, \u201cit has been my one engrossing study in life. It is almost a vice with me. When a man comes into my office I can generally sum up his character, his business and his capabilities before he has opened his mouth.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s a great gift,\u201d said Lord Flanborough solemnly. Sir Ralph Sapson was in a particularly cheerful mood that night. In the brief interview which he had had with his future father-in-law he had not only secured a tacit agreement of his right to be admitted to the family and an expression of Lord Flanborough\u2019s approval, but he had clinched a very excellent business arrangement which had been hanging fire for twelve months&#8211;an arrangement which may be briefly summarized: Lord Flanborough was the chairman of the Austral-African Steamship Company which carried merchandise and passengers between Cape Town and Plymouth. Sir Ralph was the chairman of the London and Seahampton Railway and was also chairman and a large shareholder in the Seahampton Dock Improvement Company. The docks had improved much more rapidly than had the trade which could justify their existence and the deal which was really a side-line to the more romantic business of a matrimonial alliance, was that the ships of the A-A line should shamelessly abandon Plymouth and Liverpool and should have their headquarters at Seahampton, an arrangement which offered advantages on both sides, since Lord Flanborough was not without interest in the Seahampton docks. The night was chilly, a full moon rode serenely in the skies; there was a touch of frost in the air and more than a suspicion of frost on the sidewalk. Sir Ralph Sapson\u2019s car was waiting, but he ordered the chauffeur to drive home, saying that he would prefer to walk. Sir Ralph lived in Park Lane so that he had nearly a mile to cover, but he was in that mood which made light of so unusual an exercise. He reached the door of his imposing residence and his hand was on the bell when he heard his name called. He had noticed as he walked up to his door that a little distance along the road was a big motor car, its head lamps gleaming and a chauffeur busy tinkering with the engine. \u201cI am afraid you don\u2019t know me,\u201d said a sweet voice. Sir Ralph raised his hat. The girl who stood on the sidewalk was obviously a lady. She was as obviously beautifully dressed, and Sir Ralph who had an appraising eye valued the ermine cloak she wore at something not far short of a thousand pounds. A single broad collar of diamonds about her slender throat was all the jewellery she wore. \u201cI am afraid I don\u2019t,\u201d he said. \u201cI only met you once,\u201d said the girl timidly, \u201cin Paris. You were introduced to me in the foyer of&#8211;\u201d \u201cOh, yes, at the Opera, of course,\u201d said Sir Ralph who, amongst other things, was a patron of the Arts. She nodded and seemed pleased that he had remembered her, a compliment which Sir Ralph did not fail to observe. \u201cMy car has broken down,\u201d she said, \u201cand I was wondering if I could beg your hospitality. It is so horribly shivery here.\u201d She drew her cloak tighter around her. \u201cWith all the pleasure in life,\u201d said Sir Ralph heartily, \u201cbut I have only a bachelor\u2019s establishment, you know,\u201d he laughed. He rang the bell and the door was opened instantly. \u201cPut some lights in the drawing room,\u201d he said to the servant. \u201cIs there a fire there?\u201d \u201cYes, Sir Ralph,\u201d said the man. \u201cCan I get you some coffee or a little wine?\u201d She had pulled a big chair up before the blaze and was resting her little white slippers upon the silver fender. Her shapely hands were outspread to the fire and Sir Ralph noted that on her fingers there was no sign of the plain gold circle of bondage. \u201cYou will think it awfully rude in me, but I cannot recall your name,\u201d he said, when the servant had gone. \u201cI don\u2019t suppose you do, my name is rather a barbarous one,\u201d she laughed. \u201cI am the Princess Bacheffski.\u201d \u201cWhy, of course!\u201d said Sir Ralph heartily, \u201cI remember distinctly now.\u201d To do him justice, Russian princesses are not unusual phenomena in Paris and he had a very bad memory for foreign names. \u201cI suppose I am being very unconventional,\u201d she said with a little grimace, and for the first time he noticed that she spoke with the slightest accent, \u201cbut needs must when the devil drives, and I had either to sit in that cold car or grasp the good fortune which fate threw in my way. And you, Sir Ralph, are looking just the same as when I saw you last. You are one of the big business men in London, aren\u2019t you?\u201d \u201cI have a few interests,\u201d admitted Sir Ralph modestly. They talked of Paris which Sir Ralph knew, and of Russia through which he had travelled on one occasion, and of London, and then the coffee came and a few minutes later, her chauffeur, to tell her that the repairs had been effected. \u201cBefore I go I want to ask you one favour, Sir Ralph,\u201d she said. She was a little embarrassed and nervously twisted a ring on her finger. Sir Ralph saw this and wondered. \u201cYou have only to ask anything, Princess, and it is granted,\u201d he said gallantly. She hesitated a moment and bit her lip in thought. \u201cI am going to take you into my confidence, and I know as a man of honour\u201d (Sir Ralph bowed) \u201cyou will not betray me. I am in London, but I am not supposed to be in London.\u201d She looked at him anxiously as she made this confession. \u201cI understand,\u201d said Sir Ralph, which was not true. \u201cYou have probably noticed&#8211;you were so quick at seeing those things&#8211;that I am not wearing my wedding ring. Well,\u201d she hesitated, \u201cDimitri and I have quarrelled, and I do not want him to find me. I haven\u2019t been to the Embassy or to call on any of my old friends.\u201d \u201cYou may be sure,\u201d said Sir Ralph, \u201cthat your secret is safe. I may say,\u201d he added, \u201cthat this is not the first time I have been entrusted with a confidence as delicate.\u201d \u201cI know I can trust you,\u201d she said, warmly gripping his hand. \u201cI am staying in a little furnished flat which I have taken in Half Moon Street. I have a duenna with me for the sake of the proprieties&#8211;Dimitri is so funny about those things&#8211;so if a busy man can spare the time, I am always in between four and five&#8211;\u201d \u201cIt will give me the greatest happiness to renew the acquaintance,\u201d said Sir Ralph and raised her hand to his lips. Sir Ralph retired to rest that night more pleased with himself than ever. Chapter 8. AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION OF HIMSELF. No man has ever understood a woman, for the simple reason that woman is unintelligible even to her own kind. If she were not, and if she were susceptible to explanation by her own sisters, be sure that her own sisters would lose no time in telling the first man she met all about her. Lady Moya Felton possessed that rare combination of talents, beauty and acumen. She dressed well, she spoke well, and she looked well. She was a product of Newnham, an institution which, more often than not, gives the world a being which is something less than a woman and something more than a babu. This being is crammed with erudition and for many years fights life with a textbook. Sometimes she continues to the end, very self-assured, very confident of the facts she has culled from the printed page and very determined that she will never surrender her mechanical facts or her machine-made values. Sometimes, she succumbs to the humanising influences which daily contact with the verities of life bring to her and develops into a useful and charming member of society. Moya had absorbed just as much of life as she thought was necessary to her comfort. She stopped short of the supreme lesson which finds expression in cheerful sacrifice but she was an eminently pleasing person and never discussed biological justice or gave forth as her own the shoddy philosophies she had acquired in hall. Therefore, she was bearable. Moreover, by realising&#8211;here her instinct served her&#8211;that Newnham had turned her out fit for nothing better than a church-going school ma\u2019am, she conveyed an impression of her education rather than declaimed the fact. Practical as she was, she had a guilty secret, not only a very dear one, to be hugged tight to her heart, but one which evoked the unusual emotion of profound disapproval in the more ordered compartments of her mind. Moya was a dreamer, a cold-blooded romanticist who had wonderful adventures with wonderful people whenever she walked or rode abroad. In the privacy of her big limousine, she would be absorbed in events of her own creation, wholly monopolised by men and women who bore no likeness to and had no relation with any person in her somewhat extensive list of acquaintances. She would often find herself in situations so absurdly impossible that even the penny novelette reader would have rejected them with the scorn which their crudity deserved. She did not dream of living people, the mere mental suggestion&#8211;for the roving mind has a trick of taking charge at times&#8211;that any of her visionary heroes had his prototype in flesh and blood ensured the ejection of the offending dream-man and the substitution of another, more wildly improbable but at the same time more unlikely to challenge relationship with anybody in the material world. She could dream and yet accept the cold practicality of a Ralph Sapson and calmly consider a marriage so hopelessly prosaic. That was inexplicable. For an engaged lover Ralph had been singularly remiss. He had called once since his unemotional declaration of love. To do him justice he had skipped the tender demonstrations which usually accompany even the most formal engagements and had got down to the question of settlement in the shortest space of time. This was as Moya could wish, for she also was embarrassed at the thought that a human being might possibly approach&#8211;suffering in comparison&#8211;the extravagance, wordless and intangible as it was, of her shadowy friends. It is a remarkable circumstance that romance in concrete form did not come to Moya, until the very week she engaged herself to marry Sir Ralph Sapson. It came in a curious way. She had driven to Leicester Square to see an exhibition of pictures. It was one of those collections which dawn upon London, bringing in its wake a name which has never been heard before, save in a very select circle and is never heard again outside of that circle; an orbit which swings beyond the ken of ordinary mortals. She went into the gallery and found it a veritable desert. Save for a young man and a small, pinched and preoccupied girl, wearing a large pendant in which was inserted the photograph of her uninteresting fianc\u00e9, the place was empty. The girl with the pendant carried her excuse in her hand, in the shape of a bunch of catalogues. There was less excuse for the young man for he was healthy in appearance and it was not raining. Moya began a conscientious inspection of the pictures, chiefly remarkable for their colouring and for the atmosphere which the artist had managed to secure. Indeed, the pictures were all atmosphere. The girl made a slow progress along the wall, comparing each framed atrocity with her catalogue and striving to sense, dimly, something of the artist\u2019s honourable intentions. She looked around once to discover what effect the pictures had upon her fellow sightseer. He was standing before a long panel representing, if the catalogue had been rightly compiled, \u201cA Blue Wind on a Green Hill.\u201d His face bore an expression of the deepest gloom, his hat was tilted to the back of his head and his hands were thrust deeply into his trousers pockets. The longer he looked at the \u201cBlue Wind on the Green Hill\u201d the more morose and unhappy did he appear. This then was the attitude which the new colourist school demanded, one of fierce but approving antagonism if the paradox be permitted. She moved up till she was almost by his side, never thinking that in the presence of the girl with the programmes and the photographic miniature, he would dare address her. Yet he did. \u201cWhat do you think of that one?\u201d he asked without turning his head. She was taken aback and was prepared to be chilly and non-committal. She looked at his face and the nearer view was a pleasing one. He was very fair, very good-looking and had the bluest eyes she had ever seen in a man. He was also unshaven and his collar was not clean, but he was well dressed enough and his tone was wholly Oxford&#8211;and Balliol at that. \u201cI think it is rather weird,\u201d she said. \u201cSo do I,\u201d he nodded vigorously. \u201cI think it is&#8211;\u2018weird\u2019 is the word. As a work of art how does it strike you?\u201d She hesitated. She had a full range of studio jargon which she had acquired in the course of her after-education and could speak glibly on atmosphere, tone and light. She knew that it was possible to refer to a still-life study of a bunch of bananas as being \u201cfull of movement\u201d without being guilty of an absurdity. In fact, she knew enough about art to have occupied a position on any average newspaper as a critic. \u201cAs a work of art,\u201d she said, \u201cit is original and a little eccentric.\u201d \u201cFrankly?\u201d he demanded fiercely. All the time he spoke he was glaring at the picture and had not turned his head toward her. \u201cFrankly,\u201d she replied, \u201cI think these are monstrosities.\u201d He nodded again. \u201cI agree with you,\u201d he said, \u201cand I know better than anybody else how monstrous they are&#8211;I painted &#8217;em!\u201d Moya gasped. \u201cI am awfully sorry,\u201d she began. \u201cI am sorry, too&#8211;that I painted them,\u201d he replied. \u201cI am not sorry that I exhibited them, because all my friends told me that they were wonderful and naturally I get some satisfaction from proving that my friends are mentally deficient.\u201d He turned round and looked at her and was in turn surprised. \u201cHello,\u201d he said, staring at her with his blue eyes wide open, \u201cI thought you were much older.\u201d She laughed. \u201cThe fact is I didn\u2019t look at you,\u201d he confessed; \u201chow can anybody look at anything with these beastly things staring one in the face&#8211;Hi! Emma!\u201d Fortunately the programme girl was looking his way and realised that he was speaking to her. \u201cYour name is Emma, I suppose.\u201d \u201cNo, sir,\u201d said the girl impressively, \u201cmy name is Evangeline.\u201d He turned to the girl. \u201cHere is an Evangeline whom I thought was an Emma; and here are my Emmas that I thought were Evangelines,\u201d he said despairingly. \u201cWhat made you come to this exhibition?\u201d \u201cI saw a criticism of the pictures in yesterday\u2019s papers.\u201d \u201cIn the _Megaphone_,\u201d he said accusingly. \u201cYes&#8211;it was a very flattering criticism, I thought,\u201d said the girl. He nodded. \u201cI wrote it myself,\u201d he said without shame. He turned to the programme girl. \u201cTell your master to shut up the gallery, have the pictures packed away and sent home.\u201d \u201cBut,\u201d said Moya in alarm, \u201cI hope my stupid views won\u2019t influence you.\u201d \u201cIt isn\u2019t your stupid view,\u201d he said, \u201cit is my original stupid view. You see, I can\u2019t paint really. I know not the slightest thing about art, I have never had an artistic education or served under any master. I am a genius. These works are works of a genius. The frames cost a lot of money and the amount of paint I have used is prodigious. There is everything there,\u201d he waved his hand to the covered walls, \u201cexcept the know-how.\u201d She murmured a conventional expression of sympathy, but he did not invite sympathy, he invited condemnation and seemed to find a comfort in his own misfortune and was obviously all the happier, that he had reached a decision on his own merits. They walked out of the gallery together and Moya wondered at herself. That she had in so brief a space of time entered into the aspirations and disappointments of a perfect stranger so that she felt something of his chagrin was truly amazing. \u201cI know you,\u201d he said, breaking off in the midst of a sardonic dissertation on art, \u201cyou are Lady Moya Melton or Pelton.\u201d \u201cFelton,\u201d she suggested, amused. \u201cOh, yes, Felton,\u201d he nodded. \u201cI saw your portrait in the academy, a very bad portrait too.\u201d \u201cPeople thought it was rather good,\u201d she demurred. \u201cIdealised, but Lord, what do I know about art? This char-a-banc de luxe is yours, I presume,\u201d he pointed to the big limousine. \u201cIt does happen to be mine,\u201d she said; \u201cmy father gave it to me on my twenty-first birthday.\u201d He inspected it critically. \u201cI wonder if I know as much about motor-cars as I know about painting,\u201d he said. \u201cI used to think I knew something about both, but here, at any rate, is something real, it is a very nice car.\u201d He opened the door for her and she offered her hand. \u201cI am so sorry about the pictures,\u201d she said. \u201cDon\u2019t worry,\u201d he replied cheerfully. She thought for a moment. \u201cCan I drop you anywhere?\u201d He fingered his unshaven chin. \u201cIf you know of a nice deep pond where a man may drown himself without interference I should be obliged,\u201d he said gravely, then, seeing the look of alarm in her eyes he laughed. \u201cYou probably don\u2019t know my name,\u201d he said. As a matter of fact she did not and had been trying throughout the interview to take a surreptitious look at the catalogue. She knew it was something like Brixel. \u201cFonso Blaxton&#8211;\u201d he said shortly. \u201cFonso stands for Alphonso, a perfectly rotten name, isn\u2019t it? It would be quite all right for an artist. If there\u2019s any need to send flowers, my address is Oxford Chambers.\u201d He shook hands abruptly, handed her into the car and closed the door. He waited only the briefest spell and had lifted his hat and vanished before the car had started. Moya drove back with so much to occupy her thoughts that she forgot to dream. So preoccupied was she, that she passed Sir Ralph Sapson and his chic companion turning into the park before she was aware that he was bowing to her or had time to note anything more about the lady than that she was very beautifully gowned and that her sunshade was tilted at such an angle that it was impossible to see her face. \u201cWho is your friend?\u201d Sir Ralph turned with a smirk. \u201cThat, Princess,\u201d he said, \u201cis Lady Moya Felton.\u201d \u201cOh, your fianc\u00e9e,\u201d said the girl, \u201cisn\u2019t it a bore being in London incognito; I should so much like to have met her.\u201d \u201cPerhaps some day,\u201d said Ralph. \u201cI should dearly love to,\u201d murmured the girl; \u201cbut please go on, you interest me so much. I am beginning to realise why you English are so successful. You seem to know every detail of your business.\u201d \u201cOh, dear no,\u201d protested Sir Ralph good-humoredly. \u201cI am rather a dunce if the truth be told, but one must know something of the details.\u201d \u201cSomething!\u201d said the girl, raising her eye-brows. \u201cI think you are very modest. Why, you seem to know the workings of your railway system from beginning to end.\u201d Sir Ralph stroked his moustache thoughtfully. \u201cOne has to go into things,\u201d he said vaguely, \u201cand of course one takes a lot of credit for things which one is not entitled to take credit for. But the gold train was my idea altogether.\u201d \u201cI never thought there was so much romance in business,\u201d said the Princess, then suddenly, \u201cdo you mind telling the driver to turn about, I am tired of the park now.\u201d He leaned forward and instructed the chauffeur and the big car circled round. \u201cI am glad you suggested that,\u201d he said. \u201cWhy?\u201d she asked. \u201cDid you notice a man in a grey felt hat talking to a lady in a victoria?\u201d She shook her head. \u201cHe\u2019s a weird bird,\u201d said Sir Ralph; \u201che is a policeman, Michael Pretherston, Lord Pretherston\u2019s brother. I don\u2019t want to meet him, apart from the fact that he might recognize you, even through that veil of yours which would deny him so much happiness,\u201d he added gallantly. \u201cTell me some more about the gold train,\u201d she said. Nothing loath Sir Ralph explained. He told the story of the Seahampton Docks and the big liners which would be coming in and the new services he had inaugurated to meet the increased traffic. \u201cWe shall carry practically the whole of the gold which comes from the Rand mines,\u201d he said impressively. \u201cNaturally we have to be very careful although there is not much danger in England. The gold train is really two big safes on wheels. To outward appearance, they are just like ordinary closed railway trucks. In reality they are steel boxes, burglar proof and fire proof. Of course, nothing can go wrong and even if we had a smash the cars would be uninjured. But I have the best men on the system to run the train.\u201d \u201cHow very fascinating,\u201d she said intensely interested. \u201cI suppose you have a most elaborate time-table?\u201d \u201cI have worked out every detail myself,\u201d he said. He took a note-book from his pocket. \u201cI will show you, Princess,\u201d he said impressively. He turned the gilt-edged leaves until he came to two pages covered with his fine writing. \u201cYou will get some idea of the work involved in the running of a special train,\u201d he said; \u201chere are the times. There is the driver\u2019s name, the fireman\u2019s name, the assistant fireman\u2019s name, the names of the two guards.\u201d She looked at the book. \u201cI cannot read your writing very well,\u201d she laughed; \u201cyou must not forget that my family was very old fashioned and my dear father never allowed us to learn the Roman alphabet until we were quite grown up. But I can see what a very difficult business it is.\u201d She handed the book back to him with a little sigh. \u201cI am afraid I am very stupid,\u201d she said; \u201cfigures always bother me and I can see that you revel in them. I hate writing, but by the way your book is filled, it seems that you revel in it! I cannot understand people who like to write. It is always an agony for me to compose an ordinary letter. My thoughts come so much faster than my poor hand can move.\u201d She took a pad and pencil from the silver mounted stationery case in front of her. \u201cI will show you something,\u201d she said. She wrote rapidly, resting the pad on her knee and he watched her in astonishment as she proceeded to fill the sheet. \u201cThere,\u201d she said triumphantly, \u201cthat is what I can do best.\u201d \u201cIt looks like shorthand,\u201d he said. \u201cIt is something like Russian shorthand,\u201d said the girl, \u201cand I am such a lazy person that I always use it whenever I want to write a note. My secretary, who is the only person in the world who understands it, transcribes it. I do it because I hate writing.\u201d \u201cSo you are clever, after all, Princess.\u201d She reached out her little hand and patted his arm. \u201cYou don\u2019t know how clever I am,\u201d she said and they both laughed together. Chapter 9. THE SHAREHOLDERS AND AN INTERRUPTION. Colonel Westhanger looked at his watch. \u201cShe\u2019s twenty minutes late already,\u201d he said. Gregori rolled another cigarette and looked enquiringly at Dr. Philip Garon who was fingering his trim beard and talking with some animation to the middle-aged pallid man, who was known to the world as Mr. Cunningham and to the police as an expert safe breaker. All Crime Street, with the exception of the admirable Mr. Millet, was present. The Bishop with his large placid face was playing bezique with Francis Stockmar. Colling Jacques, who had the appearance of a prosperous butler who had settled down to the management of his own private hotel, was reading the newspaper. Mr. Mulberry, that respectable man with his grey side-whiskers and his sad dog-like eyes, was discussing Renaissance architecture with the other Stockmar and the Colonel, pacing the room impatiently, stopped now and again to fling a word to one or the other. Presently there was a slight sound in the hall below and the Colonel went to the door of the room. \u201cShe is here,\u201d he said and passed out to the landing to meet Kate. She was wearing a dark coat-dress and a big black fox wrap which she loosened and flung off as she came into the room. It was notable that the Colonel, who had every right to complain of her unpunctuality, did not attempt to criticize her for her late arrival, other than to make mild reference to the fact that he had expected her earlier. She looked around the room. \u201cWhere is Millet?\u201d she asked. \u201cMillet is working on the telegrams,\u201d he said and she nodded, satisfied. \u201cEverything is ready now,\u201d she said. \u201cDid you see Boltover, Mr. Mulberry?\u201d He rose and came toward her with that noiseless step of his. \u201cA most amiable young man,\u201d he said in his unctuous sing-song voice, \u201csuch a pleasant young man! We had a very long talk together.\u201d \u201cAnd?\u201d \u201cWe arranged everything.\u201d He took a long envelope from his pocket, pulled out a stiff parchment and handed it to her with the gravity and deference of an ambassador delivering a treaty to his sovereign lady. She ran her eyes quickly over the document, turned its crinkling page and read rapidly to the last flourishing signatures. \u201cThat\u2019s all right,\u201d she said and returned the document. The long table had been placed in the middle of the room and to this, without instructions, the whole of the company had drawn. Colonel Westhanger sat at one end and Kate at the other. From her bag she took a thick roll of manuscript, cut the strings that fastened it and smoothed the sheets out before her. One by one she called their names at the same time handing them, in some cases one, in other cases two or three sheets covered with writing. \u201cYou have a week to master all this,\u201d she said, \u201cand in a week\u2019s time we will meet again and I will see that everybody understands.\u201d She caught Jacques\u2019 eye. \u201cAbout men?\u201d she said. \u201cHow many have you arranged for?\u201d \u201cSixty,\u201d he said; \u201cI have been bringing them into England for the past month.\u201d \u201cWill sixty be enough?\u201d she asked dubiously. \u201cHow many did we use for the Bank of Edinburgh?\u201d \u201cThat was a different job,\u201d said Jacques; \u201cwe had to cut through thirty feet of concrete. I used two hundred and twenty in relays of thirty.\u201d \u201cSixty will be quite enough,\u201d she said after a moment\u2019s thought. \u201cYou will see that I have allowed only for fifty, but if they are the right kind of people&#8211;\u201d \u201cThey are all good men, most of them from Italy, a few of them from France and one Portuguese. They are the pick of my men and represent years of organisation.\u201d \u201cYou have full details there, Cunningham,\u201d she said, turning to that dour man. \u201cI took a shorthand note about the gold train, the driver and the officials who will be on the train and I have all their addresses except one. You will find a cross against that; I think the address is Berne Street, Seahampton, but I had no time to verify it.\u201d \u201cThis will be easy,\u201d said Cunningham, reading his instructions; \u201cthese times won\u2019t be altered, I suppose?\u201d \u201cIf they are, I shall know all about it,\u201d said the girl. \u201cEveryone must make a note of those instructions in your own code and you must do it pretty quickly.\u201d \u201cWhat\u2019s the hurry?\u201d asked Westhanger, who, alone of the men about the table, had received no paper. \u201cI want to see every sheet burnt before we leave the room,\u201d she said. The Colonel frowned. \u201cBut&#8211;\u201d he began. \u201cI want all the papers burnt before we leave the room,\u201d she said again emphatically. Her uncle growled but the others knew her well enough to realize that she had an excellent reason. Each man in his own way, some in note-books, some on the back of loose sheets of paper faithfully transcribed the instructions, using their own pet abbreviations, their own particular symbols and one by one, as fast as they completed their copies, the girl collected the papers, heard the instructions read over, corrected one, amended another and finally gathering all the sheets in her hand, she walked to the fireplace, deposited them in the grate and set a lighted match to them. She watched them burn until they were black ash and put her foot upon them crushing the embers to dust. \u201cAre you nervous?\u201d asked the Colonel sarcastically. \u201cAre you?\u201d she asked coolly. \u201cWell it does seem a little&#8211;\u201d From the corner of the room came a soft but insistent purr. The men jumped to their feet. \u201cPut away the tables quickly,\u201d said the girl under her breath. They separated the table into three parts. With an agility remarkable in one of his years the Colonel flung a cloth over each, lifted a pot of flowers on to one, arranged a photograph on another and left the third to the bezique players. The girl seated herself at the piano, opened it and began a soft movement from \u201cRigoletto.\u201d \u201cSing,\u201d she said under her breath. The obedient Mr. Mulberry shuffled up to her side. He had a pleasing voice and the girl picked up the strain.\u2026 \u201cI am sorry to disturb the harmony,\u201d said Michael Pretherston from the doorway. \u201cMay I ask what is the meaning of this intrusion?\u201d demanded Colonel Westhanger haughtily as half-a-dozen Scotland Yard men crowded into the room behind their chief. \u201cIt is what is vulgarly known as a raid,\u201d said Michael. \u201cEverybody will remain where he is while I run a foot rule over him. Parsons, you will take these gentlemen one by one into an adjoining room and search him most thoroughly. Mrs. Gray,\u201d he called to the door and a stout middle-aged woman with a pleasant face appeared, \u201cyou will perform the same kind office for Miss Westhanger.\u201d \u201cWhy not \u2018Kate\u2019?\u201d asked the girl scornfully. \u201cYou are getting polite in your old age, Mike.\u201d \u201cMiss Westhanger,\u201d he repeated suavely. \u201cSuppose I refuse to be searched?\u201d \u201cThen I shall convey you to a vulgar police station,\u201d said Michael, \u201cand the process of search will be carried out in uncongenial surroundings.\u201d \u201cI take it that you have a warrant?\u201d demanded Colonel Westhanger. \u201cMy dear Colonel!\u201d said Michael. \u201cDo you imagine I should come without having gone through that little formality?\u201d He produced the document. \u201cSigned by two stipendary magistrates to be absolutely sure,\u201d he said flippantly; \u201cimpound all documents you find, Parsons.\u201d \u201cYes, sir,\u201d said the man and led away the first of his victims which happened to be the docile Mr. Mulberry. \u201cIt is an unpleasant business,\u201d sighed Michael as he watched the girl pass from the room followed by her searcher, \u201cbut then, you will understand, Colonel, that our profession is full of heartrending moments. You are still on ticket of leave, I understand?\u201d \u201cExpired,\u201d growled Colonel Westhanger. \u201cPardon me,\u201d said Michael. \u201cI have been misinformed. I would like a word with you.\u201d He led the other to the corner of the room out of earshot and the good humor died out of his voice as he confronted the older man. \u201cWesthanger,\u201d he said, \u201cwho was the tutor of this girl?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t quite get you?\u201d said the other insolently. \u201cWho taught Kate to be a thief&#8211;is that plain enough for you?\u201d \u201cIf she is a thief it is a matter of aptitude. I deny that she is a thief or that she is a party to any illegal act of which my unfortunate friends may have been guilty&#8211;nobody taught her.\u201d \u201cYou are a queer fellow,\u201d said Michael. \u201cI suppose you are just unmoral.\u201d \u201cMy personal character&#8211;\u201d began the other. \u201cBy unmoral, I mean you have no sense of _meum_ and _teum_. In other words, you are a born thief. You forgive me, but subtlety seems to be wasted on you. I ask you again, who educated Kate?\u201d The Colonel smiled. \u201cKate has much to thank me for,\u201d he said smugly. \u201cI have been a father and more than a father to that child and I assure you, Mr. Pretherston, that you are altogether wrong when you think that she is a thief. Why do you ask?\u201d he demanded, suddenly breaking off. \u201cBecause,\u201d said Michael looking him steadily in the eye, \u201cI believe that you have deliberately set yourself to exploit the genius of a clever child for your own profit. I believe that you, and you only, have so distorted her viewpoint that you have destroyed her soul. I am not sure yet,\u201d he admitted, \u201cbut when I am&#8211;\u201d \u201cWhen you are,\u201d sneered the Colonel. \u201cOn one charge or another, I shall put you into prison,\u201d said Michael simply, \u201cand I shall keep you in prison until you are dead. I will set myself the agreeable task of ensuring your end in a prison infirmary&#8211;which, I understand, is not a very cheerful place.\u201d The Colonel shuddered. There was something fateful, there was something malignant, a scarcely suppressed expression of hate in the police officer\u2019s tone. For a second the older man wilted and shrunk back beneath the fierce intensity in Michael\u2019s voice and then, like the weakling that he was, he burst into a torrent of abuse which was founded in fear and energised by rage. \u201cDamn you,\u201d he hissed; \u201cthreaten me!\u2026 I will have your coat off your back, you damned policeman!\u2026 You sneaking slop!\u2026 Kate\u2019s what she is. She will beat you and all your flat-footed pals! If she\u2019s bad, you can\u2019t make her anything else. I made her, yes, I made her! She is going to beat you, do you hear, and you will never catch her or me. I made her! You can\u2019t scare me\u2026!\u201d His shrill voice trembled with anger, he was shaking from head to foot and the bony fist which shivered in Michael\u2019s face was so tightly clenched that the knuckles stood out whitely. \u201cShe is not the kind you can cure with psalms, Mr. Policeman! You can\u2019t pray over her because she has nothing to pray to, do you hear that? You caught me. You sent me to that hell at Wandsworth and I am going to get back on you, you and all people like you. Kate\u2019s the biggest thing you have handled and she is going to break you, break you!\u201d \u201cUncle!\u201d He turned round to meet the white face of the girl. \u201cAre you mad?\u201d she asked quietly. He dropped his eyes before hers. \u201cHe got me rattled,\u201d he muttered. Michael looked at the searcher and the woman shook her head. With a nod he dismissed her. \u201cNot guilty!\u201d he said flippantly. He looked at the trembling man in front of him with a calm intensity. \u201cI shall remember a lot of what you said, Westhanger, and you will hear from me one of these days.\u201d He walked over to the fireplace, for out of the tail of his eye he had seen the burnt paper. He thrust a finger gently through the ash. \u201cStill warm,\u201d he said. \u201cI gather we were a little late.\u201d He scooped out a handful of the ash and carried it to the light. A word or two of the burnt instructions was still faintly visible but there was nothing to assist him. Nevertheless he had the whole of the ashes carefully deposited in a box and carried away&#8211;he himself being the last of the police to leave. He stood in the centre of the room carefully smoothing the nap of his felt hat and Crime Street waited for the inevitable warning. In this they were disappointed, for Michael addressed himself solely to Kate. \u201cI will give you a chance, Miss Westhanger,\u201d he said and they wondered why he did not employ the more familiar style of address. \u201cYou are about to commit a crime which will render every one of you liable to long terms of penal servitude. What that crime is, I don\u2019t know, but I am certain it is what Stockmar would call \u2018kolossal.\u2019 It would not matter to me if everyone of you rotted in prison for the rest of your lives.\u201d \u201cTank you,\u201d said Mr. Stockmar, \u201cdat is fery goot of you!\u201d \u201cWhen I say everyone of you,\u201d said Michael, \u201cI exclude Kate. She is a young girl and if there is one of you who has any pretensions to manhood, you will get her out of this gang before you go any farther. If there is one of you who has a mother or a sister or any woman in the world for whom he has the slightest respect, he will try to save that child from herself. That is all.\u201d The meek Mr. Mulberry stood by the piano, his plump fingers ranged across the keys producing a melancholy symphony. \u201cWe will now sing Hymn 847,\u201d he said, in his melancholy oily voice and it was in the burst of laughter that this sally provoked, that Michael Pretherston took his leave, followed at a respectful distance down the stairs by Colonel Westhanger, who did not breathe freely until the front door had clanged behind his unwelcome visitor and until the oiled bolts shot home in their sockets. \u201cWhere\u2019s Kate?\u201d he asked on his return. \u201cSuch nonsense,\u201d growled the elder Stockmar, \u201cshe has to the high-room gone to make scare mit Predderston.\u201d Michael, at the far end of Crime Street, was taking leave of his assistants when there cut into the quiet night a sound almost terrifying in its unexpectedness. It could only be described as a hollow shriek which rose and fell from a wailing scream to a throaty sob. It lasted no more than ten seconds and stopped as unexpectedly as it began. \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d asked the startled sergeant. Michael scratched his chin. \u201cThe Colonel in hysterics,\u201d he suggested callously. Nevertheless, the noise puzzled him. Chapter 10. SIR RALPH LOST A PRINCESS AND FOUND A POLICEMAN. Michael took the card from the uniformed constable and raised his eye-brows in surprise. \u201cSir Ralph Sapson,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat the dickens does he want?\u201d The constable made no reply, for he was neither thought-reader nor inquisitive. \u201cShow him in,\u201d said Michael. Sir Ralph Sapson had never before called at Scotland House or showed the slightest desire to improve his acquaintance with Michael and the visit was therefore a little puzzling. Ralph bustled in, less important than usual and probably somewhat overawed by the difficulty he had experienced in reaching his objective. \u201cI daresay you wonder why I have called,\u201d he said. \u201cAs long as it isn\u2019t to take me out to lunch, I don\u2019t care,\u201d said Michael with a laugh. \u201cSit down, Ralph, and tell me all your troubles. By the way,\u201d he said as the thought occurred to him, \u201cI suppose you are not in any kind of trouble, are you?\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s just it, Michael,\u201d said the other depositing his silk hat carefully on the ground; \u201cI am really worried over two matters and knowing what a good chap you are and how very nice you have been to me&#8211;\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t be silly,\u201d said Michael kindly, \u201cI have not been nice to you and I am not a good chap. Have you lost something?\u201d \u201cI want to see you on two matters,\u201d said Sir Ralph, who was given to preambles; \u201cthey are altogether different and one, of course, is not a police matter at all&#8211;I merely want your advice as a friend. Do you know the Princess Bacheffski?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know Her Royal Highness, Her Serene Highness, or Her Nibs as the case may be.\u201d \u201cShe is neither,\u201d said the other, \u201cshe is the wife of Prince Dimitri Bacheffski, who is a large land-owner in Poland.\u201d Michael shook his head. \u201cThe world is filled with the wives of princes who are large land-owners in Poland,\u201d he said. \u201cI met her in Paris,\u201d explained Sir Ralph. \u201cWhen I said the world,\u201d said Michael, \u201cI meant Paris. What has she done, stolen your watch?\u201d \u201cPlease don\u2019t be an ass,\u201d said the other testily; \u201cI tell you she is a princess and enormously wealthy. She had a row with her husband and came to London and I have seen a great deal of her. Yesterday, when I called to take her driving, I found that she had gone away, left without a word, paid her bill at the furnished flat she had taken and vanished&#8211;\u201d \u201cGone back to her husband, I suppose,\u201d said Michael; \u201cI have heard of such things happening. You will not hear from her until a suit is filed for divorce and then the newspapers will be filled with grisly details, about your directorships, your early life and your hobbies; also the Sunday papers will publish your portrait. \u201d Sir Ralph wagged his head in despair. \u201cIf I thought you would have taken this kind of view I would not have come,\u201d he said severely; \u201cthere is nothing of that kind in this business. She is just a lady whom I had helped very slightly and who had been kind enough to give me her confidence.\u201d \u201cDo you want me to find her?\u201d said the other in surprise. \u201cNo, that isn\u2019t it,\u201d said Sir Ralph. \u201cThe story has a curious sequel. This morning I was in the city and I met a friend who asked me to lunch with him. I had a lot of business to get through and it was not until ten to one that I was able to get away. My car was not in the city but I thought I should have no difficulty in getting a taxi. When I got into the street, however, it was pouring with rain and not a taxi could be had for love or money. It was only a few steps to the Bank station and I decided to go by tube.\u201d \u201cSensation!\u201d said the admiring Michael. \u201cWell, to cut a long story short,\u201d said Sir Ralph, \u201cI travelled to Oxford Circus and changed into a train which took me to the Thames Embankment. Here comes the extraordinary part of the story,\u201d he said impressively; \u201cas I came up the escalator on the one side, the Princess passed down on the other.\u201d \u201cYes?\u201d said Michael unimpressed. \u201cShe was plainly, even poorly dressed,\u201d said Ralph. \u201cI raised my hat to her but she stared at me as though she had never seen me before in her life.\u201d \u201cYou made a mistake probably,\u201d said the other. \u201cI will swear it was she,\u201d said Sir Ralph emphatically. \u201cThere was no mistaking her. She has a very tiny mole just below the right ear, which I had seen&#8211;\u201d \u201cEh?\u201d Michael was all attention now. \u201cA tiny mole beneath the right ear,\u201d he repeated, and went on, \u201cdark grey eyes, large, well marked eye-brows, very delicate mouth and rounded chin?\u201d \u201cThat is she. Good Lord!\u201d cried Sir Ralph in amazement. \u201cDo you know her?\u201d \u201cOh, yes, I know her,\u201d said Michael grimly; \u201cnow let me hear the story of this Princess all over again. How did you come to meet her?\u201d \u201cI met her in Paris. She was introduced to me after the opera,\u201d said Sir Ralph patiently; \u201cas a matter of fact, I forgot all about it until she reminded me of the fact.\u201d \u201cAh, this is where the story begins,\u201d said Michael; \u201cwhen did she remind you of the fact?\u201d Sir Ralph detailed briefly the unconventional character of the meeting. \u201cI see,\u201d said Michael, \u201cher car had broken down providentially just outside your house. Beautiful and most gorgeously arrayed, how could you resist her pathetic appeal? And so that is how you met her, is it? Oh, Kate, Kate!\u201d he shook his head. \u201cKate!\u201d asked the bewildered magnate. \u201cWhat on earth are you talking about?\u201d Michael took no notice of the question. \u201cI must ask you to give me a more detailed account of your meetings. Of course, you met her afterwards.\u201d \u201cYes, I met her. And she was very charming,\u201d said Sir Ralph. \u201cAnd particularly interested in business?\u201d asked Michael. \u201cNo, she did not know much about business. There you are wrong. You are trying to prove that she is an adventuress. She knew nothing whatever about business,\u201d said Sir Ralph triumphantly; \u201cin fact, I had to explain things over and over again.\u201d Michael leant over and patted his arm as he might have done to a distraught child. \u201cWhat things did you explain, little man?\u201d he asked. Here, however, he lost the trail for, either because he could not or would not remember, Sir Ralph was very vague at this point. Michael sat at his desk, his head between his hands thinking rapidly. First Flanborough, then Boltover, and now Ralph Sapson,&#8211;what was the association? \u201cHave you any business dealings with Flanborough?\u201d he asked. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d asked Ralph cautiously. \u201cIs there any connection between your companies?\u201d \u201cMy dear chap, what a question to ask,\u201d said Sir Ralph. \u201cYou know, as well as I, that all business people, who operate on a big scale, are associated in some way or other. I run railways and quarries and things, and Flanborough runs ships and gold mines. I am interested in his things and he has shares in mine.\u201d Being a business man he did not tell Michael of the arrangement which he had entered into for the benefit of the unthriving port of Seahampton, because it is the way of business men to be mysterious and uninforming about the commonplaces of commercial intercourse. \u201cWell, that\u2019s that,\u201d said Ralph after waiting in vain for some illuminating observation from his friend. \u201cAnd what is the other matter?\u201d Here Sir Ralph found it more difficult to make a beginning. \u201cIt is rather a delicate subject, Michael,\u201d he said, \u201cfor it touches my personal honour.\u201d \u201cDear, dear,\u201d said Michael sympathetically, and, if the truth be told, a little mechanically, because his mind was occupied elsewhere with a greater and more important problem, than with the personal honour of the Sapsons. \u201cAnd not only that, but the honour of somebody we both admire,\u201d said Sir Ralph awkwardly. \u201cThe fact is, Michael, I am engaged to Moya. It isn\u2019t generally known, but it is so and naturally I haven\u2019t seen as much of her as I could have wished in this past week. Also I have been a very busy man.\u201d \u201cNaturally,\u201d said Michael sympathetically. \u201cYou have already told me about the Princess, you remember.\u201d \u201cWell, you are a man of the world,\u201d said Sir Ralph, going very red, \u201cand you will understand. Anyway, I haven\u2019t seen as much of Moya as I could have wished. The fact is,\u201d he blurted out, \u201cMoya is carrying on!\u201d \u201cCarrying on,\u201d said the puzzled Michael, \u201ccarrying on what, or whom?\u201d \u201cShe meets him every day in the park and they go sketching together in the country,\u201d said Sir Ralph rapidly. \u201cI haven\u2019t spoken to Flanborough about it, but it is all rather rotten.\u201d \u201cIf by \u2018carrying on\u2019 you mean that Moya is indulging in a flirtation, it is not only very rotten, but it must have been very awkward for you,\u201d said Michael, \u201cunless you could be perfectly certain of your fianc\u00e9e\u2019s movements, you and your Princess were liable at any moment to run against her. It was very inconsiderate of Moya. Who is her friend?\u201d \u201cA beastly artist,\u201d said Ralph savagely, \u201ca man who had an exhibition of simply rotten pictures. I don\u2019t think he has a bob in the world, and he\u2019s a most untidy looking person. I have seen them together with my own eyes and he treats Moya outrageously. And Moya seems to like it.\u201d \u201cDoes he beat her or anything?\u201d asked Michael wearily. He was growing tired of the interview and wanted to be alone to work out the new combination which had been presented to him. \u201cHe compromises her,\u201d said Ralph with vehemence; \u201cholds her hand and calls her \u2018child\u2019 in public. It is simply disgraceful!\u201d \u201cYou can trust Moya,\u201d said Michael, \u201cshe will do nothing which jeopardises her prospects.\u201d \u201cShe has plenty of money of her own,\u201d interrupted Ralph. \u201cIt is curious how your mind runs to money. I wasn\u2019t thinking of that. I was thinking of her social prospects. She is a very shrewd girl. A little romance will do her no harm, Ralph.\u201d \u201cBut, hang it, she\u2019s got me!\u201d said Ralph wrathfully. \u201cI said \u2018romance,\u2019\u201d said Michael with offensive emphasis; \u201cyou\u2019re not \u2018romance,\u2019 you\u2019re \u2018business.\u2019\u201d But Sir Ralph was not satisfied. \u201cPerhaps if you saw her and had a few words with her,\u201d he suggested, \u201cshe might take a little notice.\u201d \u201cI should leave her presence a mental and physical wreck,\u201d said Michael decidedly. \u201cNo, Ralph, you must manage your own love making without calling in the&#8211;er, police.\u201d (Sir Ralph winced.) \u201cI don\u2019t know Moya well enough to give her advice on so delicate a matter&#8211;I only proposed to her once and that has given me no right to urge your suit. One question I should like to ask you before you go,\u201d he said as Sir Ralph gathered up his hat and gloves. \u201cDid the Princess question you about any bank with which you are associated?\u201d \u201cI can answer you definitely, that she did not,\u201d replied Sir Ralph. \u201cYou have an altogether wrong impression of that lady&#8211;in my judgment.\u201d \u201c_Your_ judgment!\u201d said Michael scornfully, as he ushered him out of the room. Chapter 11. LADY MOYA WAS CURIOUSLY UNLIKE HERSELF. There was a greater reason for Sir Ralph\u2019s perturbation than either he knew or Michael guessed. Both might have been enlightened, had they stood on Cannon Street Station one Sunday morning and seen the distress of Mr. Alphonso Blaxton as the big minute hand of the station clock grew nearer to nine. The guard was closing the doors of the carriages and the collector was preparing to shut the gate, when Moya came flying breathlessly through the barrier. \u201cOh, I _am_ so sorry!\u201d she gasped; \u201cmy watch stopped.\u201d Mr. Alphonso Blaxton bundled her into an empty first-class carriage and jumped in himself as the train moved. \u201cThere\u2019s not another train for three hours,\u201d he said severely. \u201cWe could have gone to church.\u201d \u201cWhat a mind!\u201d said the young man in admiration. \u201cI never thought of church!\u201d \u201cAnyway, I didn\u2019t lose the train,\u201d she said tartly. \u201cHave you brought everything?\u201d She looked round for the collapsible easel, the paint boxes and the paraphernalia which usually accompanied their sketching tours. \u201cI have brought nothing,\u201d he said frankly. \u201cBut how can you sketch?\u201d \u201cI am not going to sketch,\u201d he said. \u201cI decided that it was too nice a day to waste.\u201d She looked up at him and laughed. \u201cYou will never be an artist,\u201d she said, suddenly severe. \u201cTo what part of the country are we going?\u201d \u201cI thought we would go to Maidstone. There are some lovely drives from there. I\u2019ve hired a motor car to meet us at the station and I thought we would go through Sussex and lunch at Seahampton.\u201d \u201cNot Seahampton,\u201d she said quickly; \u201cmy father is at Seahampton to-day.\u201d She might have added that Sir Ralph was also at Seahampton, but, for reasons of her own, she kept that information to herself because Sir Ralph was not a subject which she had found it necessary to discuss. She looked at her companion approvingly. \u201cYou are ever so much more presentable than I have ever seen you, before,\u201d she said, \u201cand you have actually shaved! You are getting less and less like an artist every day.\u201d He had a peculiarly sweet smile and a laugh which was all bubbling youth and happiness. He laughed like a girl, indeed it nearly approached a giggle. He laughed now as the train sped through the suburban stations, stretched out his feet on the cushions opposite and searched for a cigarette. She watched him with glee as he produced, not the ornate case in which the men of her acquaintance carried the expensive products of Egypt and Syria, but a gaudy yellow carton containing fifty of the cheapest cigarettes that ever brought discredit to the fair State of Virginia. \u201cDo you like those things?\u201d she asked. \u201cThese \u2018yellow perils\u2019? Rather!\u201d \u201cYour taste is awfully uncultivated, isn\u2019t it?\u201d she bantered; \u201cwhy don\u2019t you&#8211;\u201d she abruptly attempted to change the subject by an incoherent reference to a cow which was gazing in a field by the side of the line. \u201cWhy don\u2019t I smoke gold-laced Machinopolos through an amber and diamond cigarette holder?\u201d he suggested. \u201cBecause, little Moya, I am a poor hard-working artist who has been saving up all the week for this bust.\u201d \u201cI am so sorry,\u201d she said; \u201cI am awfully thoughtless. Won\u2019t you forgive me?\u201d \u201cI won\u2019t forgive you,\u201d he said, \u201cunless you keep in your mind the big fact that I am as immensely poor, as you are immensely rich.\u201d \u201cWhy should I keep that in my mind?\u201d she asked. \u201cBecause,\u201d he said slowly, \u201cuntil you are immensely poor or I am immensely rich we shall meet very occasionally and indulge in very infrequent busts.\u201d \u201cBut what difference does money make?\u201d she faltered. She found it difficult to speak plainly or even clearly. There was a lump in her throat which made her voice sound unnaturally hoarse. She had a strange sinking feeling within her and to her amazement she found the hand that she put up to brush back a stray curl trembling. She had never experienced any such sensation before. Her heart was thumping quickly; she was breathless, hot and cold by turns. He did not answer. She was seated by his side and she could only see his face out of the corner of her eyes, then she felt his arm slipping about her and before she knew what had happened, his lips were pressed to hers. This happened in a first-class railway carriage on a non-stop train. It had happened before to quite common people (as Moya had heard), but she never thought it would possibly happen to her, or that so vulgar a proceeding could be so wonderfully sweet. Sir Ralph and Lord Flanborough had met the local authorities. There had been a lunch and speeches in which Sir Ralph had distinguished himself by likening the forthcoming arrival of the Austral-African mail ship to the return of Ulysses and the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. A wireless message from the ship stated that she did not expect to make harbour until nine o\u2019clock in the evening, and this explained the earlier festivities. That they were of a sober and restricted nature, was explained by the fact that the day was Sunday. Later, it was intended that the sailings of the Austral-African line from Cape Town should be timed to bring the ships to port on the Saturday, but there had been no time to alter the arrangements for the _Charter Queen_ had sailed before Lord Flanborough and Sir Ralph had definitely decided the date on which the new service should be inaugurated. A few press-men who had come down from London for the purpose, with certain directors and their wives, were shown over the docks; the new trains were admired and particularly two brand new trucks, the peculiar character of which was exhibited by Sir Ralph to a select few of his fellow directors. A safe on wheels was an excellent description for one of these. Specially strengthened under-carriages, each truck supported by two bogies, they were designed to carry a tremendous weight. \u201cI am sure Lord Flanborough doesn\u2019t mind my telling you,\u201d said Sir Ralph to the little party, \u201cthat this will carry twenty tons of bar gold to-night.\u201d \u201cWhat will be the value of that?\u201d asked one of the interested audience. \u201c\u00a32,867,200,\u201d said Sir Ralph impressively; \u201crepresenting six months\u2019 output of the whole of Lord Flanborough\u2019s gold properties.\u201d The directors made appropriate noises to signify their astonishment. There were visitors to Seahampton interested in this great transportation, who were not invited to participate in the function. One of these, a dark foreign looking man, went no nearer to the docks than a little public house in the ancient High Street. He was visited by a man who was pallid of face and laconic of speech. \u201cIt\u2019s all up!\u201d he said under his breath. \u201cWhat is wrong?\u201d said the other in the same tone. \u201cIt is quite impossible to get the driver or the fireman. They are two old servants of the company, both have money saved and would no more think of accepting a bribe than Flanborough himself.\u201d \u201cYou didn\u2019t press the matter, I hope?\u201d asked the other quickly. The pallid man shook his head. \u201cI went as far as I dared with the driver,\u201d he said. \u201cI found out he had a son in the army in India and I told him that I had met the boy and got quite friendly with the old chap&#8211;but he is a sea-green incorruptible, Gregori.\u201d \u201cI will get on the \u2019phone to Kate,\u201d said the other. \u201cI suppose we shall have to hold up the train somewhere&#8211;I don\u2019t want to do any shooting if it can be avoided. Are the drivers armed?\u201d \u201cIt is funny you should ask that,\u201d said the pallid man, sipping his beer. \u201cThe old man is armed for the first time in his life. He was full of it and quite proud of his ability to loose off a gun.\u201d Gregori looked very serious. \u201cKate must be prepared with the alternative scheme,\u201d he said. \u201cAnyway, you will join me here with Cunningham at eight o\u2019clock. I am perfectly prepared for almost all contingencies. Millet has given me a dozen authorities to meet almost any developments. Did you see the train?\u201d \u201cI couldn\u2019t get near it,\u201d said the other. \u201cI left just before Sapson brought his party to make their inspection. \u201d Sir Ralph had carried his guests from the siding to the engine shed and shown them the brand new Atlantic locomotive which was to draw the train to London. \u201cThey don\u2019t seem to have finished it yet,\u201d said one of the guests, and pointed to a workman busily drilling a hole in the front plate. Ralph laughed. \u201cThey omitted to put a bracket for the lamp. You see, I wanted three green lights in a line for the Gold Train&#8211;it is very necessary that it should be very accurately and easily distinguished and signalled. By some chance only two of the brackets were in place when the engine came from the works. It is all the more annoying, because I had already given definite instructions upon that point, but we shall not go wrong for a lamp,\u201d he said humorously. It is agreed that the three hours between two and five on a Sunday afternoon are the three dullest in the hundred and sixty-eight which constitute a week. After the guests had left for London Sir Ralph and Lord Flanborough remained at the little station hotel&#8211;Ralph had already projected a more palatial establishment to meet the increased traffic&#8211;for it had been arranged that they should greet the _Charter Queen_ on her arrival. At three o\u2019clock that afternoon Ralph burst unceremoniously into Lord Flanborough\u2019s private sitting room where his lordship sat dozing. \u201cHave you had a wire?\u201d he said. He held a pink form in his own hand. \u201cA wire! What about?\u201d asked Lord Flanborough startled. \u201cRead this.\u201d The telegram was signed \u201cMichael,\u201d and read: \u201cSimultaneous attempt made to burgle your strong room at Austral-African office and Flanborough\u2019s safe at headquarters of mining corporation. Both unsuccessful. Both doors blown out by nitro-gelatine. Will confirm by \u2019phone.\u201d Lord Flanborough looked at the other open-mouthed. \u201cThis is very serious,\u201d he said. \u201cI have ordered a special to take us to town. We will wait till we get the \u2019phone message through.\u201d Ten minutes after they were in communication with Michael. \u201cBoth doors have been blown out,\u201d he repeated, \u201cand there are one or two very puzzling features about the burglaries. Nobody could have been present in either office when the explosions occurred. There was no fire and, so far as I can see, nothing has been taken away. You had better come up and examine things for yourself.\u201d \u201cIt is rather awkward,\u201d said Sir Ralph thoughtfully as he hung up the receiver; \u201cmy \u2018special\u2019 driver is also the driver of the gold special.\u201d \u201cIt doesn\u2019t require any great genius to drive a gold special,\u201d snapped Flanborough; \u201cput another man on to work to-night\u2019s train and let us get up to town as soon as we can.\u201d The special was waiting in the station by the time they had reached the platform. Sir Ralph stayed long enough to give a few instructions to the superintendent and then boarded the train and was soon flying northward. That Sunday morning had been an interesting one for Michael. He had been aroused by telephone at five o\u2019clock only to learn from an apologetic operator that the wrong number had been called. Although it was two hours before he usually rose, he had his bath and dressed and not waking his servants made himself some coffee. It was a bright morning, such as so often precedes a day of rain, when he turned into the deserted street. He had no particular aim or destination but he was in that mood which invites exercise. He walked down the Marylebone Road and through Portland Place without meeting anybody save an occasional policeman and so came to Piccadilly Circus where he bought a Sunday newspaper from an early vendor and passed down through Waterloo Place to the Park. The gates had only just been opened and beyond the park-keepers and a slouching tramp he met nobody. He sat on one of the garden seats by the side of the lake, pulled his overcoat about his legs for the morning was chilly and began to scan the headlines in the newspaper. There was nothing startling here, but he read the columns conscientiously. There was nothing in life which did not interest Michael Pretherston. He might have taken for his motto _homo sum_; _humani nihil a me alienum puto_. It was a saying of T.B. Smith\u2019s that Michael could even write a readable volume on the psychology of dog-fights. Every little larceny, however sordid, every tiny embezzlement however paltry, every swindle whether it was carried out by the great confidence men who \u201cworked London\u201d or by the smaller fry in the half-crown line of business gave him food for reflection and some little scrap of information which he stored away for future use. He was in the midst of a long account of an East End arson charge when he heard his name called softly and looked up. He jumped to his feet. \u201cWhy, Kate,\u201d he said, \u201chaven\u2019t you got any home?\u201d The girl was standing a few feet from him with an odd look on her face. \u201cI think it must be fate that brought me out this morning,\u201d she said; \u201csit down, Mike, and tell me all the news.\u201d She showed no sign of resentment of his uncavalier treatment. \u201cDid you follow me here, or did I follow you?\u201d \u201cI tell you it was fate,\u201d she said. \u201cI could not sleep and I drove my Mercedes down.\u201d \u201cAnd how is the Princess Bacheffski?\u201d he asked as she seated herself by his side. \u201cThe Princess&#8211;?\u201d \u201cBacheffski&#8211;poor old Ralph! What a thing to put over him!\u201d She leant forward, her chin on her palm, her elbow on her crossed knee. \u201cYou frighten me sometimes,\u201d she said. \u201cI have not been able to make up my mind whether you are clever or whether you are lucky.\u201d \u201cI am both lucky and clever,\u201d he said. \u201cTell me something about your property in the Ural Mountains,\u201d he said. \u201cIn Poland,\u201d she corrected him. \u201cMines, I suppose?\u201d \u201cThere are no mines on my property,\u201d she said calmly; \u201cwould you be greatly surprised if I told you I had an estate in Poland?\u201d \u201cNothing you said would surprise me, unless you told me you were going to be a good girl and respect the law relating to property.\u201d He folded his paper and dropped it into a wire receptacle provided for that purpose and she followed the operations with amusement. \u201cWhat a tidy soul you are,\u201d she said; \u201cfancy doing things you are told and obeying even by-laws.\u201d \u201cWe all obey by-laws. You are not so original as you think. For instance, I observe that you are wearing a little toque&#8211;is that the word?\u201d \u201cThat is the word,\u201d she agreed. \u201cToques are fashionable at this present moment. You are obeying the by-laws. You haven\u2019t the courage to come out in a sky-blue tam-o\u2019shanter with an ostrich feather because it is against the by-laws. Also I remark that your dress is very short and very full. You are not wearing a Roman toga or a Grecian gown, or even a hobble skirt. Why? Because it is against the by-laws. It is absurd to disobey one set and slavishly obey another.\u201d \u201cYou are quaint!\u201d was the only answer she gave. \u201cWill you tell me, Princess?\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t call me \u2018Princess\u2019 if you please,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cWell, will you tell me, my land-owner, what was the game with Ralph? He described you with the greatest enthusiasm by-the-way. The night you met him you were all dolled up to kill. Did you bring down your birds?\u201d \u201cI got him,\u201d she admitted. She was not as bright as usual. \u201cYou are over-doing it,\u201d said Michael; \u201cyou are trying to do too much. Your doctor would probably tell you that you ought not to commit more than one burglary a month.\u201d She laughed softly. \u201cYou are very quaint,\u201d she said again. \u201cYou don\u2019t feel like making a full and frank confession, I suppose,\u201d he suggested; \u201cyou would not like to burst into tears and sob out your young heart on my shoulder?\u201d \u201cThat sob stuff never did agree with me.\u201d He raised a disapproving hand. \u201cKate,\u201d he said, \u201cI have noticed a disposition in you to adopt the slang which is employed exclusively by American newspaper reporters, vaudeville artistes and other members of the criminal classes.\u201d \u201cI will tell you this,\u201d she said sitting upright and looking him fully in the face, \u201cwe are going to do a big thing. The most colossal, the most daring that has ever been done and we are going to do it to-day. You want to know why I went to Flanborough\u2019s, why I made up to that unspeakable person, Ralph Sapson? Those are my two victims. I will tell you more than this,\u201d she said after a moment\u2019s thought, \u201cin order to ensure the success of my scheme I have arranged for those two gentlemen to be out of London on this bright Sabbath day. I can\u2019t tell you any more, Mike.\u201d \u201cYou are like a serial story, you finish off at the most interesting place,\u201d he grumbled. His keen grey eyes searched hers and she met them fairly. \u201cI wish you weren\u2019t,\u201d he said. \u201cWeren\u2019t what?\u201d she asked. \u201cIn this business,\u201d he nodded. \u201cI wish you weren\u2019t.\u201d \u201cPerhaps I will be good one of these days,\u201d she said, \u201cand then you can recommend me for a job at two-ten-per. I\u2019d make an ideal secretary for you, Mike. I know all the underworld by name. You could cut out your finger print department and leave it to Kate. What would happen, do you think,\u201d she went on, \u201cif I went to a Salvation Army officer and said, \u2018I have been very wicked but now I am going to be good. Will you please assist me. I have no money but I\u2019ve a good heart&#8211;\u2019 Mike, he would put me to chopping wood for a week and then he would find me a place as under-secretary to a housemaid in a strictly religious family which gave me two evenings and one Sunday a month. You see, Mike, even at goodliness one has to start at the bottom of the ladder; you can\u2019t break in on the roof. I hate good people.\u201d Michael nodded. \u201cI hate good people, too,\u201d he said, \u201cif they advertise their goodness, but goodness is not hardness or sourness, it is just&#8211;goodness. For example,\u201d he went on, \u201cI am good.\u201d \u201cAnd I am wicked,\u201d she said and appealed with outstretched hands to a startled duck who had waddled to the railings, \u201cchoose between us!\u201d He laughed but was instantly serious again. \u201cYour confession puts me in a dilemma. As you are a lady I cannot believe you are lying, as you are a criminal I dare not take your word. I am sufficiently acquainted with your methods to know that your presence is not essential to the committal of a crime, so I can gain nothing by pulling you in.\u201d \u201cPoor Mike,\u201d she said mockingly. \u201cPoor Kate,\u201d he said and the girl detected the note of sincerity in his voice. \u201cKate, you can\u2019t get away with it,\u201d he said; \u201cyou have got to fall sooner or later. Think what it means. Think of that horrible drab life in Aylesbury, where every minute is an hour and every hour an eternity; think of the menial things they will set you to do, scrubbing floors, washing shirts and sewing sacks. Think, how you will be marshalled to church every Sunday and think how you will be stared at and jeered at by friends of the Home Secretary who come to visit the jail. \u201cWhen that happens I shall be dead,\u201d she said. \u201cI believe you mean kindly, Michael Pretherston, and I will tell you this, that you nor any other human being can make me think or feel any different to what I think and feel. There is no power on earth that can tear out the foundations on which my life is built. I have read everything, all the philosophies, Christian and pagan, and all the arguments from the feeble evangelism of the tract writer, to the blatant nonsense of the professional atheist, and I am just where I began. You can\u2019t touch me by reason or by devotion, by faith or by prayers. I am all stone&#8211;here,\u201d she laid her white hand upon her bosom and he saw the mocking laughter in her eyes. \u201cPoor Michael!\u201d she said. \u201cWhy, if devotion could change me, think of the chances I have had! I could have taken Ralph Sapson and made of him a snake ring for my little finger. I nearly had Flanborough on the point of proposing to me. He is rather sentimental, did you know that?\u201d \u201cAll people with indigestion are sentimental between paroxysms,\u201d said Michael sagely. He gave his hand to the girl though it was unnecessary and helped her to her feet and they walked out of the park together. Her little Mercedes was unattended and he cranked it up for her. \u201cGood-bye, Michael,\u201d she said. \u201cAu revoir,\u201d said Michael, \u201cwe shall meet at the sessions.\u201d At two o\u2019clock that afternoon a constable on duty in Moorgate Street heard the first of the two explosions which agitated police circles that day. Michael was on the spot half-an-hour later and his brief examination led to the view which he afterwards communicated to Ralph. It was then he discovered that what the girl had told him was true and that both Lord Flanborough and Sir Ralph Sapson were out of town. Curiously enough, though he had been impressed at the time, he had dismissed the girl\u2019s statement as a piece of bravado on a par with the badinage in which she usually indulged. He had cursed his folly in ignoring the warning, all the way from Baker Street to the city and it was a great relief to discover what was evident, that no attempt had been made to rifle either the safe in Bartholomew Close or the strong room in Moorgate Street. The outrages were similar in character; in both cases the steel doors had been burst open by the application of an infernal machine. In neither case had the thieves benefited by their crime. The constable who heard the first explosion said he had been admitted by the caretaker of the building within three minutes but in that time had managed to send another policeman, who came up, to guard the back of the premises. Nobody had either entered or left in that period. The explosion in Bartholomew Close had blown a sky-light into the street. The safe was in a concrete cellar in which a light had been burning day and night and although this had been extinguished by the force of the explosion, it was possible for the constable who was outside to see the safe and obtain a fairly comprehensive view of the chamber. He, too, had asserted that nobody had entered the room or left the building after the explosion. \u201cIt is very curious,\u201d said Michael. T.B. Smith had come at his urgent request and the chief was as puzzled as his subordinate. \u201cDid Flanborough say he would come up?\u201d \u201cHe is on his way now,\u201d replied Michael. \u201cDo you know what I think?\u201d said T.B. after a moment\u2019s thought. \u201cI think that this is a blind. That there was never any intention of rifling either the strong room or the safe. There is a big move on somewhere, Mike, call in all the reserves. This was an order which Michael heard with pleasure, for he had already anticipated these instructions, and detectives were at that moment flocking to Scotland Yard from every point of the compass. Chapter 12. A MOTOR CAR WAS MET BY A SPECIAL TRAIN. Whatever distress animated the bosoms of humanity on that fateful Sunday afternoon and evening there were two people riotously and supremely happy, though the car which Alphonso Blaxton drove was an old one and badly sprung and though every hill it met reduced the two young adventurers to breathless apprehension for the car had a trick of stopping with its goal in sight and refusing to budge any farther. They were happy though no word of love had been spoken between them from the moment she had drawn from his arms. And their happiness was such that even a faulty cylinder and a choked carburettor were matters of little moment. They had eaten a very bad luncheon in Maidstone without noticing the fact. They had encountered perils innumerable (the steering gear had gone wrong and temporary repairs had to be effected without the aid of a tool chest) and were yet cheerful. They had been bumped and shaken and jarred but they had had compensation. They had seen the uprising ridges of the Kentish Rag green and white and starred with flowers. They had looked through a golden haze across mysterious valleys. They had heard the songs of birds and had tasted the joys which come only to those who love youth and young things. If the clouds were banking up in the west and an occasional puff of cold wind came to remind them of May\u2019s treachery they, for their part, saw no cloud in their sky, felt no chill winds in their rosy world. They reached the top of a particularly trying hill and Alphonso stopped the car and got down. Before them the road dipped straightly down to a level crossing. A mile beyond the railway there was a little hill which promised no distress of mind. \u201cWouldn\u2019t this be a lovely place to paint!\u201d said the girl. \u201cDon\u2019t let\u2019s talk about art,\u201d he begged with a wry face, \u201clet us talk of beautiful things&#8211;such as tea and shrimps.\u201d She shrieked with merriment at his feeble jest. \u201cI wonder what is going to happen,\u201d said the girl becoming grave. \u201cHappen, how, where?\u201d he asked in surprise. \u201cAbout us,\u201d she said. He took her two hands in his. \u201cI am going to be tremendously rich.\u201d \u201cDid I tell you I was engaged?\u201d she asked timidly after a long silence. It was nothing less than an act of heroism for her to ask this question. \u201cI have a dim idea you said something about it a long time ago,\u201d he said. \u201cDid I really?\u201d she asked relieved. \u201cI had a feeling&#8211;\u201d \u201cIf you didn\u2019t tell me I saw your ring,\u201d he said and she went red because she had removed that ring after their second meeting and had never worn it again. \u201cI think I have told you that I had \u00a3300 a year,\u201d he went on; \u201cnow that we are confessing our handicaps I might as well own up to mine.\u201d \u201cYou told me you were absolutely penniless,\u201d she said severely. \u201c\u00a3300 a year is a fortune.\u201d \u201c\u00a3300 a year is only a fortune to the immensely rich, to the poor it is worse than poverty.\u201d \u201cYou can do a lot with \u00a3300 a year,\u201d she said thoughtfully, \u201cand what shall I do with my money? I can\u2019t throw it away.\u201d \u201cYou will do nothing with it,\u201d he said firmly; \u201cwhen my \u00a3300 a year has become \u00a310,000 a year we can do things.\u201d She laughed happily, twisting his watch guard round her finger. \u201cI cannot understand myself,\u201d she said. \u201cI have been such a selfish mercenary pig. I didn\u2019t know there was any happiness in the world. \u201d For the second time that day he slipped his arm around her, raised her face to his and kissed her. \u201cTea,\u201d he said practically, started the engine and climbed into the driver\u2019s seat, stretching out his hand to assist her to his side. The car started with a jerk but ran smoothly down the hill. \u201cIt is rather lucky that gate is open,\u201d he said as the machine gathered speed. \u201cIt would be rather comic if we couldn\u2019t stop the car.\u201d A piercing shriek of an engine brought his head round. \u201cThat must be another line,\u201d he said uneasily and put his hand on the brake; \u201canyway, the gate is open,\u201d he said relieved. Again came the frenzied scream of the engine and he heard the thunder of its wheels. He was fifty yards from the crossing when he saw the gates begin to move. He pressed on the foot brake without producing any diminution of speed, gripped the hand brake, pulled it back until he felt the snap of the rotten handle as it broke. There was nothing for it but to take a risk. He pushed over the accelerator and the car leaped forward.\u2026 Car and gate and train seemed to reach the spot simultaneously. The girl found herself flung headlong into a ditch, fortunately landing in the soft mud at the bottom. Alphonso\u2019s fall was broken by the quick-set hedge which ripped his clothes to ribbons and scarred his face and hands. He picked himself up and went in search of the girl and found her as she was climbing unsteadily on to the permanent way. The train had pulled up with a jerk amidst a chaos of smashed gate and mangled motor-car. Fortunately, it was slowing at the closed gate at the time the collision occurred, otherwise these two young people presenting a fantastic appearance might have ended their promising careers. \u201cAre you hurt?\u201d were the first words she asked. His face was scratched and his clothes were torn but though he had by far the worse experience his was not the woe-begone appearance which the girl presented. She was caked with mud, a dab of mud was on her cheek, her hat was gone and her long brown hair was flying in all directions. The passengers of the \u201cspecial\u201d were perhaps more perturbed than its victims. \u201cIt is an accident. We have run into a motor-car,\u201d reported the conductor. \u201cIs anybody killed?\u201d asked Sir Ralph in alarm. \u201cNo, sir, a young man and a young woman who are more frightened than hurt.\u201d \u201cLet us go and look at them,\u201d said Lord Flanborough and stepped down to the permanent way. It is a truism that there is no such thing as a paternal instinct and he would have indeed been a wise father who recognized his child in such disarray. He was speechless for a moment. \u201cMoya,\u201d he gasped hollowly. \u201cMoya! Great Heavens! What were you doing here?\u201d He stared round at the scarecrow by her side and at sight of the young man, Sir Ralph, who had been struck dumb by the apparition, found his voice. \u201cI see, I see,\u201d he said bitterly. \u201cYou have the advantage of me,\u201d said the young man, \u201cfor I have got a little piece of Hampshire in my eye.\u201d The girl swung round to him fumbling for her handkerchief. \u201cIt is nothing, dear,\u201d said the young man, blissfully unconscious of the identity of the well-fed gentleman who was regarding him so sternly. \u201cBut, darling, you might be blinded,\u201d pleaded the girl; \u201cplease let me.\u201d \u201cMoya,\u201d said Lord Flanborough in a pained tone, \u201cmay I ask what is the meaning of this?\u201d \u201cOh, I want you to meet Mr. Blaxton,\u201d said the girl going red and white. \u201cFonso, this is papa.\u201d \u201cI should be glad to see you,\u201d said Fonso, groping wildly on the blind side of him. \u201c\u2018Fonso\u2019?\u201d repeated the enraged Flanborough, \u201cand who, may I ask, is Fonso?\u201d She fastened back her unruly hair and rubbed her mud-stained cheek with her handkerchief before she replied. \u201cI suppose it will come as a shock to you and a greater shock to Sir Ralph, but Fonso and I are going to be married,\u201d she said. Alphonso Blaxton blinked at her. \u201cI haven\u2019t asked you yet,\u201d he said. \u201cThat doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d she replied calmly, \u201cyou do want me, don\u2019t you?\u201d And before her horrified father and her promised husband, Alphonso took her in his arms and hugged her. It was an awkward journey back to town. Sir Ralph sat by himself and rejected all Lord Flanborough\u2019s attempts to discuss the matter. He was hurt in his pride and, if the truth be told, hurt in his pocket because an alliance with the family meant a considerable addition to his fortune. It is a mistake to believe that rich people do not care for money or that a man with two millions is wholly indifferent as to whether he has two or three. Indeed, the reverse is the case. The man who thinks in thousands is indifferent to a figure or two, the man who counts his fortune in shillings seldom knows the number of shillings he has. Only your two-millionaire realizes the full value of money. The thrift of the millionaire might well serve as an example to the improvident poor. \u201cI shall speak to Moya when we get home,\u201d said Lord Flanborough. \u201cI have never been so distressed at anything so much in my life. It is disgraceful, Ralph.\u201d But Ralph did not encourage sympathy. As a matter of fact, his lordship spoke to the girl before the special ran into London Street Station. It required some courage on his part, for it meant intruding upon the couple in the little stateroom which ordinarily served as a sleeping apartment when Sir Ralph\u2019s private coach carried him on night journeys. He found them a picture of decorum sitting rigidly bolt upright, one on either side of the carriage, looking out of the window with fine unconcern; but this attitude was probably due to the fact that the door of the compartment made a very loud rattling noise when the handle was turned. \u201cI want to speak to you alone, Moya.\u201d \u201cRun away, Fonso,\u201d said the girl with a gaiety out of harmony with her rigidity of attitude. Alphonso stepped out of the saloon and closed the sliding door behind him. \u201cNow, Moya,\u201d said his lordship with a badly simulated air of friendliness, \u201cperhaps you will explain?\u201d \u201cWhy I am going to marry Fonso?\u201d she asked, \u201cbecause I love him. Why do you think that I should be marrying him?\u201d \u201cThis sounds very much like Michael. It is the way he would talk,\u201d said Lord Flanborough bitterly. \u201cThis shows the danger of letting your children associate with irregular people. You know very well that you are engaged to Sir Ralph.\u201d \u201cI know he gave me a ring and we agreed to get married,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I have changed my mind.\u201d \u201cBut you _can\u2019t_ change your mind,\u201d stormed her father; \u201cit is impossible that my daughter should marry a wretched artist.\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s not wretched and he is not an artist,\u201d said the girl; \u201cwe have both agreed that he is not an artist and he is going to find something useful to do.\u201d \u201cIf you marry this man,\u201d he pointed a trembling finger at her, \u201cI will not receive you as my daughter.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t want to be received at all. You married whom you wanted to marry, didn\u2019t you?\u201d \u201cI married,\u201d said Lord Flanborough virtuously, \u201cin accordance with the wishes of my parents. \u201cDo you mean to say,\u201d said the girl incredulously, \u201cthat you had no voice in it? I cannot imagine it. My dear daddy, it is preposterous to suggest that a person of your strong character accepted the wife that somebody else found for him!\u201d \u201cWell, I admit,\u201d said her father somewhat mollified, \u201cthat I had a say in the matter but I had the sense to choose the right person.\u201d \u201cThat is just what I am doing,\u201d she cried in triumph, \u201cchoosing the right person! And, Daddy, if you are rude to Fonso, I shall be very rude to Ralph.\u201d \u201cThe man of course is a fortune hunter,\u201d said Lord Flanborough savagely. \u201cHe knows that you have money in your own right and that I cannot save you from the consequences of your folly.\u201d \u201cWhat is Ralph?\u201d she asked tartly. \u201cSir Ralph is a very rich man,\u201d said her father with emphasis. \u201cWhat does he get with me?\u201d she asked again. This was the question which Lord Flanborough did not find it convenient to answer. He knew that marriage with his daughter would bring to Sir Ralph a much greater fortune than she possessed in her own right. \u201cGo and ask your disinterested friend if he will take me without a _dot_, and if I were to give my own income to found a hospital for women.\u201d \u201cI am sure Sir Ralph would answer in the affirmative,\u201d replied Lord Flanborough. \u201cAsk him,\u201d she challenged. He passed out of the compartment scowling at the offending Fonso and made his way to Sir Ralph. He had not intended putting the question, but some chance remark of the baronet\u2019s just before the train reached London gave him an opportunity of introducing the subject. \u201cWould you care to marry Moya without the settlement we agreed, Ralph?\u201d \u201cWhat on earth do you mean?\u201d asked Sir Ralph, astonished out of his sulks. Money was a subject which invariably aroused him from the deepest lethargy. \u201cI mean,\u201d said his future father-in-law, \u201csuppose I say \u2018You love Moya and all that sort of thing. You are a very rich man, you can afford to keep her, take her without a settlement,\u2019 what would you answer?\u201d \u201cCertainly not!\u201d said Sir Ralph furiously, \u201ccertainly not! I don\u2019t understand this business at all, Flanborough, I really don\u2019t understand it. We made an arrangement and now, it seems, you want to back out of it. What is the objection to the settlement?\u201d \u201cI have no objection at all,\u201d admitted Lord Flanborough uncomfortably, \u201cbut Moya thinks that money is a big factor in your choice of her.\u201d \u201cOf course it is,\u201d said Sir Ralph with brutal directness. \u201cI was very fond of Moya, but the settlement was a big consideration.\u201d \u201cI see,\u201d said Lord Flanborough incoherently, \u201cMoya\u2019s idea of course.\u2026\u201d Michael met them at the station and noticed the constraint of the party. He understood the reason when a bedraggled Moya and a young man, whose face was criss-crossed with scratches and whose clothes were in threads, made their appearance. There was no explanation possible and Michael wisely asked for none. He handed over Lord Flanborough and his friend to the care of the city detective officer in charge of the case and when they had gone he turned to Moya. \u201cHave you two people been fighting?\u201d he asked. \u201cFather\u2019s horribly angry with me,\u201d she said, \u201cbecause I am going to marry Fonso.\u201d He stared at her in amazement. \u201cDo you mean to tell me that you are not going to marry Ralph?\u201d \u201cI am not,\u201d she said resolutely. \u201cAnd this is Fonso?\u201d The girl nodded. Michael threw back his head and filled the station with laughter. \u201cYou don\u2019t know Fonso, do you?\u201d she said. \u201cHe\u2019s horribly poor. Aren\u2019t you, dear?\u201d \u201cHorribly,\u201d admitted the young man but did not seem unhappy. \u201cAnd you are going to marry him?\u201d said Michael. \u201cOf course I am going to marry him,\u201d said the girl wrathfully. \u201cI didn\u2019t expect that you would disapprove.\u201d \u201cDisapprove?\u201d he chuckled and catching her up in his strong arms he kissed her. \u201cWe will all go along and have some grub,\u201d he said; \u201cdash home and make yourself respectable, Moya. I see your father has left his car for you. Meet me at Sebo\u2019s in an hour\u2019s time.\u201d Chapter 13. THE CHRONOLOGY OF A GREAT THEFT. It is necessary to tell the story of what was undoubtedly one of the strangest and most audacious crimes recorded in the annals of crime with greater detail and at greater length than is ordinarily necessary. Le Flavier of the French police, who is surely the greatest living authority on the subject of modern crime, has likened Kate Westhanger\u2019s masterpiece (he does not refer to her, by the way) to the first of the Napoleonic campaigns against Italy and has published an elaborate treatise showing the points of resemblance which are not so far fetched as some of the critics, in their hasty review of this work, are justified in saying. Kirschner, a little quoted authority, but nevertheless a brilliant and talented philocriminologist, has said that it would be humanly possible to reduplicate such a crime and that at any rate it would be wholly impossible to excel the ingenuity which planned the strategics of the issue. At 8:30 on the night of May 14th the _Charter Queen_, eight thousand tons, commander T. Brown, came to her moorings in E-basin, No. 3 Quay of the Seahampton Docks. She carried a hundred-and-twenty third class passengers, seventy-four second class and fifty-nine first class passengers, a general cargo and in her strong-room forty-four thousand, eight hundred pounds of bar gold. They were made up of four-hundred and forty-eight hundred-pound ingots, bearing the stamp of the Central Rand Gold Extraction Company. The passengers were landed and despatched by special trains to London, preceded by another train carrying the mails. The mail train left at 9:27, the passenger at 9:42. By 10:17 the gold ingots had been landed, checked and conveyed to a waiting train where they were checked again under the superintendence of Inspector K. Morris of the Dock police. At 10:22 the engine backed into the train and was coupled up and the superintendent of the line being unavoidably absent (he was discovered locked in an empty house the next morning), the driver received his \u201cright away\u201d from Assistant-Inspector Thomas Massey, who had arrived that day from London and who spoke to the driver and fireman before the train pulled out. \u201cYou know this road, I suppose?\u201d he said. \u201cYes, sir,\u201d replied the driver. \u201cI have been down here several times.\u201d The inspector was not wholly satisfied. In the first place, he resented seeing \u201cforeign drivers\u201d on his road, but the two men had arrived from London bearing a letter from Sir Ralph to the superintendent of the road, a letter which afterwards proved to be a forgery. The letter instructed the superintendent to give the men charge of the engine, offering, as a reason, their reliability and the fact that they were two of the best drivers at the North Central, which railway was under the control of Sir Ralph Sapson. The train pulled out and from this onward its adventures began. From the moment it left Seahampton Town station, the train was never out of sight for longer than ten minutes. Every signal box along the line had received special instructions to particularly note its passing and in addition to the conventional record which is kept of every train, to notify specially not only to the next box, but to London the hour of its dispatch. The road may be briefly described. From Seahampton it ran straight to the market town of Sevilley and then over the S-shape road across to Tolbridge. It may be remarked in passing that between Sevilley and the Tolbridge was the level crossing at which Moya had met with her accident. Between Tolbridge and Pinham the road pushed straight through uneven ground passing successively under Tolbridge Hill, Beckham Beacon and Pinham Heights, under each of which it passed through tunnels, the tunnels being connected nearly all the way by deep cuttings. It was a rainy night for the drizzle, which set in at six in the evening, had continued until there was a veritable deluge. Sevilley (East) signalbox reported the gold train as having passed at 11:07, and this fact was supported by the times given by six signalmen between Tolbridge and Sevilley. The train slowed at Tolbridge and entered Tolbridge tunnel. Between Beckham tunnel and Tolbridge tunnel is a signalbox which reported the Special at 11:32. The signalbox was situated close to the line and rather near the ground and the signalman states that he not only saw the train pass him in the pelting rain, but that he saw the tail lights disappear into Beckham tunnel which is built on a curve. The times are interesting. At 11:32 the train entered Beckham tunnel. At 11:42 the signalman on the northern side of Pinham tunnel reported the train as having passed. It was raining but owing to the unusual character of this new service and his natural curiosity to see a \u00a33,000,000 \u201cspecial\u201d he had his window open and saw the three green lights flash past and the red tail lights disappearing in the distance. Between Beckham signalbox and Pinham signalbox the distance is five miles, but the theory is that at this point the train slowed to thirty miles an hour, which accounted for the unusual length of time it took to traverse this short distance. At Maidmore, Stanborn, Quexley Paddocks and Catford Bridge, on the outskirts of London, the train was reported and timed. The next station to Catford Bridge is Balham Hill and the signalman at Balham Hill stated at the subsequent enquiry that he was given and accepted the gold special at 11:53 and lowered the \u201cdistant off\u201d and the \u201chome\u201d signals, at the same time warning the next northern station, which was Kennington Junction that he had accepted the \u201c:46 up\u201d which was the official designation of the special. He waited for ten minutes and saw no sign of the train, whereupon he called Quexley Paddocks and asked if there had not been a mistake since the run was not more than seven minutes. Quexley Paddocks replied that the train had passed through, going at fifty miles an hour at the moment she had been signalled. No further news was received and the Catford Bridge signalman, becoming alarmed, reported to the station-master on duty, who sent two plate-layers along the line. They walked as far as Quexley Paddocks but saw no sign of a train. The gold special had disappeared as though the earth had opened and received it. All these times had been verified. Every signalman and station-master was interrogated without in any way shaking the veracity of the witnesses. When the plate-layers reached Quexley Paddocks and reported the disappearance of the train, London was informed. Between Quexley Paddocks and Catford Bridge the line runs through market gardens and what is very unusual so close to London, it passes over a level crossing, the gates of which are electrically controlled from Quexley Paddocks signalbox. And here is the most remarkable of the statements that were made. The signalman, Henry George Wallis, states that after the gold special had passed and he had brought his signals back to danger, he had noticed a strange disturbance on the dial of the electrical apparatus by which the gates were opened or closed and it was discovered the next morning when he endeavoured to open the gates to allow an army traction engine to pass that the gates refused to work. That happening, however, was very thoroughly investigated on the following day. Michael had dined and supped with Moya and Fonso Blaxton and they had had a riotous and wholly joyous evening. He had returned to his flat at half past eleven, calling en route at the Yard, for he was still very uneasy about Kate\u2019s threat and he was anxious also to find out if there had been any discovery made in connection with the outrage of the morning. The case was not in his hands since the crime had been committed within the jurisdiction of the city police and the city Criminal Investigation Department had control of the investigations. T.B. was at the office and had no news to give. Michael went home and to bed. He was aroused at half past twelve by telephone. It was the voice of T.B. Smith. \u201cThey\u2019ve done it, Mike. Come down at once.\u201d \u201cWhat have they done?\u201d asked Michael with a sinking heart. \u201cThey\u2019ve pinched the blooming train!\u201d said T.B. vulgarly. A special train had been made up for the police and Michael was on the platform of Catford Bridge station by half past one, and was reading the reports which had been transmitted by the various signalmen. To add to the mystery, a mineral train from Seahampton which had followed the gold special at half an hour\u2019s interval, but at a slower pace, had come straight through without noticing anything unusual. It had crossed the down empty at Tolbridge and that was the only other train that was met until it reached the suburbs of London where the night traffic was more general. Sir Ralph was one of the party that went down to Catford Bridge and a very distressed and worried man he was. \u201cI asked that fellow Flanborough to come,\u201d he wailed, \u201cand what do you think the selfish beast said? He said it was my responsibility. Can you imagine anything more brutal?\u201d \u201cIs the gold insured?\u201d Sir Ralph shook his head. \u201cNot wholly. It was fully insured as far as Seahampton,\u201d he said grimly. \u201cAfter that the responsibility is partly mine and partly Flanborough\u2019s and partly the underwriters\u2019. Isn\u2019t it too awful for words?\u201d T.B. came into the waiting room at that moment, clad in oilskins and sou\u2019wester. \u201cYou had better take complete charge of this case, Mike,\u201d he said. \u201cSir Ralph will give you any assistance, I\u2019m sure.\u201d \u201cCan I have a break-down train?\u201d \u201cI can bring one down here in twenty minutes,\u201d said Sir Ralph. \u201cIs it equipped with searchlights?\u201d Sir Ralph consulted an official. \u201cWe\u2019ve naphtha flares. Will they do?\u201d \u201cThey will do,\u201d said Michael; \u201cput a truck in front of the engine and arrange the flares so that they light up the line.\u201d He spent the night in an open truck, slowly passing down the line searching for some clue which would afford a solution to the mystery. Particularly thorough was his search of the three tunnels, but they yielded nothing, and he reached Seahampton as the dawn was breaking without having made any discovery which would help him. He went back to town by the break-down train, sleeping in the guard\u2019s caboose, and reached Quexley in time to receive from the retiring signalman the story of his eccentric gates. Michael was interested and with the man for a guide he followed the course of the controlling wire which passed through a length of iron piping from the signal box to the gate. \u201cThe electrician tells me that the wire has been cut somewhere,\u201d said the man. \u201cHe has tried his instrument on it.\u201d \u201cThe wire cannot be cut if it is inside the iron casing,\u201d said Michael. \u201cIt is either cut or fused,\u201d said the man. The detective walked very slowly, pausing now and again to examine the black painted pipe. Presently he stopped. He had detected something and stooped to examine the pipe more closely. It was clear that it had been freshly painted. He passed his hand round it slowly and suddenly he felt an unexpected softness. \u201cThis isn\u2019t iron,\u201d he said. He took out his pocket-knife and scraped. A little hole had been burnt into the steel by a portable blow-pipe and the wires inside had been fused together by the heat. \u201cThat explains it,\u201d said Michael. \u201cWhat effect would this have on the gates?\u201d he asked. \u201cWell, you couldn\u2019t open them from the box,\u201d said the man. \u201cCould you open them by hand?\u201d \u201cYes, sir. We\u2019ve got a chap on duty now who does nothing but open and shut them,\u201d said the man. \u201cWhile the current is on, they are locked. They work like ordinary gates, except you have to be very careful when you lock them.\u201d Michael waited until a train had passed and then experimented. The gates opened and closed easily enough. \u201cWhat do you mean when you tell me that you have to be careful with the catch?\u201d \u201cWell, ordinarily, when you use it without the current,\u201d said the man, \u201cthe catch falls and cannot be lifted except by electric control.\u201d Michael made an inspection of the \u201ccatch.\u201d It was a steel block working on a pivot and obviously operated magnetically. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t go up or down, now,\u201d said Michael after testing it. \u201cIt looks to me,\u201d said the man, \u201cas though it has been forced up.\u201d There was no doubt that what he said was true for the detective saw the unmistakable mark of a jemmy on the wooden casing about the lock. But why on earth did they want to open the gate? If the train had been rifled on this stretch of line the need for an open gate would have been easy to explain. The train would have been stopped here and, supposing they could force the locks of the safe, the thieves could have loaded their gold and got away&#8211;but no train had been found. Michael passed through the turnstile and examined the road for something to guide him to a solution. It had been raining throughout the night and more than one traction engine had passed, as was evident from the wheel marks. He explored the road for a hundred yards and found nothing. Then he tried the other gate and found that there the catch had also been forced. The first twenty yards of the road was soft and the wheel tracks were indistinguishable. At the end of this patch, however, the going was harder, the crown of the road had drained off the rain and even the traction engine had left no great impression. Michael walked a pace or two, then stopped and whistled, and well might he whistle, for there plain to be seen and not to be confused with any other track was the deep and narrow furrow and the broad impression which could have only been made by railway wheels! He followed the track for another hundred yards where it struck the main road and a tram line and from there every trace disappeared. Very weary and dishevelled he presented himself to T.B. Smith and made his report. \u201cYou don\u2019t seriously suggest that they took a railway train off the line and put it on the road, do you?\u201d asked T.B. in wonder. \u201cIt\u2019s impossible!\u201d \u201cOf course it\u2019s impossible,\u201d said Michael irritably; \u201cthe whole thing is impossible. You can\u2019t steal a railway train&#8211;but they\u2019ve done it!\u201d He found with the assistant commissioner Sir Ralph whose agitation was pathetic. \u201cIt\u2019s pretty rough on me, old man,\u201d said the baronet with that friendliness which the superior person invariably adopts in a moment of his misfortune. \u201cI have lost a wife and a railway train in twenty-four hours. What the dickens are you laughing at?\u201d \u201cNothing,\u201d said Michael recovering his gravity. \u201cIt was almost worth everything to see your face!\u201d Chapter 14. THE REMARKABLE TRAIN THAT DID STRANGE TRICKS. By six o\u2019clock that evening Michael Pretherston was back again at his work, passing down from station to station on a pilot engine, questioning and cross-examining the officials concerned. T.B. Smith picked him up at Maidmore going down by the ordinary train. \u201cHave you found anything?\u201d \u201cI have a theory,\u201d said Michael. \u201cI\u2019d like you to listen to what the station-master here has to say.\u201d \u201cHave you questioned him?\u201d \u201cNot yet,\u201d said Michael, \u201cbut I have an idea he will say exactly what the man at Stanborn said. \u201d The inspector who had been on night duty at the time the train passed proved to be a very intelligent and observant man. He told the same story, that the rain was falling very heavily and that he had seen the distant lights of the gold special which had flown through the dark station at incredible pace. \u201cIs it not a fact,\u201d said Michael, \u201cthat it passed you before you realized it was gone?\u201d The man was surprised. \u201cThat is so, sir. It seemed as though I had hardly seen the headlights come into the station before I saw the tail-lights going out.\u201d \u201cDid it whistle as it passed through?\u201d \u201cYes, sir,\u201d said the man, \u201ca deafening whistle. I remarked to my porter at the time that it must be trying a new kind of siren. It made the most fiendish row and you could hear nothing else.\u201d \u201cIt whistled through all the stations where there was somebody on duty,\u201d said Michael turning to T.B. Smith. \u201cIt is a curious fact that at Stanborn Halt and Merchley which are closed for the night they made no noise at all. Was the station in darkness?\u201d he said, turning to the inspector. \u201cPractically so, sir,\u201d said the man; \u201cthere was one light on the down platform where I was standing, but it was a very dark night and it was impossible to distinguish anything on the other platform. All that we saw was the flash of lights and the train had passed before one had realized that it had gone.\u201d The inspector at Pinham Heights station had a similar story to tell. But the Tolbridge junction signalman and the Tolbridge assistant station-master did not report any whistle or any unusual happening. T.B. and Michael spent the night at Tolbridge and resumed their journey at daybreak. It was a slow and laborious business. Once between Pinham and Beckham Beacon, Michael had stopped the train and switched it on to a sidetrack. \u201cWhy is there a sidetrack here?\u201d he asked. The railway official who accompanied him and who by this time was very weary of the whole business, explained vaguely that it was partly to provide a very necessary relief for any congestion on this section, and partly to connect up a \u201cchalk pit or something\u201d which now, however, was no longer used. Michael walked along the rusted rails for a quarter of a mile. They led toward a low line of hills about three miles away. Rank vegetation grew between the sleepers, for it had been many years since its private owners had taken the trouble to put this little branch line in working order. The road ended abruptly with a big buffer made of sleepers and behind this the rail drooped limply over a great hole as though there had been a subsidence of the earth. Michael turned back and joined T.B. \u201cIt could not have passed over here. The rail is rusty and runs into a large-sized hole at the other end,\u201d said Michael in despair. \u201cWell, go on, driver.\u201d It was a day of enquiries which led nowhere and Michael returned that night to town, weary and sick at heart. Nevertheless, he had the dim beginnings of a theory which, however, he refused to communicate to his chief. \u201cIt is rather fantastic,\u201d he excused himself, \u201cbut then, the whole thing is fantastic. It is obviously impossible to steal a railway train and carry it through the streets of London without somebody being attracted by the novelty of the spectacle.\u201d \u201cWill you see Sir Ralph?\u201d asked T.B. \u201cHe has been waiting here for an hour to meet you.\u201d \u201cHasn\u2019t he got a home?\u201d asked Michael irritably. He saw the distracted baronet but could offer him little hope. \u201cIt is impossible they can get away with it,\u201d said Sir Ralph; \u201cmy expert tells me that it will take them two days to break through the steel walls whatever they use. \u201d A thought struck Michael. \u201cHave you a large scale map of your southern railway system?\u201d he asked. \u201cI will have it sent round to you to-night,\u201d said the baronet. \u201cWhat chance do you think there is?\u201d he asked anxiously. \u201cI think a very poor chance,\u201d said Michael frankly; \u201cyou see, Kate doesn\u2019t take any risk.\u201d \u201cKate?\u201d said the baronet. \u201cYou call her the \u2018Princess Bacheffski.\u2019 Flanborough calls her \u2018Miss Tenby.\u2019 As \u2018Miss Tenby\u2019 she secured Flanborough\u2019s code and through some of her agents in the telegraph office learned about the shipment. As \u2018Princess Bacheffski\u2019 she wheedled the whole of your wonderful scheme for bringing gold from Seahampton and probably discovered the nature of the steel you use.\u201d \u201cGood heavens!\u201d Sir Ralph sank into a chair and turned pale. \u201cYou don\u2019t mean to tell me&#8211;?\u201d \u201cThat is what I mean to tell you. Didn\u2019t you realize that the whole thing was a put up job? Why should the car of the Princess break down at your front door?\u201d \u201cBut she was so beautifully dressed.\u201d \u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t she be beautifully dressed?\u201d asked Michael mercilessly; \u201cshe probably carried twenty thousand pounds\u2019 worth of diamonds. Wasn\u2019t it worth it? Didn\u2019t you give her information which she could not have bought for the money?\u201d \u201cThen you mean to say that she is a common swindler?\u201d \u201cShe is a very _un_common swindler,\u201d said Michael. \u201cThere\u2019s only one thing that puzzles me,\u201d he said, half to himself; \u201cwhat did she want of Reggie?\u201d Mr. Reginald Boltover was interrupted in the delicate business of dressing for dinner by a peremptory demand that an officer of Scotland Yard should be admitted. He was relieved to discover that it was nothing more formidable than Michael. \u201cI have come to ask you about your friend Vera.\u201d Mr. Boltover winced. \u201cMy dear fellow,\u201d he said, \u201cdon\u2019t mention that lady\u2019s name. It is a sore subject. Don\u2019t mention her, dear old fellow, don\u2019t.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t be an ass,\u201d said Michael good-humouredly; \u201cyou must give me an idea of the questions which she asked you. What did she talk about?\u201d But Mr. Boltover\u2019s mind was a blank. It was his boast that he did not know there was such a thing as yesterday. \u201cDid she ask you to give her any information about things you are interested in?\u201d \u201cMy dear fellow,\u201d said Reggie Boltover, shaking his head, \u201cif she did I have forgotten it. All I know is that she very seriously compromised me. I have not been to Sebo\u2019s since.\u201d \u201cAs you are such a perfectly hopeless person,\u201d said Michael, \u201cwill you give me a note to your secretary or your factotum or whatever human substitute for mentality you possess, instructing him to give me a full list of your properties?\u201d \u201cWith the greatest pleasure in life, with every happiness,\u201d said Reggie earnestly, \u201cwith the greatest alacrity!\u201d Armed with this, Michael called the next morning at the office of one who was frequently referred to by journalists as a \u201cmerchant prince,\u201d and when he came out into Threadneedle Street his step was lighter and his eye was brighter than it had been for weeks. \u201cNow, Kate,\u201d he said between his teeth, \u201cthis is where you finish!\u201d He could have had all the men he wanted but he preferred making his investigation without assistance. He went home and changed into a knickerbocker suit, took his oldest overcoat, a walking stick and a Browning pistol with two spare magazines. He did not ask for a special engine, but travelled to Pinham Heights station by ordinary train. He showed his authority to the station-master who, however, recognized him. \u201cI don\u2019t want anybody to know that I am down here,\u201d he said, \u201cand I must rely upon your discretion to see that my wishes in this respect are carried out. Am I likely to meet any plate-layers or people on the line between here and Tolbridge?\u201d \u201cYou will meet nobody until you come to Tolbridge box, but be very careful,\u201d warned the station-master, \u201cthe down express goes through the tunnel in ten minutes. I should advise you not to leave until that has passed.\u201d This advice Michael thought it expedient to accept and not until the rocking train had shrieked through the station and the receding red lamps were disappearing in the darkness of the tunnel did he walk down the sloping platform into the six-foot way and pass into the smoking tunnel. He could have reached his destination by the high road which runs from Pinham round the foot of the Beacon, but for reasons of his own, he preferred to accept the discomforts of the darker way and the uneven going. He passed through the tunnel after a seemingly interminable walk and came to the switch line where his engine had been sidetracked. He followed this until he came to the buffer and the deep hole beyond. He examined the buffer very carefully, retraced his footsteps and examined the rail. It was, as he had seen before, red with rust. Nevertheless, he went on his knees and examined the rail through a magnifying glass. Then he wetted his finger and drew it along the red surface. He looked at his finger. It was red. But it was not the red of rust. He walked back, carefully examining every inch of the rail until he found what he sought. At one place by the side of the actual rail was a little red spot. It was no larger than a three-penny piece and it was, to all appearance, rust. But rust does not develop on a wooden sleeper and he found the counterpart of this spot, a trifle larger on the wood. Again he wetted his finger and was satisfied. For this was not rust, but a very common form of distemper employed by builders. He went back to the buffer and the sagging rail and climbed down the hole which was about six feet deep. He had noticed that a quantity of green stagnant water at the bottom of the hole advertised its age. Again he drew his hand along the water and examined his palm. It was green, but his strongest magnifying glass (and he had one of peculiarly high power) failed to reveal any sign of that florescence which forms on the surface of water and gives it its peculiar vivid green. Instead, he saw a number of irregular specks, which were undoubtedly crystals. \u201cWhich means,\u201d said Michael to himself, \u201cthat Kate is an artist even if Fonso isn\u2019t.\u201d The green scum which had deceived him at first had been artificially created. Some chemical had been dissolved and had re-crystallised on the surface. He dug into the soft earth on the other side without securing any data as to when the hole had been made, but nearer the surface and on the rim, he saw the white tendrils of growing coltsfoot, which were still humid. One tentacle had been shaved away, but the plant had not yet begun to die, nor the exposed root to blacken. \u201cThis hole was dug on the night of the robbery,\u201d said Michael, \u201cand the earth was artistically removed. Kate would depend upon the railway officials not having bothered to inspect this bit of line.\u201d As matter of fact, this was so. It was on private property, and after it left the edge of the railway land it ceased to be their responsibility. The buffer was also newly erected. He found this when he had dug down to its foundation. The wood was still dry and there were blades of grass and tiny fragments of plant in the earth beneath. He walked round the little pit and reached the rails on the opposite side. They were rusted as artistically as their fellows. The line twisted and curved across level country for a mile before it turned the shoulder of a hill and disappeared into a gorge, evidently excavated in the course of the working. Behind this was another chalk hole, and he gathered from an examination of the map, that along this further ridge ran a road. The abandoned cement works had been so built that they were not in view from the railway itself. Possibly the philanthropic purchaser had pulled down the one remaining smokestack on his occupation and the whitened buildings did not stand out against the chalky soil behind them. He had all the evidence he wanted before he had traversed one-half of the two miles which separated him from the chalk pits. The mark of the heavy wheels was visible now. In places the weeds which grew thickly between the sleepers had been crushed by their passage. He now left the rail and began moving round in a wide semi-circle that would bring him to a low neck in the hill. His plan was to climb the hill from here and work his way back along its crest until he overlooked the works. He was now in the danger zone. He shifted his stick to his left hand and slipped out his pistol and pulled back the cover. It took him an hour to gain the crest of the neck. He found it more difficult to climb than he had thought. Evidently chalk had been quarried here and, save in one or two places, he was faced by a sheer unscalable wall. It was hard climbing all the way and he was hot and thirsty by the time he reached the top. From the neck he could only secure a partial view of the works. He had taken the precaution to bring a pair of prismatic glasses and with these he surveyed the ground. There was no sign of the train and for a moment his heart sank. Then he picked up the rail and followed it yard by yard and he could scarcely restrain himself from a yell of joy when he saw the rail led to a big shed, the gates of which were closed. Originally, this may have been the mill house, but the new tenants had relaid the line so that it passed into the building. He replaced his glasses and continued his climb. He was half-way between the neck and the point which would directly overlook the works when he heard the hum of a motor car and dropped flat. He was within fifty yards of the road which was slightly above him, and looking up very cautiously he saw a car dash past and disappear over the rise. There was no mistaking its occupant. It was the Spaniard, Gregori. He rose cautiously and continued his progress, keeping a sharp look-out for the sentries which he knew would be posted on the road. The path he followed was a beaten track. He realized this before he had gone much farther and sought to find a way either to the left or the right, but without success. He halted and debated with himself the question as to whether he should go back. It was madness to attempt to make the capture alone. Even now, he might have been detected, but if this was the case by the time he went back and procured assistance the whole gang would have gone and probably the gold with them. Of the two risks he decided to take the first. Little time was given to him to regret this decision. He had taken three paces when he heard the unmistakable whirr of a lariat. He turned to face the danger, pistol in hand, but too late. The rope settled about his neck, he felt a sharp nerve-racking jar and fell heavily to the ground. Chapter 15. AS SIR RALPH SAID, \u201cBUSINESS IS BUSINESS\u201d. T.B. Smith walked into his outer office. \u201cAny news of Mr. Pretherston?\u201d he asked. \u201cNo, sir,\u201d was the reply. \u201cAny news of Barr?\u201d \u201cNo, sir.\u201d T.B. clicked his lips impatiently. \u201cWho\u2019s looking after them?\u201d \u201cDetective-sergeant Grey, sir,\u201d was the reply. \u201cYou know we traced him as far as Pinham Heights. After that he seems to have been lost sight of.\u201d \u201cHave you notified the chief constables of Hampshire, Sussex and Surrey?\u201d asked T.B. \u201cThat has been done, sir,\u201d said the officer. \u201cThe local constabulary are making a search.\u201d T.B. bit his lips. \u201cI can understand Mr. Pretherston going,\u201d he said, \u201cbut what has happened to Barr?\u201d His subordinate very wisely offered no solution. There were other anxious enquirers. Moya Felton had called that morning. Sir Ralph had made two visits to headquarters though it was doubtful whether his anxiety was in any way associated with the well being of Michael Pretherston. \u201cI think Michael will find the gang,\u201d said T.B., \u201cthough he may be too late to get the gold.\u201d \u201cWhat do I want the gang for?\u201d demanded Sir Ralph wrathfully. \u201cWill the government give me \u00a32,800,000 for them? The gang can go to the devil so far as I am concerned. I want the gold.\u201d \u201cYou may get neither,\u201d said T.B.; \u201cat any rate, it ought to be very pleasing to you, Sir Ralph, that Michael Pretherston is risking his life to recover your property.\u201d \u201cIsn\u2019t he paid to do it?\u201d demanded Sir Ralph. \u201cIsn\u2019t that the job of a policeman? By Gad! Commissioner, one would imagine that Pretherston was doing something out of the common! I take risks every day of my life.\u201d \u201cIf you could see my mind,\u201d said T.B. Smith suavely, \u201cyou would realize that you are taking the biggest risk you have taken to-day. I advise you to go home and get into a calmer frame of mind.\u201d \u201cWhen shall I hear anything?\u201d asked the truculent baronet. \u201cWhenever you are within earshot,\u201d snapped the Commissioner. \u201cShow Sir Ralph out, constable. Lord Flanborough did not obtrude his enquiries. He was so far reconciled to Moya that he could discuss the matter dispassionately, without reference to the _m\u00e9salliance_ which threatened his family. \u201cI think on the whole, Moya,\u201d he said, \u201cI had better not see Ralph. After all, business is business and friends are friends; but I disclaim all responsibility for that gold after it left the ship. It is Ralph\u2019s business entirely and I simply won\u2019t accept his suggestion that I share his responsibility to the slightest degree.\u201d \u201cWill he have to bear the loss?\u201d \u201cWell, partially bear the loss. A portion will be borne by the underwriters. Ralph, I am afraid, is a very mean man. I hate saying anything about my friends but Ralph is really economical to a point of meanness. I advised him to insure the gold and, to save a beggarly premium, he only insured half of it. I am very sorry for him,\u201d he shook his head mournfully as a symbol of his sympathy. \u201cI am very, very sorry for him, but I think it is better that we do not meet until this business matter is completely settled. On the whole,\u201d he added thoughtfully, \u201cperhaps it is better that your engagement with Ralph is broken off. He has said some very unkind things about you, Moya, which aroused my anger. I do not think you have been wise but I cannot allow any person to discuss you uncharitably.\u201d If the truth be told, Sir Ralph had said very little about the girl and very much about his lordship, whom he had accused of deliberately evading his responsibilities. This was at the one interview which they had had. It pleased Lord Flanborough to pose as a devoted father, but he did not deceive anybody but himself, for Moya had had a first hand account of the interview from Ralph who had asked her to use her influence to bring about a change in Lord Flanborough\u2019s attitude. It was the day after the disappearance of Michael Pretherston and Sir Ralph\u2019s nerves were a little shaky. It was unfortunate in the circumstances that he had decided that afternoon to make a call upon the man who, a week before, he had fondly believed was to be his father-in-law. Lord Flanborough had not taken the precaution of warning his servants that he was not at home to Sir Ralph, so he had nobody to blame but himself when the door of his study was flung violently open that afternoon and Ralph Sapson stalked in. \u201cMy dear Sapson,\u201d stammered his lordship, flabbergasted by the unexpectedness of the visit. \u201cPray, do sit down.\u201d \u201cI am not going to sit down. I tell you I am not going to sit down,\u201d roared, rather than said, Ralph. \u201cLet me close the door,\u201d said his lordship in alarm. \u201cMy dear man, please remember&#8211;\u201d \u201cI remember nothing except that I am on the brink of ruin. That is what it means. I am on the brink of ruin,\u201d said Ralph, violently thumping the desk. \u201cIt is going to cost me a million and a half, and you must bear your share, Flanborough! You are responsible. If it had not been for your infernal daughter this would not have occurred.\u201d \u201cMy daughter,\u201d said Lord Flanborough and feeling himself on perfectly safe ground he could speak with hauteur, \u201cis not a matter for discussion and if you cannot speak respectfully of her, I beg you to leave this room.\u201d \u201cIf it had not been for your daughter we should have remembered to send Griggs back.\u201d \u201cI am not in charge of the railway,\u201d said his lordship with mock humility. \u201cI cannot order engine-drivers to return to Seahampton. Be reasonable, Sapson!\u201d \u201cYou have got to bear your share,\u201d said the other doggedly, \u201cyou are morally responsible. I wish I had never thought of bringing your infernal ships to Seahampton.\u201d He was haggard and drawn of face. In two days he seemed to have shrunk so that his usually well-fitting clothes hung on him loosely. \u201cEverything can be discussed in a quiet business-like way,\u201d said Lord Flanborough. \u201cI am very sorry that you have this loss. It is by no means certain that it is a loss, but business is business&#8211;you cannot expect me to shoulder your responsibilities, my dear friend.\u201d \u201cIt is your responsibility as well as mine,\u201d stormed Ralph, jumping up from his chair and advancing upon the little man who stepped cautiously backward, \u201cand I insist upon your accepting your share.\u201d \u201cWhich would amount to?\u201d suggested his lordship. \u201cAbout seven hundred thousand pounds,\u201d growled the other. \u201cSeven hundred thousand pounds! Impossible!\u201d said Lord Flanborough emphatically. Ralph turned livid. \u201cIf you don\u2019t,\u201d he hissed, thumping his palm with his fist, \u201cif you don\u2019t&#8211;\u201d At that moment help came in the shape of Moya. She nodded coolly to Sir Ralph and crossed the room to her father. \u201cThere is no news of Michael,\u201d she said. \u201cDear me,\u201d sighed his lordship. \u201cMichael!\u201d sneered Ralph. \u201cThere is no news of the money! That\u2019s the important thing, Moya!\u201d \u201cWe are not on the \u2018Moya\u2019 terms any more, Sir Ralph,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cRub it in,\u201d groaned the man. \u201cI don\u2019t want to rub it in. We all have our troubles, but some of us bear them less courageously than others. It won\u2019t ruin you if you do lose all this money. You know you are enormously rich.\u201d \u201cI am not going to lose,\u201d said Sir Ralph doggedly; \u201cyour father has to bear his share.\u201d \u201cIf father is responsible he will bear his share,\u201d said the girl, \u201cbut it is not by any means certain that he is responsible, is it, papa?\u201d \u201cCertainly not,\u201d said Lord Flanborough, placing a table between himself and his infuriated partner. There was a tap at the door and Sibble came in, somewhat furtively. He looked mysteriously at Moya and she went to him. \u201cWhat is it, Sibble?\u201d she asked. \u201cThere\u2019s a man to see you, miss,\u201d he said. \u201cI think it is something very special.\u201d \u201cTo see me? Who is he?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know who he is, miss, but he has a very special message for you.\u201d She went out into the hall. A respectable looking man stood hat in hand. By his thick coat she thought at first he was an omnibus driver. In a sense, she was right. \u201cAre you Lady Moya Felton, madame?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d said the girl. He handed her a card. She took it. It was a business card announcing that Messrs. Acton and Arkwright, contractors, were prepared to remove anything from machinery to furniture and that they had a \u201clarger number of motor lorries than any other firm doing business in the south of England.\u201d \u201cI am afraid there is a mistake,\u201d she said. \u201cI didn\u2019t send for you.\u201d \u201cNo, miss, we\u2019ve brought the goods.\u201d \u201cThe goods?\u201d she said puzzled. He led the way to the door. Lining one side of the street and stretching from the house to the corner of Gaspard Place were ten motor lorries. \u201cHere\u2019s the name.\u201d He turned the card over. \u201cLord Flanborough, Felton House, Grosvenor Avenue,\u201d said the man reading it over her shoulder. \u201cHave you any letter?\u201d \u201cNo, miss, these are all the instructions I had. I was told to bring the chemicals to his lordship and ask for you.\u201d \u201cChemicals?\u201d she said. Her father had followed her to the door. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d he asked. \u201cThis man has brought some chemicals for you.\u201d \u201cOh, nonsense, there is some mistake,\u201d said Lord Flanborough. \u201cI am not a chemist.\u201d He went down the steps with the girl to the first lorry. She looked inside and apparently it was empty. \u201cWhat is it you have brought?\u201d she asked in surprise. \u201cThere they are, miss, on the floor.\u201d And then she saw a number of packages wrapped in sacking. \u201cThey\u2019re pretty heavy,\u201d said the man, \u201cconsidering their size.\u201d She reached out her hand and tried to draw one toward her. It defied her efforts. Lord Flanborough tried and succeeded in moving it. Something in its shape startled him. \u201cHave you a knife?\u201d he asked the man. The contractor produced a big clasp knife and opened it. \u201cBe careful, my lord,\u201d he warned, \u201cthey\u2019re dangerous&#8211;\u201d But Lord Flanborough had ripped the canvas package and exposed a dull yellow ingot. He dropped the knife and stepped back. \u201cHow many wagons are there?\u201d he asked huskily. \u201cTen, sir. They\u2019ve all got the same number of packages&#8211;and are we to take them to the Docks?\u201d Lord Flanborough made a rapid calculation. \u201cTake them into the basement and put them into the coal cellar,\u201d he said and went up the steps two at a time and back into his study. Sir Ralph was still waiting. The rudeness of his host neither increased nor decreased his irritation. Lord Flanborough stepped up to him briskly. \u201cLook here, Sapson,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat responsibility do you want me to bear in the matter of this gold?\u201d \u201cI want you to bear half.\u201d \u201cI will do more than that,\u201d said his lordship. \u201cI will assume the whole responsibility for two hundred thousand pounds.\u201d Ralph swung round. \u201cYou will?\u201d he said incredulously. \u201cI will.\u201d \u201cDone,\u201d said Sir Ralph and pulled out his cheque book. He wrote quickly and nervously but quite legibly enough and handed the slip to Lord Flanborough, what time his lordship was writing with more leisure but no less excitement on the other side of the table. \u201cThere\u2019s your cheque,\u201d said Sir Ralph. \u201cAnd there\u2019s my note freeing you from responsibility,\u201d said his lordship. \u201cI am sorry I have been so unpleasant,\u201d said the baronet wiping his steaming brow, \u201cbut you will understand.\u201d \u201cI quite understand,\u201d said Lord Flanborough. \u201cBusiness is business,\u201d said Ralph. \u201cBusiness is business,\u201d repeated his lordship and folding the cheque slipped it into his pocket. Chapter 16. ON THE UNMORALITY OF PROFESSIONAL THIEVES. The main building of what had once been Boltover\u2019s Cement Works consisted of four high walls and a slate roof. Here had stood the wash mills and the revolving knives which had reduced the clay and mud from the nearby river into slurry. Leading therefrom was the heating chamber and the kiln house. There was no trace of mill, though the kilns still stood. All the machinery had been removed, the concrete floor strengthened and the only engine visible was a great Atlantic locomotive which had stood with steam up day and night before the wreckage of two trucks. In each of these was a rough circular hole and the blistered paint and the drops of metal which hung upon the edge or had trickled down its blackened side, told of the terrific heat which had been employed to break through the steel walls. Near one wall were a number of small packages neatly stitched in canvas and ready for removal, and on these sat Mr. Mulberry, the benignity of whose countenance was somewhat discounted by the fact that a loaded rifle lay across his knees. Leading from the main building was a small office approached through a steel door and in this were seated the seven guiding spirits of the great raid, Francis Stockmar, Gregori, Colonel Westhanger, Colling Jacques, Thomas Stockmar, Mr. Cunningham and Kate. Gregori was talking. He leant across the table, his hands lightly clasped, his head on one side turned to the girl who sat opposite to him and a little to his right. \u201cI think, Kate, we finish here,\u201d he was saying. \u201cCrime Street is getting a little too warm.\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t expect you to lose your nerve,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m not losing my nerve,\u201d he said with a scowl. \u201cI am afraid of losing my life, if you want to know the truth. We are watched all the time. They know you are out of town and are searching for you.\u201d \u201cThey found me,\u201d said the girl coolly. \u201cI am staying at Brighton.\u201d \u201cWe have made a big haul and it will take us a year to get rid of it,\u201d Gregori went on, \u201cbut when we _have_ got rid of it, we shall have enough to settle down.\u201d \u201cBut why do you want to settle down?\u201d she asked. \u201cMy dear Kate,\u201d said her uncle querulously, \u201cdon\u2019t ask absurd questions. You know there is no reason in the world why we should not settle down. We have enough money.\u201d \u201cExactly what do you mean by settling down?\u201d she insisted. \u201cI am not being sarcastic. I merely want information. You have taught me that it is the game and not the prize that is worth while. That has been my life\u2019s teaching. Why, you told me if you were a millionaire,\u201d she looked at her uncle under her bent brows, \u201cnothing would induce you to be \u2018dull and honest.\u2019 Those were your words.\u201d \u201cMy dear child,\u201d said Colonel Westhanger, \u201cI have told you lots of things which have to be interpreted in a liberal spirit. We have had all the fun we want and now we will&#8211;\u201d He was at a loss in his desire to avoid a tautological repetition of a certain phrase. \u201cSettle down,\u201d she suggested; \u201cbe dull and honest?\u201d \u201cBut, surely, Kate,\u201d said Gregori impatiently, \u201cyou don\u2019t want to be a hunted beast all your life?\u201d \u201cWhy not?\u201d she asked in astonishment. \u201cIt is just as much fun being hunted as hunting. You have said that a score of times. Does Michael Pretherston&#8211;\u201d \u201cOh, hang Michael Pretherston,\u201d said Gregori. \u201cDoes Michael Pretherston,\u201d she went on, \u201cget as much fun out of chasing me, as I get out of escaping him? Does Michael Pretherston find the same exhilaration of mind in following on my tracks as I find in keeping ahead of him?\u201d \u201cAnyway,\u201d said Gregori. \u201cI have had enough of it and I want to go out of the business and I advise you to do the same. And there is another thing, Kate&#8211;\u201d He looked at the Colonel for support, but Colonel Westhanger found it convenient at that moment to be staring at the skylight. \u201cWhat is the other thing?\u201d she asked. \u201cWell, you know I am fond of you,\u201d he said, \u201cand I want to&#8211;\u201d he floundered. \u201cSettle down,\u201d she suggested innocently; \u201cwhat is all this \u2018settling down\u2019 that everybody loves so much? Does it mean we shall never plan another great coup?\u201d She leant her elbows on the table. \u201cHonestly, I am not being wilfully dense. I know money is useful, because it helps one to prepare the way for making more money, but I have not been in this,\u201d she waved her hand, \u201cin all these things for money. I told Michael Pretherston so and he believed me.\u201d \u201cWhat have you been telling Michael Pretherston?\u201d asked Gregori suspiciously. \u201cI told him that,\u201d she said simply. \u201cBut, my dear girl,\u201d said her uncle, \u201cfun and excitement and all that sort of thing are well enough in their way, but you don\u2019t mean to tell me, at this hour, that you have not been working for the \u2018stuff\u2019?\u201d \u201cI will tell you as much at this or any other hour,\u201d she answered immediately. \u201cI see,\u201d said Gregori with a faint smile, \u201cthen really you are what I would call a criminal artist&#8211;art for art\u2019s sake, eh?\u201d \u201cI mean that,\u201d she said again. \u201cOne must not judge one\u2019s successes by the amount of money one has made. \u201cThat is how I joodge it,\u201d said the thick voice of Francis Stockmar; \u201cso much mooney, so much sugsess, isn\u2019t it?\u201d \u201cI tell you frankly,\u201d said Gregori. \u201cI am in this for the money and so is your uncle. We have taken many risks, some of us have been caught and some of us,\u201d he said significantly, \u201chave been lucky. I\u2019ve got thirty years in front of me, with any luck, and so I am going to&#8211;\u201d \u201cSettle down,\u201d suggested Kate ironically. \u201cI am going to quit.\u201d \u201cCome, come, be sensible, Kate,\u201d said the Colonel, patting her on the shoulder. \u201cYou have been a very good girl and we owe you almost everything we have. I am sure everyone agrees that you have been the brains of our&#8211;er&#8211;association. The only time when any of us have been caught is when we have gone out on a side line of our own. Now leave well alone.\u201d \u201cWhen hunters have caught the fox,\u201d she said, \u201cdo they leave well alone and never hunt again? In war, when a soldier comes through a battle safely, does he leave well alone and never go into action again? Does the huntsman who is nearly caught by a lion leave well, and lions, alone?\u201d \u201cThis is different,\u201d said her uncle doggedly. \u201cBut I don\u2019t understand it. If what you say is right, then I am wrong and have been wrong all my life. I am wrong and the police are right.\u201d \u201cOf course, they\u2019re right,\u201d said Gregori; \u201cwhat rubbish you are talking.\u201d \u201cThe police are right?\u201d she asked in open-eyed astonishment. \u201cOf course they are right. They must protect society. In five years\u2019 time, when I am settled on my little estate in Spain and my house is burgled do you imagine I shall not call in the police?\u201d \u201cI know they are right in their way,\u201d she said, as if she were speaking her thoughts aloud, \u201cbut we are right, too.\u201d \u201cWe cannot both be right,\u201d said Colonel Westhanger. \u201cI asked you some time ago,\u201d she said, turning to him, \u201cwhich was the better life&#8211;the dull life or ours. They cannot both be better. The elementary conditions cannot change. That life must be the best, or ours.\u201d \u201cThat life is best,\u201d said the Colonel decisively. She looked at him steadily. \u201cThen why have you let me live this?\u201d she asked. \u201cYou cannot change me. I cannot change. I cannot!\u201d she said with vehemence and the men noted with amazement the emotion she displayed. \u201cNothing can change me!\u201d Gregori reached out and took her hand, but she snatched it away. \u201cI will tell you what can change you, little girl,\u201d he said undeterred by the rebuff, \u201clove can change you. Give me a chance.\u201d She looked at him and laughed in his face. \u201cWill you be good or bad, honest or dishonest? You will only be a half man, living two lives. Marry you! And am I to go into witness boxes to testify against your burglar? And prosecute your poachers? I am living now, what I believe to be the truth. I believe I have the right to match my wits against the world and take, by my intelligence, what the old robber barons took by brutal strength. If I pass to the other side I should be a liar, living a life in which I did not believe. I am going on.\u201d \u201cThen you will go on by yourself.\u201d \u201cWill I?\u201d she asked softly. \u201cGo out and find somebody who thinks as you think if you can,\u201d sneered Gregori; \u201cyou will be obliged to live a lie, anyway. You will never meet a man who believes in stealing, who believes in fraud and who will go on so believing, until he is an old man. You will never meet a man on the other side of life who would trust you if he knew you, and he _would_ know you unless you&#8211;went on lying.\u201d He laughed. \u201cYou are in a cleft stick, my little friend, and if you take my tip you will stick to the friends who know you.\u201d He laughed again. \u201cSuppose I come down into Spain and burgle your house&#8211;\u201d her eyes lit up&#8211;\u201cand I would do it! Or, suppose, when you have&#8211;settled down&#8211;and when you have all deposited your symbols of success in your banks, I planned a little coup and smashed your banks? I could do it easily and I would do it,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat would you do?\u201d Their faces were a study. The Colonel was stroking his white moustache. Francis Stockmar was scowling horribly. Mr. Cunningham was staring blankly at the opposite wall. \u201cNaturally you would not play such a low-down trick upon your old friends,\u201d said the Colonel soothingly; \u201cnobody believes you would, Kate. I mean, it would be tragic for some of us, after spending years of our lives accumulating a little nest egg to find we had become beggars in a night. Of course, speaking personally, I should consider myself exonerated from any responsibility I had in regard to our relationship and I should have to tell the police&#8211;\u201d \u201cYou would call the police, too, would you? Would you, Stockmar?\u201d \u201cYas,\u201d said the stolid Austrian, \u201cof goorse. The mooney to recover, ain\u2019t it?\u201d \u201cAnd you?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t think you would do anything so treacherous,\u201d said Mr. Cunningham; \u201cnaturally, we would not take that sort of thing lying down.\u201d \u201cNaturally,\u201d said Colling Jacques, \u201cthe whole matter is this, when we go back to the respectable world and obey the laws, we, as citizens, are entitled to the protection which the laws give us.\u201d \u201cI see. You are, so to speak, touching wood. The wood is the law.\u201d \u201cThat is it,\u201d he said. Kate got up and walked to the one window of the room and looked out upon the dreary yard with its tangle of twisted machinery, its rusted boilers, its chaos of rotting cement bags. \u201cWell, you can all do as you like,\u201d she turned on them, \u201cbut I tell you this, that if you think you are going to&#8211;settle down&#8211;at my expense, and if you think I have been planning and scheming and play-acting and lying in order that you might all become respected parish councillors, you have made a mistake. You talk about my friends, if you are my friends, God help me! There is one man in the world who is worth the whole crowd of you.\u201d She was interrupted by a crash as though a heavy body had been thrown against a door. Somebody fumbled with the lock and Gregori jumped up and threw it open. They half carried, half pushed a gagged and bound man through the doorway. Behind him peered the saturnine, malignant face of his captor, Doctor Garon. \u201cGot him,\u201d he said triumphantly. \u201cWho is it?\u201d asked Gregori, staring at the half conscious man. The girl did not ask. She went suddenly cold, for she knew it was Michael Pretherston. Chapter 17. THE INDEPENDENT STRATEGY OF SE\u00d1OR GREGORI It is a fact worth remarking upon, that in all her career, though she had been associated with the most desperate of criminals, and though she had been surrounded on all sides by men who would stop at nothing to gain their ends, Kate had never witnessed an act of violence. Such arrests of members of the confederation as she had seen had been very humdrum affairs. The arrival of two strangers, a consultation carried on in a low tone by a pleasant detective officer, an urgent call to somebody to \u201cget my hat\u201d and the disappearance, very often for a long time, of the member affected. She had never seen a fellow creature man-handled nor did she believe that there was in her confederates the tigerish malignity which was now displayed. She looked from face to face in amazement and horror as they crowded round the handcuffed figure and flung him into a chair. Michael had been choked to insensibility at the first attack. With the loosening of the rope, he had recovered consciousness and put up a fight, and had been hammered back to insensibility by the three men who had watched him from the moment he had crossed the open ground to the east of the railway, and had lain in wait for him. They had manacled him with his own handcuffs. This he realized, as he came back to consciousness, with his head throbbing and every bone in his body aching. He leant his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, striving to collect his thoughts. It was the cold steel of the handcuff against his nose which was the starting point from whence he unravelled the situation. The blow which had felled him had fortunately been broken by his soft felt hat and he raised his hand and gingerly felt the bump which Dr. Garon\u2019s loaded cane had raised. \u201cNow then, wake up,\u201d said Gregori\u2019s voice roughly, \u201clet\u2019s have a look at you.\u201d Michael raised his head and looked at the speaker. \u201cHello, Gregori,\u201d he said dully. He looked round the room and caught the girl\u2019s eyes and for a moment held them. \u201cYou seem to have tumbled into it, my young friend,\u201d said Colonel Westhanger. Michael slowly shifted his eyes to the speaker and smiled. \u201cWe all seem to have tumbled into it, you worse than anybody. This means a life sentence for you, Colonel.\u201d The old man\u2019s face went white. \u201cIt is only bluff,\u201d said Garon; \u201che is here by himself. I have been watching him for an hour. You tried to pull off the job on your lonely!\u201d \u201cAlone,\u201d said the Colonel and the girl watching him saw his face go hard. \u201cAlone! Are you sure?\u201d \u201cAbsolutely sure,\u201d said the doctor. He sat straddle-legged on a chair leaning on the back and puffing the cigar he had just lighted. \u201cIt would be rather a serious business if you had made a mistake, wouldn\u2019t it?\u201d drawled Michael. He was recovering his scattered senses and something of his good spirits. \u201cYou fellows had better make the best of a bad job.\u201d \u201cWhat is your idea of the best of a bad job,\u201d sneered Gregori,&#8211;\u201cto take the handcuffs off you and put them on me and the Colonel? If it means a \u2018lifer\u2019 for the Colonel! what does it mean for me? You don\u2019t suppose I am going back to Dartmoor to build walls for the moor farmers, do you?\u201d \u201cWhat is the alternative?\u201d asked Michael. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you what is the alternative,\u201d hissed the other thrusting his face into the detective\u2019s, \u201cit is the only alternative that will give me any satisfaction&#8211;and it is to put you out.\u201d \u201cDot is id,\u201d nodded Stockmar. The girl\u2019s heart almost stopped beating and for a moment she closed her eyes and gripped tight to the edge of the table. She felt physically sick and her knees were trembling under her. Fortunately their attention was fully occupied with Michael and nobody noticed that she had grown of a sudden peaked and grey. She bit her lips and by sheer effort of will regained control of herself. She looked at Michael: that little smile of his still played about the corners of his mouth and the eyes that were lifted to Colling Jacques were full of good humor. \u201cIt is you or us, Pretherston,\u201d the engineer was saying; \u201cyou don\u2019t suppose we have been working for this stuff and taken all the risk, only to see ourselves standing in the dock of the Old Bailey?\u201d \u201cWinchester,\u201d corrected the detective, \u201cit is a very pretty assize court&#8211;the vaulted ceiling will appeal to you, Jacques. It is in the Gothic style.\u201d \u201cOne moment,\u201d said the Colonel suddenly. With a nod he called the men to a corner of the room and for five minutes there was a whispered consultation. The girl and Michael were left alone and obeying some impulse which she could not define, she suddenly turned her back upon him and walked to the window, a proceeding which Gregori noticed out of the corner of his eye. Presently the little conference broke up and the Colonel came back with the others. \u201cLook here, Pretherston, I am going to make a proposition to you. You are not a rich man, I take it.\u201d \u201cMy private affairs don\u2019t concern you,\u201d said Michael calmly, \u201cand I certainly am not prepared to discuss them with you.\u201d \u201cThis job is worth two and a half millions and there are ten of us in it. Help us to make a getaway and there is not far short of a quarter of a million for you.\u201d The girl swung round and looked at Michael. How would he take this offer? She knew how great was the appeal which money made to men, especially money easily earnt. She waited in breathless, almost painful, suspense. \u201cTwo hundred and fifty thousand pounds,\u201d said Michael&#8211;\u201cthat is a lot of money. But, why do you put such a proposition to me?\u201d \u201cIt is a lot of money,\u201d repeated the Colonel significantly. Michael laughed. \u201cI suppose there was a time in your life,\u201d he drawled, \u201cwhen if somebody had offered you money to do a dishonest act, you would have knocked him down? But perhaps there never was such a time,\u201d he said, searching the other\u2019s face. \u201cI no more want to discuss my affairs, than you want to discuss yours,\u201d said the Colonel gruffly; \u201chere is the proposition,\u201d he thumped the table, \u201cdo you take it?\u201d Michael shook his head. \u201cI won\u2019t be rude to you,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause you are an older man and because you are going to end your life rather miserably in a very short time.\u201d He saw the man wince. \u201cI am not saying that with the object of offending you,\u201d Michael continued. \u201cI am just telling you what is the truth. Suppose you get away from here, how are you going to make your escape from England? By this time every port is closed to you.\u201d \u201cI will tell you how we are going to get out of England,\u201d said Gregori, \u201cwe are going to leave by the only route possible, by ship from London.\u201d \u201cBy ship from London?\u201d it was the surprised voice of the girl. \u201cWe have done a little planning on our own, Kate,\u201d said Gregori with a grin; \u201cthis is our last job. We didn\u2019t tell you because we didn\u2019t think it was worth while upsetting you. Everything was arranged last week.\u201d \u201cWithout my knowledge,\u201d she said. He nodded. \u201cWhat do you say, Pretherston? It is your last chance.\u201d \u201cIt isn\u2019t my last chance,\u201d said the other cheerfully. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d \u201cThat you will find out,\u201d said Michael with a sudden sternness. \u201cI warn you that your time is very short.\u201d \u201cYour time will be shorter,\u201d said Gregori with a sinister smile. \u201cWe will give him half-an-hour to think over it,\u201d suggested Jacques; \u201cput him in the engine room.\u201d The engine room was the uncomfortable little shed which had been built on to the mixing shop to accommodate a dynamo. It was now empty save for a truckle bed on which one of the gang had slept. Padlocked iron doors led to the mixing room and to the outer world, but to make doubly sure, Garon volunteered to stand outside the building and keep guard. Michael was thrust into the little room and the door slammed upon him. \u201cNow,\u201d said Gregori when they were back again in the office, \u201cwe have to decide and decide quickly. If we can be sure that this fellow is alone he has got to be killed.\u201d \u201cKilled?\u201d said Kate. \u201cOh, no, no!\u201d He turned on her with a snarl. \u201cThis is our job. You keep out of this, Kate,\u201d he said. \u201cI tell you it must be done, for all our sakes.\u201d \u201cThe first thing,\u201d said the Colonel, \u201cis to get the gold away.\u201d \u201cIt will be loaded on to the trucks to-morrow morning,\u201d said Gregori, \u201cand we had better keep this fellow alive until it is gone.\u201d \u201cAre we using our own trucks?\u201d Gregori shook his head. \u201cOh, no,\u201d he said, \u201cthat would be too dangerous. I have hired ten, from a man in Eastbourne who is used to handling machinery. He has no idea what sort of factory this is and I have told him it is a preparation of lead we are shipping to the docks. Young Stockmar will meet the convoy in London. Our own men are on board the ship and will load the stuff.\u201d \u201cIt is a bit risky,\u201d said Colling Jacques shaking his head, \u201csending all that money through London without a guard.\u201d \u201cIt would be more risky to guard it,\u201d said the other calmly, \u201cour only chance lies in not rousing the suspicion of the contractor who has promised to come down himself to superintend the carriage to the docks. His people won\u2019t be allowed to handle any of it and I have told him especially that it is dangerous to touch the packages&#8211;now, Kate, you must be sensible about this business of Pretherston.\u201d She shrugged her shoulders and leant back against the window-sill, her hands behind her. \u201cI suppose it is necessary,\u201d she said in her cool even tone and the Colonel heaved a sigh of relief. \u201cGad, that\u2019s the way to look at it, my girl,\u201d he said admiringly. \u201cI knew you wouldn\u2019t fail us.\u201d She said nothing. \u201cYou said there were ten shares,\u201d she asked presently, \u201cdo you count me&#8211;as one who is sharing?\u201d \u201cYou stand in with me, my dear,\u201d said the Colonel, patting her on the shoulder, \u201cdon\u2019t you be afraid. I have never denied you anything, have I?\u201d She shook her head. \u201cI have never been aware that you denied me anything,\u201d she said absently. \u201cWhen is this&#8211;\u201d she could not find words to complete the sentence. \u201cPretherston,\u201d said Gregori,&#8211;\u201coh, we can\u2019t do anything yet. I think you will agree, Colonel. We must make absolutely sure that he is not being followed and that he has not half the Metropolitan police force within call. I shall do nothing at all till to-morrow night.\u201d She inclined her head. \u201cI see,\u201d she said simply and then, \u201cI think I will go to my room.\u201d They had made her comfortable quarters in what had been once the foreman\u2019s office. She passed through the great sheds slowly and stopped for a moment to look at the powerful engine which stood near the closed doors, a tiny feather of steam at its safety valve, then she went into her room. Chapter 18. THE COLONEL WAS A GENTLEMAN AT THE LAST. It was ten o\u2019clock the following morning before any of the gang saw the girl. She had spent a sleepless night revising her philosophies and arranging the future as she saw it. Mulberry who had put away his rifle and was appearing in the capacity of an urbane general-manager greeted Kate with a nod. He was superintending the transference of the ingots to the waiting trolleys which stood on the road at the top of the chalk pit and were approached by a zig-zag path which had been cut in the face of the bluff by the original owner of the property. Later Mr. Mulberry climbed up the path to interview the stout contractor. \u201cI will pay you in advance,\u201d said Mr. Mulberry beaming benevolently and producing a wad of notes from his pocket book. \u201cYou have full instructions as to where these packages are to go?\u201d \u201cYes, sir,\u201d said the man. \u201cTo the Thames Docks and I am to hand them over to the gentleman who engaged me the day before yesterday.\u201d \u201cMr. Stockmar,\u201d said Mulberry. \u201cThat is the name, sir. Are these things valuable?\u201d Mulberry shook his head. \u201cScientifically they are of the greatest value, commercially they are of no value. You have probably heard of dioxide of lead, the heaviest metal that the earth holds?\u201d \u201cI can\u2019t say that I have, sir,\u201d said the contractor frankly. \u201cI am not much of a scientist.\u201d \u201cIt is a very useful element,\u201d lied Mr. Mulberry glibly, \u201cin the creation of paper. It is highly inflammable but not explosive so long as it is handled by experts like my men here,\u201d he waved his hand to the procession of swarthy labourers who were coming up the hill, each bearing a package on his shoulder. \u201cThey are Italians, aren\u2019t they, sir?\u201d Mr. Mulberry nodded. \u201cThey are the only people who can handle this chemical,\u201d he explained. \u201cI see, sir,\u201d said the master carman wisely, \u201csome of these foreigners are wonderful chaps with chemicals.\u201d He looked down into the hollow. \u201cMighty nice young lady that, sir,\u201d he said respectfully, not knowing whether Kate, who had just emerged from the building and was wandering aimlessly across the yard, was an employee or a friend. \u201cOh, yes, that is my confidential secretary,\u201d said Mr. Mulberry. \u201cMighty nice, if I may be allowed to say so, very lady-like.\u201d \u201cYes, yes,\u201d said Mr. Mulberry. He lingered long enough to see the last packages laid on the floor of the last truck, shook hands with the contractor with great affability and strode nonchalantly down the slope and none to see him would have imagined that he had just entrusted nearly three million pounds\u2019 worth of gold, to the tender mercies of a chance carman. He was half way down the first of the slopes when he met Kate coming up. \u201cKate,\u201d he said in a low voice, \u201cif you are going up to the top and that fellow asks you who you are, you must tell him you are my confidential secretary. I hope you don\u2019t mind, I had to explain you. \u201d She nodded and continued her slow walk until she came to the road. The cars were now buzzing preparatory to making a start. The contractor, whom she had met before, gave her a cheery nod. \u201cHave you a piece of paper?\u201d she asked. \u201cI\u2019ve a card, miss,\u201d he said. \u201cThat will do,\u201d she said; \u201clend me your pencil.\u201d She wrote a few lines and handed them to the man. \u201cI am the managing director\u2019s confidential secretary,\u201d she said. \u201cI know, miss,\u201d replied the man. He looked at the card with a frown. \u201cYou are to take the trucks first of all to this address and see the gentleman whose name I have written.\u201d \u201cBut I was told to go straight to the docks.\u201d She smiled and nodded. \u201cI know,\u201d she said, \u201cbut my chief thinks you had better go here. His lordship will either accompany you to their destination or he may store your chemicals for the night.\u201d He looked at the address. \u201cThe Earl of Flanborough,\u201d he read; \u201csuppose he isn\u2019t there, miss?\u201d This was a contingency which she had overlooked. \u201cAsk for Lady Moya Felton&#8211;that is his daughter,\u201d she said; \u201cyou had best see her first in any circumstances.\u201d \u201cI see, miss,\u201d said the man a little impressed. \u201cI know his lordship. I have often seen him at Seahampton.\u201d \u201cNow I think you had better go,\u201d said Kate, \u201cbefore you receive any fresh instructions.\u201d The man chuckled, swung himself into the seat of the second car beside the driver and first one and then the other of the great lorries, moved slowly down the white road. She watched them until the last one had passed the crest of the hill, then she slowly descended the zig-zag path. She met Gregori in the doorway. \u201cWhere have you been, Kate?\u201d he demanded. \u201cI have been to see the loot off,\u201d she said flippantly. \u201cThe less you are seen, the better,\u201d he grumbled. \u201cI told that ass, Mulberry, not to let the man catch a glimpse of you. Don\u2019t go in, I want to talk to you.\u201d He was ill at ease and evidently found it difficult to make a beginning. \u201cYou know, Kate, I am very fond of you,\u201d he said. \u201cYou have every reason to be.\u201d \u201cI still have,\u201d he said. \u201cI am not so sure of that,\u201d she interrupted, \u201cbut go on.\u201d \u201cWhat do you mean by that?\u201d he asked suspiciously. \u201cGo on,\u201d she demanded; \u201cwhere does your fondness lead?\u201d \u201cIt leads to your marrying me,\u201d he said; \u201cyour uncle does not object and we will be married as soon as we reach South America.\u201d \u201cSouth America!\u201d she stared at him. \u201cSo that is our destination, is it?\u201d she said slowly. \u201cAnd I am to marry you when we arrive, by arrangement with my uncle?\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s about the size of it,\u201d replied Gregori. \u201cAnd suppose I make other arrangements?\u201d \u201cThere are no other arrangements you can make,\u201d he said with easy confidence; \u201cthe fact is, Kate, that you have to drop these high and mighty manners of yours. We stood them very well because it paid us to stand them, I suppose. But we are all in the same boat&#8211;and shall be literally.\u201d He laughed aloud at the sally. \u201cYou hold some queer views, you know, and we can\u2019t afford to let you run loose.\u201d She jerked up her head and turned abruptly away and would have left him but he caught her by the arm and pulled her back. \u201cWhen I say you must marry me,\u201d he said, \u201cI mean just what I say.\u201d \u201cHave I a voice in this arrangement?\u201d she asked, slowly disengaging her arm. \u201cYou have a voice in it if you agree. You have no voice if you cut up rough.\u201d \u201cI see,\u201d she said. \u201cI will think about it. This is not a decision which I can arrive at in a minute.\u201d She went to her room and locked the door. At five o\u2019clock that evening her uncle came for her. \u201cHave you been to sleep?\u201d he asked. It was curious, she thought, how the manner and even the tone of these men had changed in the past few hours. She was so used to an attitude of deference, almost sycophantic, which they ordinarily displayed, that the change had come in the nature of a shock. And there was a change. Even her uncle had dropped his mask of good-nature and now treated her as a child, and a child that needed to be disciplined. \u201cI have been thinking,\u201d she said. He grunted something and walked back with her to the office. \u201cThis fellow, Michael Pretherston, has to be settled with. Do you understand that?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d she replied. \u201cThe cars will be on the road in half an hour and you and I will be the first to leave.\u201d \u201cDo you think so?\u201d \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d he asked sharply. \u201cI warn you, Kate, that I am not going to stand any monkey tricks from you.\u201d To this she made no answer but pushed at the iron door that led to the meeting place and entered. To her surprise, Michael was present. In addition to his handcuffs his arms had been drawn back by the insertion of a short stick and secured with ropes. Gregori was sitting on the table and made no attempt to stand up, which was another piece of evidence that the hold she thought she had over these men had gone, if it had ever existed. \u201cKate, you can use your persuasion on this fellow,\u201d said Gregori wearily; \u201cit is his last chance. He has had a night to think it over and he\u2019s still obstinate.\u201d The girl walked up to the detective. \u201cMichael,\u201d she said softly, \u201cwould nothing induce you to become&#8211;one of us?\u201d \u201cNothing,\u201d he said. \u201cNothing that we could give you&#8211;that I could give you?\u201d He looked at her steadily. \u201cNothing that I would take from you at that price,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cDon\u2019t you love your life?\u201d \u201c\u2018As dearly as any alive,\u2019\u201d quoted Michael. \u201cDon\u2019t you love anything in the world? Isn\u2019t there a girl?\u201d she asked with a little break in her voice. He nodded. \u201cThere is a girl,\u201d he said and looked past her. It seemed as though an icy hand had gripped her heart and for a while she could not frame the next question. \u201cIsn\u2019t she worth it?\u201d she said, recovering her balance at last. \u201cShe is worth many things,\u201d said Michael, \u201cbut not that.\u201d She looked down at the floor. \u201cPoor girl,\u201d she said. \u201cHaving tried sentiment,\u201d sneered Gregori, \u201cwe will now try a little practical argument&#8211;Pretherston you have got about an hour to live.\u201d \u201cI shall die in very bad company,\u201d said Michael with a wry face. \u201cI had hoped at the least that I might die at the hands of a lawful hangman, as you will die. To be butchered by a cheap cutthroat half-breed is not a pleasant prospect.\u201d \u201cDamn you,\u201d said Gregori with passion and struck him in the face. He would have repeated the blow but the girl slipped between them. \u201cMichael, you shall die in good company,\u201d she said in so matter of fact a tone that none of them realized immediately what she was saying; \u201cthat is, if you think I am good company.\u201d \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d gasped the Colonel. \u201cWhy, I think you will kill me, too,\u201d she said with a serenity which to Michael was wonderful, \u201cbecause I have betrayed you all.\u201d Garon came flinging through the door. \u201cThey haven\u2019t turned up,\u201d he screamed, \u201cthe wagons have gone.\u201d \u201cGone,\u201d said Gregori huskily, \u201cgone where?\u201d \u201cI have just been on the \u2019phone,\u201d gasped the doctor; \u201cthey went to Lord Flanborough\u2019s. He has got the stuff.\u201d There was a dead silence broken by the girl. \u201cThey went to Lord Flanborough\u2019s,\u201d she repeated nodding her head. \u201cI know that. I sent them there.\u201d The tension was dreadful, no man spoke, then suddenly Gregori swung round on the girl and his face was the face of a devil. \u201cYou!\u201d he grated and leaped at her throat. In that one moment all the scattered atoms of race, of pride, of kinship united in the distorted brain of Colonel Westhanger. His lean arms shot out and Gregori fell headlong to the floor. \u201cBack, you dog!\u201d roared the old man. It was the last word he uttered. There was a stinging report from the floor and Colonel Westhanger fell limply across the table with a bullet through his heart. The girl who was half fainting with terror shrank back against the wall as Gregori rose, his still smoking pistol in his hand. \u201cYou are a prophet,\u201d he said harshly; \u201cyou said you would die with Michael Pretherston and by God! you spoke the truth. Put them together,\u201d he said, \u201cI want to think things out.\u201d Chapter 19. MICHAEL DEVELOPED A FONDNESS FOR THE CRIMINAL CLASSES. The girl rose up from the chair where she had been sitting and crossed to where Michael lay on the floor where they had thrown him. He looked up and smiled. \u201cWhy, Kate,\u201d he said faintly, \u201calways\u2026 meeting\u2026 you.\u201d She sat down at his side and lifting his head laid it upon her lap. \u201cThat\u2019s nice,\u201d he murmured. \u201cWhy is it nice?\u201d she asked curiously, \u201cbecause I make a softer pillow than the stone?\u201d \u201cThat and something more,\u201d he answered. \u201cWhat more?\u201d she insisted. \u201cOh&#8211;because it is you, I suppose,\u201d he said vaguely. Her lips twitched in amusement. \u201cBut it would be just the same if it were any other person,\u201d she said, \u201cwouldn\u2019t it, Mike?\u201d He looked up at her. \u201cPut your hand on my forehead,\u201d he said. \u201cLike this?\u201d She laid her soft palm against his throbbing head. \u201cWhat does that do?\u201d she asked after a long interval of silence. \u201cIt just makes my head better&#8211;don\u2019t ask a lot of questions.\u201d Her fingers stole down his face and she gently pinched his nose. \u201cOh, Kate,\u201d he murmured sleepily, \u201cI was just going to sleep. \u201cThen don\u2019t,\u201d she said, \u201cwhat is the use of dozing&#8211;you\u2019ll be dead soon and so will I.\u201d She said this very calmly, in the same matter-of-fact tone in which she might have announced that there would be a roast chicken for dinner. \u201cI hope they kill you first,\u201d she said thoughtfully. \u201cYou\u2019re a bloodthirsty little beggar,\u201d said Michael indignantly; \u201cwhy do you wish that?\u201d She shrugged her shoulders and went on pressing back the hair from his forehead, never taking her eyes from his face. \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she said at last, \u201conly I want to make sure that you\u2019re gone and nobody else can have you&#8211;and then I shan\u2019t care.\u201d He did not move; for a second she saw his eyelids quiver, but he lay still staring past her to the dingy roof of the engine house. \u201cSay that again,\u201d he whispered. \u201cSay what again? That I want you to be killed first?\u201d she asked innocently. \u201cMike,\u201d she said suddenly, \u201cwho was the girl?\u201d \u201cWhich girl?\u201d \u201cYou know,\u201d she said, \u201cthe girl you&#8211;care about.\u201d \u201cWhy, you of course,\u201d he said in surprise. Her hands slipped down from his forehead covering his eyes. \u201cSay that again,\u201d she mimicked. \u201cYou,\u201d he repeated. \u201cYou see I am more obliging than you were.\u201d \u201cAnd you would not come in with us, not even for me?\u201d \u201cNot even for you.\u201d She did not speak for some time. \u201cHow did you know we were here?\u201d she asked. \u201cI knew you could be nowhere else,\u201d he said. \u201cYou are an awfully arrogant young man, aren\u2019t you? Do you know how it was all done?\u201d He nodded. \u201cThe train ran into the tunnel where you had a long motor-car mounted with flanged wheels and having three green lamps on the front and two red tail lamps behind. That was the \u2018train\u2019 which the signalman saw dashing through the rain and you had a horrible siren.\u201d She laughed softly. \u201cIt was terrible, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d she admitted. \u201cDo you remember that day you were in Crime Street? You heard it.\u201d He recalled the uncanny sound which had then excited his curiosity. \u201cWhen you got to the level crossing gates, the car was lifted off the rail and went on to the road. It followed the tram lines for some distance where it turned into a convenient garage, which I suppose you had already arranged for?\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d she nodded. \u201cThe train went no farther than the tunnel. It then backed on to a side track. Gregori had his Italian workmen ready and fixed up the buffer which had been dropped&#8211;you know the rest. The hole behind the buffer and the green scum&#8211;that was your idea, I suppose.\u201d \u201cIt was cunning, wasn\u2019t it, and did you see the rust I made?\u201d \u201cIt is a fortunate thing you are dying young, Kate,\u201d he said; \u201cyou have a criminal mind.\u201d \u201cBut I haven\u2019t a criminal mind,\u201d she protested; \u201cit is a game, a sort of highly complicated jigsaw puzzle. Do you ever read detective stories?\u201d \u201cVery seldom.\u201d \u201cBut you have read them?\u201d she persisted. \u201cI have read one or two,\u201d he confessed. \u201cDid the men who wrote those have criminal minds? It was a game to them. It was a game to me. I know it is all wrong, horribly wrong, but I never thought I should realize that much. I thought nothing would turn me.\u201d \u201cAnd what has turned you?\u201d he asked. She hesitated. \u201cI don\u2019t know what it is,\u201d she said shaking her head. \u201cIt is a curious feeling that I get when I meet one man in the world. A feeling that makes my heart turn to ice and makes me tremble. That is all it is, Mike&#8211;how do you think they are going to do it?\u201d Her thoughts had gone back to the approaching end. \u201cHeaven knows,\u201d said Michael. \u201cI haven\u2019t any time to think of it. I am thinking of something else. Why do they keep the steam up in that engine?\u201d he asked. \u201cIt was Gregori\u2019s idea,\u201d she said; \u201che had the hole filled in to-day and the buffer taken down. He thought it might be useful to let the engine run on to the main line and block it. That is, if we had word that they were sending a lot of police down to search this part of the country.\u201d \u201cHere they are,\u201d said Michael; \u201chelp me to sit up.\u201d She raised him to a sitting position as the door opened and a dim figure appeared silhouetted against the dusk. It struck a match and lit a candle and Dr. Garon was revealed. He placed the candle carefully upon the floor just behind the half-closed door and passed slowly over to where Michael lay. \u201cWell, my young sleuth,\u201d he said pleasantly, \u201cthe best of friends must part.\u201d \u201cFortunately,\u201d said Michael, \u201cI do not fall into the category of your friends.\u201d The doctor hummed a little tune as he took a small leather case from his pocket. \u201cYou have seen a hypodermic syringe before, I suppose?\u201d he held up the tiny instrument. \u201cI am going to give you a slight dope, which won\u2019t hurt you.\u201d \u201cOne moment,\u201d said Michael, \u201cdo I understand that this dope is&#8211;final?\u201d The doctor bowed. From his heightened colour and his unsteady hand Michael guessed he had been drinking, either to give himself nerve for his task or to drown the memory of his misfortune. \u201cVery good,\u201d said Michael. He looked up at the girl and raised his face and Kate stooped and kissed him on the lips. \u201cThat is it, is it?\u201d said the doctor unpleasantly. \u201cGregori will be pleased.\u201d He caught the manacled wrists of the prisoner and pulled back his sleeve and the girl\u2019s heart almost ceased to beat. It was at that moment that the light went out. \u201cWho is there?\u201d said the doctor releasing his grip on Michael\u2019s arm and turning quickly. He took a groping step forward through the darkness. \u201cWho\u2019s there?\u201d he said again and they heard a soft thud followed by the sound that a body might make, when it struck the ground. Michael caught his breath. Suddenly a beam of light danced in the room and focused upon the prostrate figure of Dr. Garon. \u201cGot him,\u201d said a well-satisfied voice. \u201cBarr,\u201d whispered Michael, \u201cwhere did you spring from?\u201d \u201cI came through the door,\u201d said the voice. \u201cDid you see it open? That is what knocked the candle over.\u201d He flashed the light on his superior. \u201cThey have got the bracelets on you, sir,\u201d he chuckled softly, took a key from his pocket and with a few deft turns released the other. His pocket knife finished the work. Michael stretched his cramped limbs. \u201cI tried to get in last night but they had too many sentries&#8211;I couldn\u2019t come here or get back to a telephone. I have been lying on that hillside all last night and all to-day,\u201d said Detective-Sergeant Barr. \u201cI dared not move until it was dark. I tell you, sir, I had a bit of a fright. I thought they would get away.\u201d \u201cHave you a revolver?\u201d asked his chief. The man slipped a weapon into his hand. They made their way softly back through the room where the engine was still smoking, through the little steel door of the office. It was empty save for a shrouded figure which lay beneath the table. There was a second door in the room. Michael tried this. It was locked. He heard voices and tapped at the door. \u201cWho is there?\u201d said Gregori. \u201cOpen the door,\u201d said Michael. \u201cWho is there?\u201d demanded Gregori again. \u201cOpen, in the name of the law,\u201d said Michael. He heard a shuffle of feet and an oath and stood waiting, his pistol extended but the door did not open. A sudden silence came. \u201cIs there any way out of here?\u201d \u201cThere is a door leading into the shed where the engine is,\u201d said the girl. She was white and trembling\u2026 that shrouded figure under the table had been the last straw. Michael dashed out into the shed but it was too late. As his feet crossed the foothold a bullet struck the steel door and ricochetted to the roof. In the dim light offered by an oil flare he saw Mulberry and Stockmar hoisting the inanimate figure of Dr. Garon to the cab of the engine. He fired twice and Cunningham stumbled but was dragged into the cab. Then with a mighty \u201cschuff!\u201d which reverberated through the building the engine began to move toward the closed door. It gathered speed in the dozen yards or so it had to traverse and then with a crash it struck the gate, splintering and sending it flying. Michael flew the length of the shed and arrived at the outer gates in time to see the engine disappearing round the edge of the bluff. Barr was at his side and the two men stood helpless, as their enemies gradually receded into the grey dusk. \u201cThere is a telephone here,\u201d said Michael quickly, \u201cbut it is probably laid for their own purpose.\u201d \u201cI left my motor-bike on the top of the hill somewhere, sir,\u201d said Barr. \u201cGet on to it,\u201d said Michael. He stood listening to the sound of the locomotive going faster and faster. A hand touched his timidly. \u201cDid they get away?\u201d He slipped his arm round the girl. \u201cI am afraid they have,\u201d he said. He was turning back to the shed when the roar of an explosion set the building trembling. \u201cWhat was that?\u201d whispered the girl. They walked back to the end of the bluff. There was no need for him to speculate as to the direction from whence the explosion had come, for a bright red glow two miles away illuminated the whole countryside. \u201cSomething has happened to the engine,\u201d he said. He did not know till an hour later that running at full speed the Atlantic had dashed into a down goods train and that the blaze he witnessed was the blaze of a burning petroleum tank which the wrecked Atlantic had crushed in its death flurry. \u201cWe have not been able to recognize any of them,\u201d said T.B. \u201cDo you think Kate Westhanger was with them?\u201d \u201cKate Westhanger is no more,\u201d said Michael gravely, and he spoke the truth for Kate Pretherston was at that moment on her way to France, where her husband intended joining her just as soon as his resignation was accepted. \u201cBut why give up the work, Michael?\u201d said T.B. \u201cI found, sir,\u201d said Michael, \u201cthat it was sapping my moral qualities.\u201d \u201cYour moral qualities?\u201d said his puzzled chief. \u201cI didn\u2019t know that you had any. What particular form did the sapping take?\u201d \u201cI found, sir,\u201d said Michael, \u201cthat I was developing a fondness for the criminal classes.\u201d Thank you for joining us on this exhilarating journey through &#8216;Kate plus 10&#8217; by Edgar Wallace. Kate Wasthanger\u2019s daring escapades and razor-sharp intellect have kept us on edge from beginning to end, proving that brilliance and danger often go hand in hand. If you enjoyed this tale of intrigue and strategy, be sure to subscribe to Storytime Haven for more captivating classic stories. Your next great adventure is just a listen away. Until then, stay curious and keep the stories alive.<br \/>\n<br \/>\n\u2728 Dive into a thrilling tale of crime, cunning, and charisma with *Kate Plus 10* by Edgar Wallace! \ud83d\udcda This captivating story brings to life one of the most intriguing female criminal masterminds in classic fiction. Don\u2019t miss this suspense-filled adventure that keeps you guessing until the very end! \ud83d\udd0d<\/p>\n<p>\ud83d\udcd6 **Story Overview:**<br \/>\n&#8211; Meet Kate Wasthanger \u2014 young, brilliant, and the unlikely leader of a criminal gang.<br \/>\n&#8211; A series of impossible heists shocks the nation, all orchestrated by her flawless intellect.<br \/>\n&#8211; Scotland Yard struggles to keep up as Kate and her &#8216;ten&#8217; pull off scheme after scheme with unmatched precision.<br \/>\n&#8211; A masterclass in deception, wit, and psychological gameplay.<\/p>\n<p>\ud83c\udfa7 Whether you love classic crime novels or stories featuring strong, clever women at the center, *Kate Plus 10* delivers gripping entertainment with every chapter.<\/p>\n<p>\ud83d\udc4d Like what you hear? Be sure to:<br \/>\n\ud83d\udd14 Subscribe for more classic mysteries: https:\/\/bit.ly\/StorytimeHavenOfficial<br \/>\n\ud83d\udcac Comment your thoughts and favorite moments<br \/>\n\ud83d\udce2 Share this audiobook with fellow mystery lovers!<\/p>\n<p>\ud83c\udf1f Perfect for fans of:<br \/>\n&#8211; Edgar Wallace<br \/>\n&#8211; Female-led thrillers<br \/>\n&#8211; Heist fiction<br \/>\n&#8211; Sherlock Holmes-style mysteries<\/p>\n<p>\ud83d\udccc Stay tuned and let yourself be swept into a world of thrilling plans, narrow escapes, and a mastermind you won\u2019t forget!<\/p>\n<p>#ClassicMystery #AudiobookAdventure #KatePlus10 #EdgarWallace #HeistStory #StorytimeHaven #CriminalMastermind #DetectiveFiction #VintageThriller #BritishCrime #FemaleProtagonist #CrimeAndMystery #ThrillingHeists #WittyHeroine #ClassicWhodunit #MastermindPlot #GoldenAgeMystery #OldSchoolThriller #FictionLovers #AudiobookExperience<\/p>\n<p>**Navigate by Chapters or Titles:**<br \/>\n00:00:35 Chapter 1.<br \/>\n00:26:15 Chapter 2.<br \/>\n00:38:59 Chapter 3.<br \/>\n00:52:59 Chapter 4.<br \/>\n01:09:51 Chapter 5.<br \/>\n01:22:47 Chapter 6.<br \/>\n01:48:30 Chapter 7.<br \/>\n02:01:25 Chapter 8.<br \/>\n02:17:38 Chapter 9.<br \/>\n02:31:54 Chapter 10.<br \/>\n02:42:42 Chapter 11.<br \/>\n03:05:25 Chapter 12.<br \/>\n03:19:53 Chapter 13.<br \/>\n03:34:34 Chapter 14.<br \/>\n03:49:20 Chapter 15.<br \/>\n04:00:47 Chapter 16.<br \/>\n04:12:17 Chapter 17.<br \/>\n04:22:45 Chapter 18.<br \/>\n04:33:38 Chapter 19.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>\ud83c\udfa9 Kate Plus 10 \ud83d\udd75\ufe0f\u200d\u2640\ufe0f | A Brilliant Criminal Mastermind Unleashed! Welcome to Storytime Haven. Today, we delve <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":1850462,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[593415],"tags":[948239,948240,948241,135,216781,954629,954625,954626,615635,931378,954622,697498,954624,954616,954618,954617,954630,954621,954627,954619,954628,888626,954620,954623,574,9,30213,903337],"class_list":{"0":"post-1850461","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-2025-summer","8":"tag-2025-summer","9":"tag-2025-summer-anime","10":"tag-948241","11":"tag-anime","12":"tag-audiobook","13":"tag-audiobooks-for-mystery-lovers","14":"tag-british-mystery","15":"tag-classic-crime-thriller","16":"tag-classic-literature","17":"tag-classic-mystery","18":"tag-crime-drama","19":"tag-crime-fiction","20":"tag-detective-audiobook","21":"tag-edgar-wallace","22":"tag-female-criminal-mastermind","23":"tag-full-audiobook","24":"tag-golden-age-detective","25":"tag-heist-novel","26":"tag-intelligent-heroine","27":"tag-kate-plus-10","28":"tag-mastermind-plot","29":"tag-storytime-haven","30":"tag-thriller-fiction","31":"tag-vintage-mystery","32":"tag-ytccon","33":"tag-9","34":"tag-30213","35":"tag-903337"},"share_on_mastodon":{"url":"","error":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1850461","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1850461"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1850461\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1850462"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1850461"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1850461"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1850461"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}