THE GREEN ARCHER - 4

THE GREEN ARCHER

EDGAR WALLACE

( INSTALMENT 4 )

50. A VISITOR FROM BELGIUM

Jim Featherstone was in the garden when Valerie brought a letter which she handed to him without a word.

"DEAR MISS HOWETT, When you came to the castle you asked me about your mother, and I told you that I knew nothing. At that time there were reasons why I could not tell you. Your mother is alive, and, I believe, well. If you will do me the honour of calling on me one day I will give you all the information possible. May I say how much I regret the unpleasant experience you have passed through? I read about it for the first time this morning.

"Sincerely,

"ABEL BELLAMY."

Jim read it over again.

"A modern version of the spider and the fly," he said, "and of course you'll do nothing so rash as to walk into his parlour."

"What danger would there be?" she asked, but Jim was adamantine on the point. "As a friend I can only beg you not to go; as a police officer I forbid you!" he said, half jestingly. "Abe wouldn't try any tricks in broad daylight, but—here's Spike Holland at a run. What does he want?"

Spike came flying across the garden, his freckled face shining.

"Savini and his wife have left the castle, and the old man is firing his staff," he said breathlessly. "Only—the Savinis haven't left the castle! I'd been watching the gate since early morning, because Julius had promised me that he would have a story for me. At ten there arrives Abe Bellamy with a story that Savini and his wife have been fired for tampering with his safe, and that they have just this minute gone."

"What do you suggest?"

"That Bellamy's lying. Savini is still there, and he and his wife are either assisting the old man in this fake firing, or else—"

"Well?"

"Or else Julius is a prisoner with his wife. I'm not going to be surprised at anything that happens at Garre."

Jim intended returning to town that day. Instead he called up his office and set inquiries on foot concerning Julius Savini. When in the afternoon the office reported that neither Julius nor his wife had been seen, he sent a local policeman to make inquiries at the Castle. The man returned with the intelligence that all the servants but the lodge-keeper and Sen, the chauffeur, had left that afternoon. They were mostly London people, and had gone away by the noon train. Abe had treated them generously. He knew nothing about Savini except that he had gone with his wife. That was all the information he could give.

"Who answered the door to you?"

"Mr. Bellamy himself, sir. After I left I heard him bolt and bar it."

There was nothing to be done but to wait.

But Abe Bellamy could not wait. Only one obstacle stood between him and the complete fulfilment of his plan, and that was providentially removed when he went to the store-room to look for milk for his coffee.

Above the library at Garre Castle were a number of rooms, more than half of them windowless, where in olden times the squires of the de Curcys had their apartments. They were used now as lumber-rooms, or were not used at all. In one of these there slept by day a dark-visaged and not ill- looking man whose presence at Garre Julius had suspected.

Lacy was a professional thief, who described himself as a painter, because of all the jobs in prison painting is the easiest, and men are usually employed by prison authorities in the trades that they followed when they were free. Ordinarily a man whose manners were beyond reproach, he had, since his arrival at Garre, assumed an air of equality which the old man had passed without comment and apparently without notice.

The last of the servants had hardly passed out of sight before Lacy opened the library door without knocking and swaggered into his patron's presence, one of Bellamy's cigars between his teeth. The illusion of success had spoilt better men than Lacy.

"All gone, boss? I suppose I shall have to do what I can for you, but don't expect me to be a servant, because I won't."

"I haven't asked you, have I?" growled Bellamy.

Mr. Lacy took out his cigar and eyed it without favour. "This ain't one of your best, Abe," he said reproachfully. "You wouldn't have dreamt of giving poor old Smithy a cigar like this. And now that I'm, so to speak, doing Smithy's work and holding down his job, I'm entitled to a little better treatment."

"There's a box on the table," said the old man. "What did you want, Lacy?"

"I thought I'd come in and have a talk," said the man, seating himself comfortably in Bellamy's favourite chair. "I haven't quite got your idea. Do you expect me to stay here for ever?"

"You don't want to see Featherstone, do you?"

At the mention of that name a black cloud came over Lacy's face. "I'll see him one of these days," he said between his teeth, "and I'll pay him something I owe him,"

"Don't worry," said Abe Bellamy, "you'll see him." He frowned and added: "And you will pay him." The man smoked on in gloomy contemplation, and Abe watched him with a speculative eye.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Lacy suddenly.

"Help Sen," said the other, and Mr. Lacy made a grimace.

"I've never worked with a Chink in my life," he said, "and it doesn't sound good to me to start now."

Lacy was in his most offensive mood, and ordinarily Bellamy would have made short work of him, but now he received the grumbling of the man with a surprising meekness. "When did Julius go?" asked Lacy suddenly.

Bellamy had seated himself at his desk and was slowly examining a number of accounts which Julius had left for settlement. He did not seem to hear the inquiry, and it was repeated. "This morning," he answered.

Lacy smoked in silence, and was evidently turning the matter over in his mind, for after a while he said: "I think you were a fool to let Julius go. He is the sort of fellow who'll be blackmailing you before you know where you are! That is the one thing about this business that has been puzzling me—the risks you've taken. There's Julius and Mrs. Julius and me, all in your secret. Suppose one of us turned policeman? It'd be rather troublesome to you, wouldn't it?"

"No," replied Bellamy. "I'm not worried about Julius, and I'm certainly not worried about you."

On his table were two telephones, one of which was a private line communicating with the lodge gates. The characteristic buzz of this latter instrument interrupted Lacy's rejoinder. "There's a gentleman at the lodge gate who wants to see you, sir," said the porter's voice.

"Tell him I can't see anybody," answered Bellamy gruffly. "Who is he?"

"He says he's come down to see if the castle is for sale."

"It is not for sale, you boob!" roared Abe, and was about to put down the receiver when he thought to ask again: "Who is the man?"

"Mr. John Wood. He says he's come specially from Belgium to see you."

51. VALERIE MEETS JOHN WOOD

Bellamy's face changed. "Tell him to come up," he said. He replaced the instrument and looked round at Lacy. "You can get out," he said. "A gentleman is coming to see me."

Lacy got up reluctantly. "I'm tired of this business," he said. "I've been hiding and sleeping in dark corners ever since I've been here, and I'm fed up!"

Bellamy made no reply, only his pale eyes surveyed his uncouth guest dispassionately. Lacy went out of the room with a feeling of uneasiness for which he could not account.

It was Sen who opened the door to the visitor and showed him into the library. Bellamy was standing with his back to the fireplace, his hands behind him, his head on one side, a peculiar attitude of his, and he did not speak a word until Sen had gone and the visitor stood before him, hat in hand. "Mr. Wood?" he growled.

"That is my name. You're Mr. Bellamy? I heard a rumour that you were leaving the castle and that it was for sale."

"Sit down," interrupted the old man.

"I'd rather stand, if you don't mind," was the reply.

"So you've heard the castle is for sale, have you? Well, whoever told you that was fooling you. I've no intention of selling this place now or at any future time. Why do you want to buy it?"

"I have been entrusted with a large sum of money to found a children's home in England," said Mr. Wood, his grave eyes never leaving the old man's face, "and it struck me that the castle, with a few modern improvements, might make an ideal place. It has enormous room space, which, I understand, is never used by you; and apart from that the estate would allow us to build—".

"It is not for sale," said Abe Bellamy. John Wood inclined his head and was turning to leave when a word from the old man checked him. "I seem to know your name, Mr. Wood. Maybe I am mistaken, but I seem to remember that you knew a—relation of mine."

"Are you referring to your nephew?" asked John Wood quietly, and Bellamy nodded. "Yes, we were in the same squadron," said Wood.

"He was killed, eh? You're sure he was killed?"

"It was officially notified," said Wood; "and I inherited what little property he had."

"No chance of his being alive, eh?" asked Bellamy. "A lot of these men reported dead turn up alive."

"The American Army authorities were very particular; they took great care to verify all the reported deaths," said Wood, "and I believe the German Government confirmed his death."

The old man was thinking. "Was he a talkative man, this nephew of mine? Did he ever tell you anything about—" he was at a loss for a phrase "—about his own past?"

"He never spoke about his past," said John Wood.

"H'm!" said Bellamy, and seemed relieved.

He walked with his visitor to the door and watched him as he went down the drive and disappeared round the corner of the bushes towards the lodge gate. Then he came back to the library. He found Sen arranging a tray on the table, and the man handed him a slip of paper. "No milk," it said.

"Is there none in the store-room?"

Sen shook his head.

"There are tins of canned milk there." growled Bellamy. "I'll go look for it myself."

It was when he was engaged in this search that he made his remarkable discovery.

That evening, when dusk fell, he sent Lacy in the car to London with instructions to make certain purchases.

Jim Featherstone was walking through the min street of Garre when he saw a man turn out of the gates of the castle and walk away. He only had one glance at the face, but he recognised him instantly, and, with an excuse to the girl who was with him, he quickened his pace and overtook John Wood as he was on the point of stepping into the old-fashioned omnibus that plied between Garre and the railway.

"I came to buy the castle," said Wood after the first greetings were over, and Jim was amused.

"I had no idea that you were really serious. Miss Howett, I want you to meet Mr. John Wood. He came to buy Garre Castle, and I gather he wasn't successful. What do you think of Bellamy at close quarters?"

"He's not very prepossessing," said the other with a faint smile.

To Valerie this strange man held more than ordinary interest. She told herself that it was his splendid hobby which fascinated her, but in reality she would have admitted that it was his remarkable personality, conveyed to her even before she had spoken a word to him, that produced so profound an impression. "Are you going back to your babies, Mr. Wood?" she asked.

"Not yet. I have a lot of business to do in England before I call return. Are you interested in my eccentricity?" he asked, his eyes kindling.

"So much so that I should like to know all about it," she answered. "Won't you come back to lunch, Mr. Wood?"

He hesitated. "Yes," he said at last, and then, realising his ungraciousness, he added a hasty apology. As they passed the castle gates he turned his head towards the building.

"You're looking for our ogre?" she asked.

"I did not expect to see him," said John Wood. "Now if I had that castle," he said suddenly, "I would have the American flag flying on every tower. But I guess Abel Bellamy is almost as deficient in patriotism as he is in humanity."

They talked, she and the man from Belgium, all the way back to Lady's Manor, and Jim felt that for the moment he was of no consequence, which in itself was an unpleasant sensation. At lunch it seemed almost that Valerie had known the stranger all her life, and when she did address a word to Jim it was to secure his support for something Wood had said.

This might have worried Captain Featherstone but for the curious attitude of Mr. Howett, who, throughout the earlier stages of the meal, maintained a dead silence and never once looked up from his plate. Mr. Howett was a man who was used to entertaining guests, a man of public reputation, admirably balanced, and one whom his worse enemy would not accuse of shyness. Yet he held himself aloof, and it was not until Spike, who had been summoned from the Blue Boar to meet his friend, had turned the conversation to archery that he spoke at all. And then it struck Jim that he was reciting a case for himself—answering the challenge which the reporter had flung down in the dining-room of the Carlton.

"It is a coincidence that I am interested in the sport, but it is the kind of coincidence that you meet every day. For example, you open a book and see a technical word which you have never seen or employed before in your life; you look it up in a dictionary, discover its meaning, and within twelve hours you have seen that word again somewhere else.

"When I was a young man, and my eyes were as strong as any of yours, I certainly was interested in archery. There used to be half a dozen boys in the little village where I lived who formed ourselves into a Robin Hood band, which was broken up after a few windows had suffered a similar fate. In those days I was supposed to be the best archer in the band. Later, as a young man, I did attain to a measure of proficiency. When money came to me I took up the sport again, joined a society which existed in Philadelphia, but found that my eyesight was an insuperable handicap. Fifteen years ago I went to Germany to consult an oculist, and came back through London, wearing the glasses he designed for me—these very glasses." He took them off and blinked at them. "It was with the idea of testing them that, seeing the advertisement of the open archery competition, I was induced to take up a bow again."

"It seems to me," said John Wood, "that the conversation is drifting to the Green Archer. Has he been seen of late? I do not read the English newspapers very often."

Thereafter the conversation became general. It was Valerie, by careful and tactful questioning, who discovered that Wood had a spare evening, and it was Valerie who shamelessly manoeuvred Mr. Howett into asking him to come to dinner the next night.

Jim went home a very thoughtful young man. He was too wise in the ways of the world to be sorry for himself or to give expression to the little twinge of jealousy which he undoubtedly had felt.

52. THE HOLE IN THE WALL

Julius Savini was by nature a philosopher, and he accepted the situation with a calm which filled his wife with awe. For two days he had been a prisoner in one of the dungeons of Garre Castle, and for these two days and nights he had not seen his gaoler. There was no danger of starving, for the little larder was packed with canned food, including four unopened tins of bread biscuits. There was an ample supply of water; no attempt was made to turn off the gas.

One feature of the prison-house threw a light upon Abe Bellamy's midnight activities. A hole about four feet square had been blown through a wall, and the farther end had been covered by a square steel grating, which defied Savini's efforts to move.

He had crawled into the aperture, to discover that he was looking into the dungeons which Abe Bellamy had shown to his visitors.

"That was the noise we heard, Fay," he said. "The old man has been working for weeks to break through, and he must have spent the rest of the night after I heard the explosion in fixing this grating."

"Can't you move it?" she asked anxiously.

He shook his head. "It is cemented, and even if we could get through it would be impossible to force the grill at the head of the stairs."

"Are you sure it is the dungeon you know?"

He nodded: "I can see the trap into the lower hole, and that has been cemented over. Why, I don't know, because Bellamy was very proud of his Little Ease. Fay, we're in a hole, my dear," he said quietly, "and though I've got a gun and eight live cartridges I don't think that we have any immediate prospect of using them. I was a fool to let the old man know I was armed. The best thing we can do is to go easy on the provisions. We ought to plan to make them last as long as possible."

He thought of attempting to shoot out the lock, but after an examination of the door he decided that the effort would be useless and might only have the effect of making the door impossible to open. "Perhaps he's only trying to frighten us," he said, but Fay knew that his cheerfulness was assumed.

"We'll live as long as we can, anyway, Julius," she said, putting her arm in his. "And Featherstone is sure to guess what has happened."

"Featherstone guessed that the woman was hidden in the castle," said Julius tersely, "but he did not find her. And I don't blame him for that. I wonder how she escaped?" This gave him an idea, and he began a minute and searching inspection of the walls, which occupied the greater part of the day. "The whole place is honeycombed with secret passages," he said, "and there may be a way out, if we can only find it."

But in the end he gave up his search in despair and settled himself down to make the best of a hopeless position.

On the second day, Fay, who was going through the contents of a drawer which she had discovered in the writing-table, found a red-covered book, filled with entries in minute handwriting. Every page was black with writing, and the text even strayed to the back of the cover. It was a diary; she saw that at a glance.

"Julius," she called sharply, and Savini, who was testing the stone floor in his search for a way of escape, came across to her.

"It is the diary of the woman, Julius," she said in a hushed voice. "It would be worth hundreds of thousands if we could get out."

He took the book from her, and sitting down under a gas-globe, read for an hour. It was a tremendous story which the diary told, and Julius missed not one word. Presently he laid the book down and rose and stretched himself stiffly.

"Put that diary where we can find it, Fay," he said. "I don't think we shall ever get out of this place, but if we do we'll have a villa in Monte Carlo and a flat in Berkeley Square for the rest of our lives."

For the remainder of the day they read alternately one to the other, and Julius, who had a remarkable memory, made mental notes. It was ten o'clock by his watch when they went to bed, after replacing their find in the drawer where they had discovered it.

The system of ventilation was little short of marvellous. Even in the confined space of their sleeping-room the air was always pure. It came from a ventilating shaft which ran all round the walls near the vault of the roof, a fact which Julius had duly noted and placed to the credit of Bellamy. "It must have taken him a long time to get this place ready," he said, lying in bed and staring up at the stone arch above him. "He did everything himself. The lodge-keeper told me that he was months in the castle before he hired any servants or furnished the place. Abe Bellamy is certainly clever. But then, he began life as a builder, and I expect it was easy for him, with his strength, to make the alterations without assistance."

Fay was sitting before the dressing-table, calmly manicuring her nails.

"Julius, do you know what I think?" she said.

"I'd like to know sometimes," replied Julius.

"I think we're only the first of the batch. That grating leading to the dungeon has been put there for a special purpose. He's out to catch somebody else. And I don't think we need worry about rationing the provisions, either."

"Why not?" asked Julius, startled.

"Because when the other prisoners arrive Bellamy is going to make a bargain basement of these old dungeons, and the cheapest articles will be the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Savini."

Savini shivered and sat up. "What do you mean?" he asked huskily.

"I mean just what I say. He has trapped you and he's trapped me. Abe is getting ready for the grand finale, and it will be pretty easy now that Coldharbour Smith is dead. There's you and I and Lacy and Featherstone—"

"And Miss Howett," suggested Julius when she paused.

"I was thinking of her, but I don't see exactly what he's got against her. He certainly wanted to bring her to Garre, and perhaps he will."

Fay slept lightly; the slightest noise invariably woke her. Julius felt somebody shaking him gently by the shoulder and a hand laid on his mouth. "Don't make a noise," whispered Fay's voice, and the hand was removed.

"What is it?" he answered in the same tone.

"There's somebody outside," she said.

Julius felt for the gun under his pillow, and, slipping noiselessly out of bed, opened the door. He had left the six lights burning, but now they were all extinguished save one, and the dungeon was in gloom. He peeped out cautiously; there was nobody in sight. Yet somebody must have been there to have turned out the lights. From where he stood he could see the door through which he had been thrown, and even as he looked it closed and the soft clap of the lock came to his ears.

"Bellamy!" he said bitterly as he came back to the room. "If I'd only known! Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

"I only heard the noise just before I woke you," she said. "Are you sure it was Bellamy?"

He did not reply, but, catching hold of her arm, raised a warning finger. They listened, and there came to them the thud of the swing trap in the library. "It was Bellamy all right," said Julius, and went out into the bigger room to discover the reason for this unexpected visitation.

He relit the gas, expecting to find that the old man had left a letter. But of letter there was no sign. "Why did he come?" he asked.

Fay yawned and shook her head. "Why does he do anything? What is the time, Julius?"

"Five o'clock. I don't feel tired enough to go back to bed, Fay. Make some tea."

Whilst she went into the 'kitchen' he wandered about looking for some explanation of Bellamy's visit. The door, which he tried without hope, was locked.

"I'm glad to be awake," said Fay when she brought the tea. "That is where this prison differs from any other that I've ever been in." She set down the cups on the table. "I wanted to get back to the diary, anyway," she said, and pulled open the writing-table drawer.

He heard her exclamation, saw her open the second of the drawers and search quickly. "What is it?"

"It's gone, Julius!" she gasped.

53. THE RIFLES

It must have been nine o'clock in the morning, and they were sitting disconsolately together on the big settee, Julius with his head in his hands, the girl making a pretence at reading, when they heard the trap that covered the grating thrown back, and Bellamy's voice hailed them.

Julius was on his feet in a second, his gun in his hand, and, slipping to the cover of a big pillar, he waited.

"You can put down your gun, Savini," said the old man's voice. "Put it on that table where I can see it. Then I'll talk to you. If you don't do as I tell you I won't." Julius considered rapidly. There was nothing to be gained by antagonising the old man any further, and he put the pistol down on a small table which he thought the old man had indicated. "Now come to the door. Don't be afraid. If I had wanted to shoot you I could have shot you through the grating as easy as I could talk to you."

"What is the idea, Mr. Bellamy?" asked Julius in an injured tone. "I don't see why you're keeping us here. Surely you could trust us?"

"Surely I couldn't," was the reply. "I've come to tell you that they're looking for you. I've had a fly cop interviewing me all morning. He said they found some papers in your flat which gave them the idea that you were going abroad. I guess they'll give up looking for you, Savini. Make much of the food you have; there's no more for you. You're here for everlasting! I've thrown away the key—thrown it down the well in the grounds, Savini."

"You're a liar," said Julius calmly. "You were in here last night to steal the diary."

Bellamy stared at him through the grating. "Say that again," he said hoarsely.

"You were here last night to steal the diary."

"Which diary?"

"What is the good of fooling?" said Julius. "You came in at five this morning, and you're a lucky man that I didn't see you."

"Which diary?" said the man. "Did she leave a diary? I ought to have guessed that. Where is it?"

"I tell you it's gone," said Julius impatiently. "You came—"

"You fool! You scum!" howled Bellamy. "I have not been near you since I locked you in!"

It was some time before the old man recovered his self-possession.

"Tell me, Savini, and I'll treat you squarely. What was it? Was it the diary of a woman?"

"Who knows better than you?" said Julius, a reply which roused the old man to fury.

"I tell you I don't! I tell you I've never seen it—didn't know that it was here. What did the diary say?" he asked, dropping his voice, and Julius recited to him one passage, and the man fell back from the opening as if he had been shot. Presently he reappeared, and even in that imperfect light they saw his face was deathly pale.

"There was a chance for you, Savini," he said in a hollow voice. "Just a chance for you. The other man might have taken your place, but now you know too much, Savini, you know too much!"

The trap had slammed before Julius could answer, and he turned to meet his wife's troubled eyes. "What made you tell him about the diary?" she asked quietly, "when you saw that he knew nothing about it? You were mad, Julius."

Savini shrugged his thin shoulders. "What does it matter?" he said. "I don't believe him when he said he intended taking us out. We're here for keeps, Fay." He put his arm around her and drew her face against his. "It isn't as bad as I thought it would be," he said, fondling her face. "I was always scared of death, and the idea of dying this way, like a rat in a hole, would have driven me mad. But I'm not scared any more, little girl."

She drew herself gently from him. "Julius," she said, "if there's any dying to be done, Bellamy is the man who's going to do it! If somebody found a way into this place, then I guess we can find a way out."

Julius shook his head. "The Green Archer came through the door, and only the Green Archer could have found his way," he said.

She could only wonder at his serenity. This was not the Julius she knew, not the hectoring, threatening Julius or the frightened cringing Julius she had seen in the old man's presence. Marriage with Fay had been a piquant episode. It meant no more than a cachet which she could proudly flaunt in the face of less fortunate women. There had been times when she had despised her husband, moments when she was ready to defy him, though the innate loyalty in her had reserved such proofs of antagonism for such times as they were alone. "You are certainly a revelation to me, Mister Savini," she said affectionately.

"I'm a revelation to myself," he confessed. "We have to face facts. And the big fact is that the old man is getting ready for a piece of devilry that will make plain, honest murder look like walking on the grass. I'd like to know why he bought the rifles."

"What do you mean?" she asked, startled.

"There's a case of 'em in Sanctuary Tower. I found them by accident. Half a dozen sporting Mannlichers and two big boxes of cartridges. They are in the room above where Featherstone slept. I've an idea that we shall live to hear them—but not much longer."

"What does he want with a case of rifles?" she asked, and Julius spread his delicate hands in a gesture of ignorance.

"He's a dead shot; he told me so once." He shook his head. "I wish I hadn't told him about the diary," he said. "Maybe I've brought the rifles into use."

In the quiet of his favourite room Abe Bellamy sat down to face a situation which was fraught with danger to himself, though this was the least considerable circumstance of all. The tragedy for this ruthless man lay in the possibility that at this, the eleventh hour, when it seemed that Providence itself had placed in his hands the means of revenging himself upon the woman he hated, the fruit of achievement was to be snatched from his grasp.

From the moment the grey woman had disappeared he had been on his guard. Whither she had gone, in what manner, he could not even guess. Only he knew that somewhere far away, or at his elbow, an influence was working against him with deadly certainty, an influence which was crystallised in the vague figure of the Green Archer. If he felt a thrill, it was in the knowledge that once again was Garre Castle a fortress held against the enemies of its lord. Let him once accomplish his design, and they might hammer at its oaken doors or scale its sheer walls, and he would die satisfied.

The sands were running out. Abe Bellamy knew; something within him spoke clearly and beyond mistake. The day was near at hand when all that Garre Castle stood for, and all that hate and love meant, would be forgotten in the oblivion of death. If he could only find the grey lady! If only by some remarkable chance she came into his hands! There was not a detective agency in London that was not looking for her. All that money could buy in the shape of information was at his disposal. But she had disappeared as though the ground had opened and swallowed her. And yet the police had not come. That dude Featherstone—how glad he would be to stalk into the castle with one of his 'warrants'!

The diary! What had she written? If Savini were to be believed, she had written too much for Abe Bellamy's peace of mind—and Julius could not have invented that passage which he had recited so glibly.

He roused himself at last and went down to work in the dungeons, and Julius, hearing him, took his gun and crept to the entrance of the hole, only to find that the grating had been covered by a board, which hid all view of the workman. And workman Abe Bellamy was throughout that day. They heard the constant clink of steel on stone, and once Fay heard a rumble of sound which at first alarmed her and then excited her curiosity.

It was some while before the noise was explained. Abel Bellamy was singing as he worked, and the girl marvelled.

54. THE COTTAGE IN THE WOOD

The Green Archer was of no public interest. Mr. Syme, the news editor, said this much, with uncompromising emphasis, and for once Spike could invent no new development.

"Besides which," said Syme's voice on the phone, "Bellamy wrote last week threatening a libel action. He says you re depreciating the value of the property."

"Rats!" scoffed Spike. "That ghost has put ten thousand dollars on to its value! Honestly, Mr. Syme, this story is worth waiting for."

"Come straight along and wait in the office," said the relentless Syme, "and fill in your time with a little honest work."

The telephone was publicly placed in the broad hall of the Blue Boar, and usually when Spike was telephoning the bar was full, which had certain advantages, since it was impossible for his voice to rise above the babble of conversation. Today the bar was empty except for a gnarled old farmer, who was drinking from a large pewter tankard. "The old man nodded in the friendly way of country people as Spike turned from the wall- instrument.

"Ghosts, eh? This part of the country is full of 'em. New one up by Cloister Wood, they tell me. One of my carters saw 'un and he's been ill ever since."

"Too bad," said Spike politely. The Green Archer was a legend of the countryside, and he had chased at least three unprofitable clues. "But everybody around here thinks he has seen the Green Archer."

The aged man chuckled huskily. "This one's not green. And it's a woman. My carter saw her quite close. Dagbent him! He was that scairt—"

"Where is Cloister Wood?" asked Spike, thoroughly interested.

"It's a matter of six miles by road, but if you cross Monks Field and keep straight along the Adderley Road you'll come to it. There's supposed to be a haunted cottage in the wood. Nobody seems to live there, and yet there's somebody always there."

"Poppa," said Spike, "I am intrigued."

The old man shook his head. "No, I shouldn't say there was anything like that going on. What I can't make out about this cottage is the new car tracks I'm always seeing. Not Ford tracks, but heavy ones. Somebody goes to and fro in a big car."

"To the cottage? Has it been seen—the car, I mean?"

The old man signalled a negative. "There's a barn near the cottage on the same bit of land. I've seen the tracks of the wheels going straight there on wet mornings when the ground was soft."

"How long has this woman been seen?" asked Spike.

"I never heard about her till last Saturday—my carter saw her. It was early in the morning, and he was walking through the wood on his way to my farm. I've farmed Cadle Heath for fifty-five years, and my father before me. Well, this carter of mine, Tom by name, was walking along, thinking of nothing, when he sees this woman and nearly drops with fright. She was walking through the wood crying. Tom said that he knew she was a ghost, and he ran like a hare."

"Was this anywhere near the cottage?"

"Quite close. That's what made me mention the cottage. I thought afterwards that maybe she lived there."

Spike at the moment was ready to clutch at any straw to justify a continuance of his stay at Garre. He had spoken nothing but the truth when he had said that he sensed a denouement to the drama of Abe Bellamy. In spite of the seeming normality of life in Garre Castle, he had a queer premonition of impending trouble. To leave a story which he had nursed and mothered would be little short of physical agony. But the 'straw' of the woman in the forest seemed to him an unsubstantial one. Nevertheless, he set off on a three-mile walk—it was less than three miles, he found, by the short-cut which the old farmer had indicated—to Cloister Wood. It was a dull day, and the breath of winter was in the air. Walking in these circumstances was a pleasure, and Spike had reached the fringe of Cloister Wood before he realised the fact. The wood was mostly enclosed property, though the owner had made very little effort to keep his boundaries in repair. It was possible, by stepping over one of the rotting fences, to stray from the narrow road which twisted through the trees into a wilderness of pines and shrubs.

The cottage was not visible from the road. It lay at the end of a cart-road, which struck off at right-angles from the main thoroughfare, but, following the minute directions which he had extracted from the farmer, Spike had no difficulty in finding his way. Cart-road it was—no cart had passed in years—and the only visible evidence of wheels were the broad marks of motor-tyres, which, to Spike's practised eye, seemed to have been made recently. Presently he came in sight of the cottage—a one-storied, wooden building, overgrown with ivy. Near at hand he saw, through the trees, the barn. No smoke came from the chimneys of the house. The windows of one side, that nearest to the road, were shuttered, and the place had a lifeless and deserted appearance.

He walked straight to the door and knocked. There was no answer, though he waited two or three minutes; and then he proceeded to make a reconnaissance of the little building. Passing round to the back, he found two windows unshuttered, and he looked into a very simply furnished bedroom. The bed was unmade and appeared as though somebody had recently risen from it. What immediately attracted his attention were three pairs of women's shoes that stood by the side of the bed. Even from that distance he could see that they were new. On the floor were two large cardboard boxes, filled with fluffy white paper; presently he discovered other boxes of a similar character, piled away in a corner of the room. He continued his search, found the back door and rattled it, but, eliciting no reply, he returned to the bedroom window.

It took Spike a long time to make up his mind, but at last he tried the windows gingerly, and, not a little to his alarm, one was open. He pushed up the sash. Should he go in? It was burglary pure and simple, and he could think of no excuse which he could offer to the outraged proprietor if he suddenly came face to face with him. But the sight of that row of shoes excited his curiosity, and, drawing a deep breath, he jumped up, clambered over the sill, and was in the room.

"Safety first," said Spike, and made a tour through the cottage before he returned to examine more closely the contents of the bedchamber.

Only two rooms were furnished—the bedroom through which he had passed, and a small room which contained nothing more than a table, a chair, and a number of clothes-hooks fastened to the wooden walls. On one of these pegs hung a heavy leather coat, lined with fleece. The table was innocent of cover, and was bare except for a pair of leather gauntlet gloves, old and worn.

Spike went again into the passage and called, "Is anybody here?" And his words echoed through the hollow spaces of the building.

"There's nobody here," said Spike aloud, and returned to the bedroom.

The bed was a narrow one and hard, but the sheets were of the softest cambric, and Spike guessed they were new. On the table near the bed stood a flask of brandy, two medicine bottles, and a hypodermic syringe in a small case. This he examined curiously.

Like the sheets and the two camel-hair blankets which covered the bed, it was new. And brand-new also were the shoes. Their soles were white and unsoiled; they were from one of the most expensive shoemakers in the West End of London, and—Then Spike made a remarkable discovery. The shoes were different sizes! Each pair was a half—size smaller than the other. He put them down and turned his attention again to the medicine bottles, one of which was half empty. They bore the label of a London chemist.

Turning back the bedclothes, he found a woman's dress. It was a loose gown, made in one piece, and was grey of colour and very old. The elbows had worn out and had been neatly darned. The cuffs had also been recently patched, and he found a place on the under-hem of the skirt from where the silk had been cut to secure the necessary material.

Spike got out of the window and closed it; then he went to inspect the small barn which stood in the midst of trees some distance from the house. Here again he found the tracks of a car, leading direct to this unpretentious building. The doors of the barn were padlocked, but by pulling at the chain he secured a view of the interior through a crack between the doors.

So far as cars were concerned the place was empty, but stored along one side were a row of petrol-tins, whilst standing against the wall were three spare wheels. From their size Spike was able to judge the dimensions of the car He walked back to Garre deep in thought. There was no reason on earth why the mysterious occupant of the wood cottage should not have expensive shoes, and, if it was her hobby, shoes of different size. Perhaps they had been sent down on approval, but surely she would know the size of her own feet?

The solution to that little mystery came to Spike suddenly. The somebody who had brought those shoes for the woman did not know what size she wanted, and had brought several pairs in order that she should be fitted. That was clear. And when that little puzzle had been solved there was nothing else to consider.

There was a mystery about the tenants who were never seen, yet were always there; who owned a big car and lived in a five-hundred-dollar cottage. But it was not the kind of mystery which, being solved, would lead him nearer to the Green Archer. Spike sighed. It certainly wasn't big enough a mystery to induce Mr. Syme to reconsider his recall.

He got back to his room after dark and went upstairs to change, and whilst he was dressing there was a knock at his door, and Jim Featherstone came in. Jim had left the Howetts that morning and had his baggage taken to the inn.

"You're dining with the Howetts, aren't you, Holland? I was wondering whether you'd carry my excuses? I am going back to London tonight to hunt up the Savinis."

"I tell you, Captain, the Savinis are in the castle," said Spike emphatically. "They never left that morning, I'll swear."

"It's possible they are," said Jim quietly. "But don't lose sight of the fact that Julius Savini, excellent fellow as he is, is a crook. I must make sure. There may be other ways out of the castle."

"You didn't find them when you were buttling," insisted Spike. "I can tell you one thing, Captain Featherstone: there's a way out of Garre, and old man Syme has found it. I am leaving for town tomorrow, and hereafter the Green Archer means nothing in my young life. He's had all the publicity he'll ever get out of the Globe."

Jim nodded. "I suppose they're tired of waiting for startling developments," he said.

"What's the hurry?" asked Spike, finishing the careful tying of his bow and looking round at Jim, who had seated himself on the bed. "You could go tomorrow; and I know that Mr. Howett is expecting you, because I met Miss Howett as I was coming through the village, and she reminded me that we were dining. Wood will be there too; he's coming from London."

"So I understand," said Jim, and something in his tone made the reporter eye him keenly.

"Police Chief and Great Philanthropist Rivals for Love of Millionaire's Daughter," thought Spike. He had a habit of thinking in headlines.

But it wasn't wholly his distaste for witnessing the triumph of this newcomer which caused Jim to make his decision. He was a busy man and the head of a great department, and he had recognised, with a feeling of dismay, that he had been systematically neglecting his work. He could have discovered this without assistance, but he had had a letter from his chief that morning, which contained a hint that his absence from headquarters was causing inconvenience. His car was at the door when Spike came down, and Jim was at the wheel, lighting his pipe.

"You can do me a good turn, Featherstone," said Spike, "if you'd ring up Syme and tell him it would be little short of a national calamity if I am taken away from Garre till this business is cleaned up."

"I will even lie for you," said Jim. "But I agree with you that the Garre mystery is no nearer to solution now than it was when you first came. You'll explain to Miss Valerie, won't you?"

Spike waited till he had gone, then went on to Lady's Manor. He found that John Wood had arrived an hour before, and he and the girl were seated side by side on the settee. She was listening in rapt silence to the exposition of his great scheme, and scarcely noticed Spike's arrival.

"Where is Captain Featherstone?" she asked.

"I bring his apologies; he's had to go to town," said Spike. "The increase of crime since he has been in the country has so alarmed the Commissioners that they've sent for him."

"Are you serious—I mean about his going to town?" she asked.

"Never more serious," said Spike. "The fact is he's worried about Julius Savini—thinks the old man's got him tied up in the castle. At least, I think so, and I have an idea he shares my view."

He saw her expression change, but in a few minutes she seemed to have forgotten the existence of Jim Featherstone, and when they sat down to dinner Spike thought he had never seen her so animated, so cheerful, or so beautiful. Mr. Howett was, as usual, a listener to rather than a participator in the conversation. Of late he had seemed to be wholly absorbed in some mental problem which called for his complete attention. This Valerie had noticed, and it had worried her. To Spike, Mr. Howett was a figure of supreme interest. His own theory about the Green Archer had matured, and little by little he was piecing together corroboration of a theory which at first had seemed, even to him, fantastical.

Wood was staying the night at Lady's Manor, Spike learnt. There was no train back to town, and Valerie would not hear of his staying at the inn. Curiously enough, she had not protested against Jim Featherstone having his lodgings at the Blue Boar, a fact which Spike duly noted.

At nine o'clock Mr. Howett retired from the drawing-room, where they had gone. He seemed to fade out of the group, and had left before Spike noticed his absence. And then, as was inevitable, the conversation drifted to the Green Archer. It was John Wood who turned the talk to the strange visitor.

"Have you ever seen him, Miss Howett?" he asked, half jestingly.

She shivered. "Yes, I've seen him."

"What?" asked the astonished Spike. "You never told me, Miss Howett! You've actually seen the Green Archer?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, "especially about one of my experiences. But I have seen him twice—once in the grounds of Garre Castle."

"What on earth were you doing in the grounds of Garre Castle?" asked the amazed Spike.

"I was looking for somebody," she said. "It was an act of the wildest folly, and had nearly ended horribly for me. I went into the park one night."

"You saw him? Where?" asked Spike eagerly.

In spite of her horror of the memory, the girl smiled. "If you put this in your newspaper I'll never speak another word to you, Mr. Holland!" she said. "But if you promise to keep it a dead secret, I will show you just where I saw the archer. I was looking at the place today. I didn't know that it was visible from the grounds, but it is. It was on a little hill that you can see from the wall of Lady's Manor. There is a wood there—they call them coverts in this country—that runs on the inside of the castle wall." She got up suddenly. "I'll show you," she said, "but—" she raised a warning finger at Spike "—you are never to tell, under any circumstances whatever, that I saw him. And he isn't a ghost."

They followed her out into the hall, into the kitchen, and through the garden door. The garden was in darkness, and she stopped. "I don't think you'll be able to see," she said.

"There's quite light enough, once you get used to being out in the night," urged Spike. "If you show me the spot, perhaps I can do a little investigation. I could make a search tomorrow in daylight. I've just got to get that Green Archer proved, or my name is mud in the office of the Daily Globe," he said.

They found that Spike was a true prophet. In spite of the darkness, it was possible not only to pick up the dark bulk of the Castle, but she could clearly distinguish the wood when they had planted the ladder and she had mounted to the parapet of the wall. Spike followed and sat astride the damp masonry, straining his eyes in the darkness. John Wood was between the two, his elbows on the parapet. "That is the castle," he said.

"And there is the wood." She pointed. "You can just see the outline of the little hill where I saw him. But it is very dark."

"There isn't much to see," admitted Spike. "Maybe in the morning you'll let me get through your garden—"

There was a scratch as Spike struck a match. For a second the light flickered, then burnt brightly as he extended it over the edge of the wall. Then he saw something and heard the girl scream, and caught her as he dropped the match.

Standing not six feet from them, on the edge of a grass plot, and staring up with his white, shapeless face, was the Green Archer!

55. BELLAMY HEARS OF THE GREY LADY

John Wood was the first to recover from the shock. In two seconds he had dropped to the other side of the wall, and Spike heard the thud of his feet as he ran along the path. His own attention was completely occupied with the half-fainting girl. "Did you see it? Did you see it?" she whispered. She was trembling from head to foot, and he had almost to carry her down the ladder into the house. "Did you see it?" she asked again.

"I certainly saw something," confessed Spike.

"Where is Mr. Wood?" she asked.

"He is chasing whatever it was," answered the reporter.

She closed her eyes as if to hide some horrid sight, and then: "What did you see, Mr. Holland?"

"Well," said Spike, as though loath to admit the evidence of his senses, "it certainly looked green, and it might have been an archer. I hate to admit that it give me a jar."

In a quarter of an hour Wood came back, a little out of breath. "I had to climb the wall without assistance," he said, and the girl was penitent.

"I am so sorry. I should have put over the other ladder for you. How thoughtless of me!"

"It doesn't matter," said Wood, dusting his hands. He was smiling, as though enjoying a joke all to himself.

"Did you see him?"

"I caught a glimpse—just a glimpse—but I didn't reach him."

They looked at one another. "Was it the Green Archer, Miss Howett?" asked Spike.

"Yes," she said, "I think there is no doubt. Where are you going, Mr. Holland?"

"I'm going along to see old man Bellamy," said Spike determinedly. "And I'm going to have that ground searched and the Green Archer laid out for inspection, or the Globe will be short of a perfectly good reporter."

He had to knock up the lodge-keeper, who had gone to bed. That unhappy man refused for a long time to telephone through to the castle. Eventually Spike persuaded him. "Ask Holland to come to the 'phone," said Bellamy, and when the reporter had complied: "What is wrong, Holland?"

"I've seen your Green Archer in the grounds Mr. Bellamy."

A pause, and then: "Come right up," said Bellamy. He was waiting for Spike at the dark entrance of the hall. "What's this stuff you're giving me about Green Archers?" he said.

"I saw him," said Spike, "much more clearly than I can see you."

"Where was he, and where were you?"

"I was on the wall of Mr. Howett's house," said Spike. "Miss Howett was showing me how fine the castle looked by night."

"It must have been a wonderful sight," said the old man sarcastically, "all lit up! Maybe you were waiting for a firework show? Well, what did you see?"

"I tell you I saw the Green Archer; he was less than three yards from me."

"What did you have for dinner?" asked Abe Bellamy scornfully. "You're after a newspaper story, Holland. If you think I'm going to help you to invent ghost stories you're wrong. You might have saved yourself the trouble of coming up. There is a Green Archer," he said with unaccustomed good-humour, "but he's one of those dude ghosts who can't go outdoors without catching cold. He's an indoor ghost, and fresh air would kill him. No, Holland, you've got to find another stunt."

"Won't you search the grounds?"

"Search nothing," said Abe Bellamy impatiently. "What servants have I got to search the grounds with? Perhaps you'll get your friend Featherstone to bring up his reserves."

He had been standing square in the doorway, and unexpectedly he turned. "Come in," he said. "There's a question I want to ask you."

When the library door had closed on them he asked without preamble: "What is the story you told me the other day about the man who was flogged by Creager? I was so wild with you that I couldn't stop to talk, but, thinking it over, perhaps you can tell me something about what you mean."

"I said that the man who killed Creager was one who had been flogged by him. Creager was a prison official, and it was his job to give the whip. That is one of the police theories, Mr. Bellamy, that Creager was killed by somebody who was waiting for him."

Bellamy pushed a box of cigars towards the visitor, and, taking one himself at random, bit off the end and lit it. "That seems to be possible," he said. "I don't know very much about what happens in English gaols, but I seem to remember reading that Creager was a guard—warder they call them in this country. It is a mighty reasonable theory," he added as he puffed a ring of smoke into the air and watched it dissipate. "Have you any notion of your own as to who the Green Archer is?"

"Too many notions," said Spike briefly. "I find a new man every week. I started with you—"

"With me?" said the other, and guffawed loudly. "That certainly is—amusing. Did you bring Julius Savini into it at all?"

Spike nodded. "I brought everybody into it," he said, "and until tonight I was perfectly certain I knew."

"Who was it?" said the old man, watching him closely.

"I'm not prepared to libel a perfectly innocent man," said Spike. "Which reminds me, Mr. Bellamy, that you have been threatening my paper with an action."

"Don't get scared about that," said the old man. "I wouldn't do anything to injure you, Holland. You're a good boy and a smart boy, and maybe I could put a lot of money in your way."

"Isn't that grand?" said the gratified Spike.

"And you needn't get fresh about it, either," growled the old man, with whom sustained affability was a really painful effort. "I give big money for big services, Holland, and you're the kind of smart boy who might make a fortune. Whose idea was it that Creager had been killed by somebody he had flogged—Featherstone's?"

"I tell you it is a police theory, Mr. Bellamy, and I guess Featherstone knows just what the police are thinking. Where is Savini? Have you heard from him?"

Bellamy shook his head. "Why should I hear from him? I fired him for trying to rob me. It isn't likely we're sending one another loving messages every hour, is it? What's the police theory about Savini?"

"They think he's still in the castle," said Spike; and the old man laughed scornfully.

"What am I running—a convalescent home for crooks?" he asked contemptuously. "The sap-headed people round here would believe anything. They believe in the Green Archer."

"And the grey lady," added Spike, remembering his experience of that afternoon.

The silence that followed did not at first seem strange to him, because in Abe Bellamy's conversation there occurred an occasional hiatus. He could not see the old man's face; it was turned as though he were looking at the fire. But suddenly a strange thrill went down the reporter's spine. He did not understand why, thinking at first that the door was open and a cold draught of air had struck him. He even turned to look, but the door was shut. And then Abe Bellamy spoke, still averting his face.

"What grey lady is that, Holland?"

"She's a new one I discovered today," said Spike. "One of these hay- seeds has seen a woman wandering round the Cloister Woods, which are about three miles from here."

"I know them," said Bellamy, still speaking to the fire. "What of her?"

"There is something about farming that makes you green and keeps you green," said Spike reminiscently. "They thought she was a spook. She's probably a fresh-air crank."

"Grey, eh? Where does she live?"

"I am not certain," said Spike, "but I imagine she lives at a cottage in the wood. I took the trouble to investigate the story today, and I found the place. The house was empty, but somebody had been there this morning. As a matter of fact, Mr. Bellamy, I got into the house and had a look round." Spike had a very special reason for wanting to stand well with Abe Bellamy at that moment, and there seemed no great harm in relating the story of his adventure that afternoon.

"New shoes, medicine, car tracks?" repeated Bellamy. "That's queer—mighty queer. And she was there this morning, you say?"

"I should think so," said Spike. "The wheel marks were new, and the bed was evidently slept in last night."

"Perhaps she's what you say—one of those cranks who like to live near Nature."

Now he had turned his head. Spike wondered whether his imagination was playing tricks with him. It seemed that he had grown desperately old and even more repulsive. "You're a good boy, Holland," he said slowly, "and if I offered you some money you'd throw me down. Maybe I could buy you a car. Fond of motoring?"

"Not so fond that I want a car," said Spike, and wondered what was the reason for this sudden outburst of generosity on the part of his host.

"You can go look in the grounds if you want, but I think you'll waste your time," said Bellamy. "Come in in the morning—the castle grounds are yours. I'll 'phone the lodge-keeper to let you in. But I think you'll find nothing. I tell you, my ghost belongs to the hothouse and doesn't like wet weather."

When Spike had gone the old man rang for Sen. "Get me a greatcoat," he said, "and then bring along the car. I may be out for a long time."

All that night Abe Bellamy waited in the streaming rain for the occupant of the cottage to return. He stood in the shadow beneath the unshuttered window, heedless of the gale that shrieked through the wood, or of the driving rain which stung his face. If the man had returned he would have troubled Abe Bellamy no more. But he dawn came without any sign of him, and the old man went back to Garre with his hands unstained.

56. "MR. BELLAMY IS DEAD"

The grey woman! She had been in the neighbourhood all the time. She was there still, perhaps, in hiding, within the reach of his hand. It was she; he had recognised the dress by the description.

The grey woman would never accept clothes from him, and although he had brought to her the most wonderful creations of a French modiste, she had kept to the silk grey gown she had worn the day she had arrived at the castle. He did not go to bed that night, and in the morning, closing his library from interference, he passed down the secret stairs to the place of Savini's confinement. The door was opened, and the old man was in the room before Julius could reach for his pistol.

"Take your hand away," snarled the old man. "I want that gun of yours."

He slipped it from the pocket of his helpless prisoner and walked back and closed the door, locking it on the inside. "I'm going to have a little talk with you, Savini," he said. "You told me somebody came into this place the other night and took away a book. Were you lying?"

"Why should I lie?" said Julius sullenly.

"Did you see what it was?"

"No, I only heard the sound of the door closing."

"This door?" The old man pointed to the one through which he had come, and Savini nodded.

Bellamy walked into the bedroom and pulled aside the curtains that hid the wardrobe. The grey woman's dresses were still there, as they had been in the days of her imprisonment, and he swept them off into his arms and came out.

"How long are you going to keep us here, Bellamy?" asked Fay. "It's getting just a trifle monotonous."

"You're with your husband, aren't you? That's as much as a good woman wants. And you're a good woman, according to all the records I've had of you."

"Don't let us stoop to personalities," said Fay. "You're not exactly a prominent churchman, but that's nothing to do with my question. How long are we going to be kept here?"

"You're going to be kept here whilst I want you to be here," said the old man; "and if it's company you're missing I'll fix that for you."

She did not answer, and he went towards the door, but he had hardly turned his back before she sprang at him like a wild cat.

Her arms whipped round his neck and drew him back.

"Quick, Julius!" she gasped, but before Julius could reach him the old man had swung her round, as a dog might swing a rat, and had thrown her to the stone floor. He had not even troubled to draw his pistol. Bare- handed he towered over the little Eurasian, and Julius could have wept at the realisation of his impotence.

Fay had got to her feet, white and shaken and undaunted, and there was something like admiration in the eyes of the old man. "If your husband had had your pluck he would have been a man," he said.

"He's man enough for you," she said defiantly. "Give him his gun and take a chance, you gorilla!" With a chuckle he continued his way to the door, and when she gripped his arm and tried to hold him he shook her off. When he got back to the library he took the dresses in his arms, and, summoning Sen, they went to a secluded part of the grounds near the garage, and, saturating the flimsy fabrics with petrol, they made a huge bonfire of the lot.

"That settles that," he said, and went down to the dungeons to continue his work.

All that afternoon Julius heard the clink of the steel, but did not move to discover what the old man was doing, guessing that Bellamy had been careful to cover up the end of the hole.

For the first time Julius gave way to despair. Deprived of his one weapon of defence, the hopelessness of his situation became more emphatic. "It's no use, Fay," he said; "we've got to face the possibility of being here for years."

She shook her head. "I should like to think so," she said. "But has it struck you what might happen if the old man died suddenly?"

He shuddered visibly. "For God's sake don't get such grisly thoughts in your head!" he said irritably. "We should be starved to death here."

"Isn't it possible to break open the door?" she asked.

He shook his head. "There's no furniture here heavy enough, and nothing else that you could use for a lever."

She bit her lip thoughtfully. "I wish the old devil would come down again. I'd like a shower."

"A what?" asked her husband incredulously.

"A shower," said the calm girl. "It is a whim of mine."

Abe Bellamy was still at work in the dungeons, as the constant hammering reminded her. And suddenly she went to the hole and crawled in as far as the grating. Beyond that she could not see, for Bellamy had hung a sack before the grille.

"Bellamy!" she called, and after a while he heard her.

"What do you want?" he demanded, stopping his work.

"If you're going to keep us here, the least you can do is to make us comfortable," said Fay coolly when he pulled aside the sack and glared down at her, and his lips went up.

"You weren't so comfortable in prison, young woman," he said. "What do you want?"

"I want a shower," said the girl. "These plunge baths are fatal to a woman of my delicate constitution."

"A what!" he roared, and broke into a fit of laughter. Purple-faced, he stood shrieking with merriment, and she watched him in fear. Presently he recovered. "Perhaps you'd like me to have a boudoir fitted for you too?" he said. "You don't suppose that I'm coming in to fix a shower?"

"I don't want you to fix anything, and I don't want you to come in, because you've the manners of a hog," said Fay frankly. "What I do want is some rubber tubing to fix to the water—faucet."

He growled something and let the sacking drop, and half an hour later she heard him bellow her name, and went to find him pushing the end of a red rubber tube through the grating.

"If it's too long for you, you can cut it short," he said. "And if you think you're going to fill this with water and plug me when I come in, you've got another guess coming."

She hauled back the red length of rubber in triumph.

"What do you want it for?" asked Julius in a low voice, but she put her finger on her lips.

That evening, when all was quiet, she unscrewed the burner of one of the gas—jets, and pulled an end of the tube over the pipe. The hose was too large, and she tore strips from the sheet and bound it tightly. Into the other end she put a piece of brass tubing she had taken from the burner, and this also necessitated tight and careful binding. Both ends they plastered with soap, and when it was completed Julius turned on the gas, and the girl applied a light to the burner end. A long flame shot out, and she brought it close to the door, above the lock. The tubing was just long enough, and in a second the woodwork began to smoke.

"Get a bucket of water," whispered Fay. "We shall have to put the fire out as soon as the door catches alight."

And so they worked throughout the evening. The underground room was filled with blue smoke and the pungent smell of burning wood, and at three o'clock in the morning Julius pulled at the door and the lock fell out.

They were exhausted, their faces black with smoke, their throats parched, their eyes aching painfully, and Fay went, gasping, into the room beneath the library, and leant against the wall, drawing in the air in long, exhausted sobs. There remained the trap under Bellamy's desk, and this was going to be a more difficult proposition. How difficult, Julius could only guess, because he had not any clear memory of the trap's construction.

He went up the stairs after lighting the gas-bracket and made an examination. He looked and groaned.

"It's useless, Fay," he said. "The only thing we can do is to hide under the stairs until the old man comes down and then plug him."

"With what?" she asked.

"With the pipe. He gave you the idea."

Julius went back into the smoke-filled room, detached the hose from the gas-pipe, and cut off a length, which he twisted into two. "It is not going to hurt him any more than a flea-bite," he said when he returned to his wife. "We must find some other way."

A search of the room revealed nothing in the shape of a weapon. Julius went up to the head of the stairs and again tried the slab, putting all his weight against that part where he knew the lock to be. Then a footstep sounded close to his ear, and instinctively he ducked. There came to him the faint tinkle of a bell, and then a voice he recognised sounded clearly.

"Is that Captain Featherstone? Can you come at once to Garre Castle? Mr. Bellamy died at two o'clock this morning, and has left a written statement which he wishes you to see."

For a while Julius could not grasp the significance of the words. He came down to the girl, dazed with the horror of his position.

"What is the matter, Julius?" Fay gripped his arm and turned her anxious face to his.

"Nothing—it is nothing," he said hoarsely.

"You heard somebody speaking. What did they say?"

"It was—I don't know; I think it was Lacy."

"Lacy? At this hour of the morning! Who was he talking to?"

Julius swallowed something. "He was talking to Featherstone. You'd better know, Fay. Bellamy is dead!"

Her mouth opened in an "Oh!" of amazement. "Abe Bellamy dead?" she said incredulously. "Who was he telling?"

"He was talking to Featherstone. Bellamy has left a statement which he wants Featherstone to read."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Bellamy dead!" she scoffed. "And Lacy telling Featherstone to come down, when Feathers is looking for him to gaol him! Do you think Lacy's that kind of simp? If there was any statement that the old man had made, it could have gone by post, couldn't it, or waited till Lacy was well out of the way? Bellamy being dead won't help Lacy. What do you think Featherstone is going to do? Do you suppose he's going to sob out his young heart on Lacy's shoulder and tell him that all the past is forgiven and we'll start afresh? Not so, Julius! Feathers may fall into it, because he's in love with that girl Howett, and naturally he isn't normal. But if he had his mind on his work, that fake would smell bad. Julius, you're a queer man; you're shivering like a jelly in an earthquake, and yet you'd tackle Bellamy without help! Let's go back to the room and talk; the smoke is clearing away."

So perfect was the system of ventilation that the atmosphere was almost clear when they returned.

"We're going to have company," nodded Fay. "Old man Bellamy was a true prophet."

57. TRAPPED

Jim Featherstone dressed in a hurry and turned out into the chilly and deserted street before it occurred to him that there could be very little urgency in seeing the statement of the dead man.

He had to find his car in the darkness, and was held up for a few minutes by a policeman who came from nowhere, and, suspecting a motor theft, was all for taking him to the station. Explanations were forthcoming, and within a quarter of an hour of receiving the call Jim was flying along the Embankment and through the desert of Chelsea.

Abe Bellamy dead! It did not seem possible. It was Lacy who had telephoned; Jim recognised his voice immediately, and it was the fact that this man, against whom a warrant had been issued, had taken the risk attendant upon calling him up that made him feel there must be something unusual at Garre Castle calling for his instant attention.

At half-past four he came down the hill into Garre and turned his car into the castle gates. He was evidently expected, for they were wide open, though he saw no sign of the lodge-keeper.

The door of the outer hall was also open, and the library door was ajar. He stepped in without hesitation, and instantly the door was slammed. Jim turned in a flash, but before he could put his hand in his pocket his arms were gripped with a power which only one man in the world could have exercised.

"Glad to meet you, Captain Featherstone," said a mocking voice in his ear. "You've come for the funeral, I guess? Well, there's going to be a funeral all right, but it isn't mine!"

The man's hand slipped down Jim's arm and found the weapon it had been seeking.

"You come at a pretty good time," said Abe. "I've always had a passion for time-tables. Made hundreds of thousands of dollars on contracts that way," said the old man pleasantly. "Now you'll come a little walk with me."

The man's strength was colossal. It was lunacy to fight against it. One blow from that huge fist, delivered whilst he was at a disadvantage, would cripple all chance of escape.

"This is your supreme outrage, Bellamy, and I don't think you'll commit another," he said quietly as he accompanied his captor along the passage past the dining-room to the stone hall leading to the dungeon.

"I think this is very nearly the last," agreed Bellamy; "and the fact that I've taken you ought to get out of your head any doubt that remains about my intentions. This is my last killing, and it's going to be a big one." Jim did not see the grille as he was piloted down the stairs to the dungeon. In his mind he was satisfied that the old man was taking him to the lower level to that Little Ease where he wished his worst enemies to be confined. He was therefore agreeably surprised when, reaching the bottom of the steps, Bellamy released his arm.

"I'm going to keep you in the dark," he said. He put down the lantern, which was burning in preparation for Jim's arrival. "I went up to town the other day, Featherstone," he said.

"You're well aware of it, because two of your men shadowed me all the time. Went to see my doctor. He says I've got thickening of the arteries and might die at any minute. That naturally interested me, because there are so many things I want to do before I get out. And one of the things was to put you just where I want you. That fellow Savini," he went on reminiscently, "was a hell of a good reader. He used to read me books by the hour. And one of the things he read was history. In the old days, when a great king went out they used to sacrifice a lot of his hired folk—sort of made his death a little easier for him to know that somebody else was going the same way. And that's just what's going to happen to me, Featherstone."

He took up the lantern and swung it rhythmically to and fro as though he were keeping time to an unheard tune that was passing through his mind. "Yes, that's what's going to happen to you, boy," he said.

Half-way up the steps he turned and looked back. "If you want anything"—he pointed to the wall—"you'll find Julius Savini in there. Just ring for him. Good night."

He might have been bidding good night to an honoured guest, so unemotional was he, and as he dropped the grille with a clang and snapped the big padlock about its bars there was a smile on his face which happily nobody saw, for it made Abel Bellamy just a little less attractive than usual.

He found Sen waiting in the hall. "Take this man's car, Sen; drive it till you come to the bridge about three miles from here. There's a path running alongside. You've seen it?" Sen nodded. "Just let her run into the river. You'll have to walk back, or you can take your bicycle on the back of the car; it will make it easier."

He looked at his watch. It was nearly five. "There's nearly two hours before daylight," he grunted with satisfaction, and went back to his room, where a man was waiting for him.

Featherstone heard the clang of the grille and guessed the means by which he was being held secure. His first act, when he was left alone, was to go carefully through all his pockets. He found his pipe and matches, but, with the exception of his penknife, he was unarmed. The dungeon was in complete darkness, a darkness which made it impossible for him to see even his hand before his face. The only light he had was the illuminated dial of his watch, and so intense was the blackness that the figures on the face appeared as though they were outlined in fire.

Groping forward, he reached one wall, and went cautiously along feeling his way. He expected at any moment to stumble over the sleeping form of Julius Savini, but he made a complete circuit of the dungeon without finding his companion in misfortune.

He had given up, and was feeling for a place to sit, when a voice almost under his feet whispered: "Who's that?"

"Featherstone," said Jim. "Is that you, Savini?"

"That's me," said Savini's voice. "Fay is here."

"Where are you?" asked Jim.

"We're in Bellamy's dungeon de luxe," said Fay's voice. "Put your hand down; you will feel a grating."

Jim obeyed and suddenly touched a small hand, which he clasped.

"Poor old Fay!" he said softly. "So he has got you in the toils?"

"I don't know anything about the toils. I think it must be half- brother to the Tombs," said Fay. "This is worse than anything you could send me to, Featherstone." She lowered her voice. "He may be listening at the top of the stairs," she said.

"I don't think so," said Jim. "I heard him walk along the passage. Besides, he told me you were here somewhere. Where are you?"

"We're in the room where he kept the woman prisoner," said Fay. "The woman you were looking for—Mrs. Held."

"She's not there now?" asked Jim in surprise. There was no answer, and he guessed that Fay had shaken her head. "I presume there's somebody else coming? Is there nobody else but you and Fay? My God!" He suddenly remembered Valerie.

"You're thinking about Miss Howett, aren't you?" said Fay shrewdly. "But if I were you, I shouldn't. Feathers, have you got a knife?"

"I've got a small knife, yes, but it isn't much good," replied Jim in the same soft tone that she had employed.

"Feel along the grille!" she urged in a whisper. "The cement may not have hardened."

He carried out her instructions, and, finding his knife, began to pick at the granite—hard surface that covered one of the bars.

"It's useless," he said. "I can do nothing. You've been here, of course, since the day you were supposed to have left the castle?"

"He told you that, did he?" said Julius. Then: "Listen, Captain. We've got the door of our place open, but we can't force the upper trap." In a few words he explained the mechanism of the door that led from Bellamy's library.

"I ought to have known it was there," said Jim bitterly. "In the old plan the library was called the Hall of Justice, and in all these old castles the Hall of Justice communicates directly with the dungeons, generally by a stone stairway. You see it almost anywhere—at Nuremberg, even in the Tower of London, in the Chateau de Chillon; in all these places there's a way up to the justice-hall. If I hadn't been the greatest lunatic that ever served in the police I should have had the floor up. I suppose you haven't a gun?" he asked.

"No, he relieved me of that."

"I never felt such a weakling before, Savini, as I did in his hands. Have you spoken to him?" he asked anxiously. "Did he say anything at all about Miss Howett, or give you an idea that he intended bringing her here? He will stop at nothing now. He burnt his boats when he got me here."

"The only chance, and it's a mighty small one, is that the old man has left some tools behind in your apartment," said Julius, and Jim smiled to himself at the quaint description of his stone prison. "Wait, I'll give you a light. We covered up the entrance because we were afraid the old man would see us."

Fay pulled back the blanket which hid the farther end of the little tunnel, and instantly the dungeon was sufficiently well lighted for Jim to see every corner. Fay disappeared to heat some coffee, and, returning, pushed a steaming cup through the iron bars.

"How did you get the door open?" asked Jim, and they told him of Fay's scheme.

"I thought of trying it on the bars, but I guess we should want a lever of some kind, and that we haven't got," said Julius regretfully. "When it's light you might go to the top of the stairs and see if you can shift the grille, Featherstone."

"I can't understand why he blew this hole in the wall. It wasn't with the idea of promoting conversation," interrupted Fay. "That you can bet your life on! Bellamy isn't that kind. If it wasn't for that grating I wouldn't feel scared. But every time I look at those bars I just go cold inside."

Daylight came at last. Jim at least had a view of the blessed sun—a streak of golden light that lay across the rusty bars that blocked the entrance to the stairs. As soon as there was light enough he climbed to the top, and, putting his hand through the grille, reached for the padlock. He knew the moment he touched it that there was no hope of escaping that way. The keyhole was one of a peculiar pattern; none of the keys he had in his pocket would fit. This was so obvious that he did not try. By screwing his head he could see that the door of the passage was fastened, and he remembered that it was a particularly thick door, and that, even if he could make his voice heard, there were no servants in the castle to whom he could appeal.

He saw for the first time the elbow of a thick pipe that protruded from the wall of the guard-room and turned under the floor. Going back to the grating, he asked what was its significance.

"There are two of them," said Julius. "The old man was going to have a swimming—pool in the close, and had the water put on; it cost him thousands before he decided he wouldn't. There's one in each corner. I don't think you could see the other."

It was then that Jim Featherstone understood the meaning of the grille between the dungeons.

58. THE SIEGE

The Howetts were at breakfast when Spike Holland arrived with the news, and the girl saw, from a glance at his face, that something serious had happened.

"Did Featherstone come here last night?" he asked quickly.

"No," said the girl in alarm. "Why?"

"I've just been on the 'phone to Jackson—he's Featherstone's assistant," said Spike. "He says that Captain Featherstone must have been called out in the night. His flat was empty when his valet arrived, and his car was gone—it has just been found in the river, three miles from here."

Valerie Howett swayed; he thought she was going to faint, and sprang to her side. "There was a message through from Garre. The police have traced that through exchange, and it came from the castle. That's how they're able to time. Featherstone's departure," Spike went on. "Whether he got to the castle or not we don't know. Jackson doesn't want me to see Bellamy until he arrives. He's coming down with a posse, and there will be trouble for Abel!"

Mr. Howett was leaving for town, and in view of the news would have stayed, but the girl insisted upon his going. She wanted to be alone. She was sure Jim was alive. Something within her told her. She was equally certain that he had fallen into Bellamy's hands.

She was in the village when the police cars arrived. The white- haired Chief Commissioner himself was in charge, and he interviewed Spike immediately on his arrival. "You haven't seen Bellamy or warned him?"

"No, sir," said Spike.

"And you're perfectly sure that Captain Featherstone came here—to the castle, I mean?"

"I can only tell you what I've been told. A labourer on his way to work saw a car, very much like Captain Featherstone's, come out of the gate and drive off to London."

"And the car was headed in the direction of London when we found her," said the Commissioner.

He glanced up at the closed gate. Hanging by the side of the pillar was a bell, and this he pulled. There was no answer from the lodge keeper, and he rang again. The gates were too high to climb, and the Commissioner made his decision instantly. A trolley was passing, and on his instructions a detective stopped it.

"Back your car against those gates full speed," said the Commissioner briefly.

"I shall break it, sir," said the alarmed driver.

"That is just what I want you to do."

The trolley came back at half-speed, and with a crash the gates parted, and the Commissioner led the way up the drive.

They had cleared the bushes, and were in full sight of the magnificent sweep of the castle front, where the portcullis had been, when there was a crack like the snap of a whip, and a man who was walking on Spike's left stumbled, fell to his knees, and, staring vacantly round, collapsed in a pool of blood."

"Take cover," shouted the Commissioner swiftly, and instantly the posse of detectives went to earth. Abe Bellamy was at bay.

Valerie heard the first shot, and instinctively knew what had happened. A small crowd of people, which had gathered by the shattered gates, were being herded back by the local policeman.

"It's dangerous; miss," warned the man. "He's shooting from the loophole in the tower. I saw the smoke come out."

He had hardly spoken the words before something whizzed past her, there was a sound of smashing glass, and the policeman's arm was round her and threw her out of the line of fire. The bullet had smashed through the glass of a lamp-post and had broken the roof tiles of a cottage.

"That was a narrow escape, miss. I'll bet he was waiting for you."

Valerie was glad that her father had gone before the police had arrived. He would have been terrified of the risk she was running. It was not fair to him nor to Jim either—Jim, who at that moment was behind those grey walls a prisoner. And yet she didn't want to leave until she knew just what was happening.

Whilst she was standing there Spike sidled out of the gate and came towards her, and his face was red with excitement. "Abe's defending the castle," he said with an almost hysterical laugh. "I told Syme the story was coming along, but the poor old fish couldn't see it."

"Crack!"

"There he goes again," yelled Spike. He was almost dancing with excitement.

"Is Captain Featherstone there?"

"I guess so," said Spike with what seemed to her the utmost callousness. "They'll never be able to storm the castle. The police chief is sending to Reading for a company of soldiers, and they think they'll bring artillery to shoot up the door; but that won't be much use." Without a word of apology he flew off to the inn and its telephone, and the staggered intelligence of Mr. Syme.

Later the girl learnt that London was loath to employ military forces for the seizure of the castle—more loath because Abe Bellamy was a citizen of a country that they had no desire to offend. An attempt had been made to get through to Bellamy by telephone, and after several failures a connection was made.

"You had better surrender, Bellamy," said the police chief. "It'll be easier for you in the end."

"I know the easiest end of all," said Abe Bellamy's voice, and then, after a little while: "Give me twelve hours to consider the matter."

"You can have an hour."

"Twelve," was the laconic reply. "It will take more than twelve hours before you get me any other way."

Valerie made several visits to the gate of the park. By now the police had been reinforced, and a wide cordon had been formed to prevent the near approach of any unauthorised person. Rifles had arrived for the police, and desultory firing on both sides continued throughout the afternoon.

Worn out by her anxiety, she returned home in the afternoon, to find that the servants had joined the throng which was watching this strange battle. An idea occurred to her, and she went to the wall of the garden, and, planting the ladder, mounted to the top. She had a clear view of the firing. The smoke came from one of the upper stories of Sanctuary Keep, an unrivalled position, since it commanded not only the lodge gates but all other approaches to the house. There, behind those gaunt walls that had withstood so many sieges, that had seen the coming and going of English chivalry, that had watched the gay bannerets floating above the Crusaders as they went forth to the Holy Land, one man was holding at defiance the law, not only of England, but of the world.

"Smack!"

Something struck the parapet a foot to her left, smashing it into flying splinters, and went whining into the blue. She came down the ladder quickly, but not so quickly that the second shot did not strike the place where she had been. A sliver of stone grazed her hand and cut it.

It was not Bellamy who had fired those shots. The dumb Chinaman, crouching at the loophole, was suddenly lifted to his feet and flung against the wall.

"That's twice you've shot at her, you fool! I told you not to aim at her again." Sen shook himself, and with a queer little smile reloaded his rifle. "Shoot at the bushes; the police are there," said the old man, and went down to the bedroom floor to close the iron shutters, for the night would bring storming parties.

This done, he went into the hall to examine what few visitors to the castle had ever seen—the drop door that hung in a slot in the stone ceiling out of sight, and could be lowered or raised with as much ease as the outer door was opened. He loosened the thick rope that controlled the mechanism, and as he pulled the door came slowly down and fell into its place. He waited only to fasten it to the staples in the floor, then he hurried along the passage to the dungeon head.

"Are you there, Featherstone?"

Jim's voice answered him.

"Your friends have arrived. I guess you know that."

"I heard some firing."

"That was me at first, but now they've given 'em rifles. There'll be something doing tonight, Featherstone."

Jim came slowly up the stairs and, stretching up his hands, gripped the bars. "They'll get you, Bellamy," he said calmly.

"They'll get me dead," was the reply. "You think I'm scared?"

He glared down at the upturned face. "You're wrong! I was never so happy in my life. I'd let you go, all of you, I'm that happy. But that would spoil everything. It's knowing you're here, knowing the coppers are outside, knowing the castle will hold them and that I can stand here and laugh at them—that's the wonderful thing about it, Featherstone. Don't you envy me?"

"I'd as soon envy a toad," said Jim, and dropped his hands in time, for the old man's heavy boot smashed on the bars where his fingers had been.

He went back to the grating and crouched down to talk to Fay. "A very pleasant young fellow, Mr. Abel Bellamy," he said.

"What's happening, Feathers? Is it somebody firing?"

"Yes, the police are outside—a whole lot of them; and the position is so serious, apparently, that they've given them rifles. I gather that the old man is putting up a fight to defend the castle."

She nodded. "Then it's a matter or hours," she said calmly. "Feathers, what do you think of Julius?"

He hesitated. "I can't very well say anything against Julius after all he's done for me and for Miss Howett."

"You think he's a coward, don't you? You've heard me roast the life out of him, and perhaps you think that I've got a pretty poor opinion of him. But I haven't, Feathers; I love him, and I often wonder whether he knows it. People like us don't worry about love, and even marriage doesn't mean much more than making good arrangements for the future. But I love him so much that I kind of feel happy about dying with him."

He stretched his hand through the bars and patted her head.

"You're a dear girl, Fay," he said. "If you ever get out of here I—"

"Don't say you're going to find me some honest work," she begged. "I'd rather be a thief than scrub floors. There's no pride about me."

He heard the sound of hammering, and went up the steps to investigate. The old man was there, stripped almost to the waist, and he was nailing balks of wood, one on top of the other, against the door in the passage, working at a feverish pace.

"What's the idea, Bellamy? Trying to board us up?"

The old man looked round. "Oh, it's you, is it? Yes, I'm going to board you up."

Jim watched him silently as the long nails were driven in, and plank rose above plank until they were at the height of the old man's knees.

"They'll hang you if they get you, Bellamy," said Jim.

"Don't worry; they won't get me." He straightened his back and raised his arms carelessly. Jim, however, was too quick for him. He dropped as the hammer struck the bars, and before Abe Bellamy could retrieve the tool which, in a second of wanton savagery, he had thrown at the man he hated, Jim had jerked the handle through the bars and had dropped it to the floor of the dungeon.

"Give me that back!" roared the old man. "Give it back, or I'll shoot the life out of you."

"Come down and get it," taunted the detective.

He waited at the foot of the stairs with the hammer poised and ready to throw, but Bellamy did not put his threat into execution.

Jim heard his footsteps running along the passage, and five minutes afterwards he heard an intensification of the rifle-fire, and knew that Abe was at his post.

59. A GREEN ARCHER COMES TO LADY'S MANOR

Valerie, who knew nothing of the old man's interest in her safety, went back to the house, shaken by her danger. The servants were out; her father would not be back until seven; and all the time the "clok-clok" of shooting was getting on her nerves.

The queerness of it! Here, in a peaceful English village, a battle was raging, and the villagers were looking on. She saw two men standing on the roof of a cottage, absorbed by the spectacle.

With a sigh she went into the house and to the drawing-room and tried to read. Suddenly she heard a step in the passage. One of the servants had returned, she thought, and went out into the kitchen for company. The kitchen was in semi-darkness, for it was nearly dusk, and this part of the house was poorly lit. "Is anybody there?" she asked.

She stepped into the scullery. And then two arms came about her from behind—two long, green arms, terminating in gloves of the same hue.

She shrieked and looked round into that white mask, and dropped limp into the arms of the man in green. She came back to consciousness a few minutes afterwards. She was being carried along a tunnel. It smelt damp and fusty, and they were in absolute darkness. Where was she? Then she remembered, and clutched at the man who was carrying her.

"Is it you?" she asked in a fearful whisper. "Is it you, father?"

He made no answer except to ask her in a muffled voice if she could walk.

"I think I can," she said. "I can't see the way."

"There isn't far to go," he said. "Put your hand on the wall; that will guide you."

The walls were of rough-hewn rock, and were running with water. Once she saw two tiny green beams of fire in the darkness ahead, and drew back.

"It's only a rat," mumbled the man.

At last they came to a place where the passage turned at right- angles, and then he caught her arm and stopped her.

"This way," he said, and she found herself mounting three stairs. "Keep your head down; the roof is low."

She obeyed and followed him in a crouching position for a dozen paces, at the end of which there were two more steps and a long drop. But here she saw daylight shining clearly.

"Jump," said her conductor, and she sprang to the ground and walked out, under a low arch, into a room the shelves of which were filled with canned provisions.

"Where am I?" she asked. She dared not look at that hideous white face.

"You're in Garre Castle," was the answer. "And here you are going to stay, my lady."

She wrenched herself from his hands and ran to the door. It was locked and bolted. Before she could reach the kitchen entrance he had caught her. In her struggle she reached up and clutched at the mask—for mask it undoubtedly was. With one jerk she pulled it from his face and screamed.

"You—you, the Green Archer!" she gasped.

It was Lacy!

60. FAY IN THE DUNGEON

Lacy made no reply, but pushed, her through a small door under the stairs, through yet another door into a hall, which she recognised as one that led to the dungeons. She thought at first he was taking her there, but it was to the library he was conducting her, and Abe Bellamy, his unshaven face streaming with perspiration, was waiting.

There was a deathly silence, broken only by the sound of firing which came faintly to their ears, and then the old man reached out and caught her by the shoulders.

"So you've come, my little dear?" he said. "You're the last of the guests—the very last." He cackled in her face with a joy that was almost insane. "Caught you all! I'd like to have taken that blind fool of a father of yours—not that he is your father. I'd like to have taken him, Valerie, but he doesn't matter. All who matter are here. All the people who could talk, all the people who hated me—they're all here." He pointed to the floor.

She looked round at Lacy. "For God's sake help me!" she begged. "My father will pay you!"

"What's the use of asking Lacy? Lacy wouldn't help you. You might as well appeal to me," said Bellamy.

With a kick he sent the table flying, threw up the rug, and snapped open the door. As he did so she saw him point the rifle, which straddled a chair, and drop its muzzle into the yawning pit.

"Go down. You'll find some friends," he said, "some good friends! Go down, Valerie. This time I'll have no fool mistakes with you. I've blundered twice with you, but the third time you're going to pay."

He pointed to the stairs that led into the void, and she went down without a word. Watching her, his rifle poised, he saw her outlined against a strange oblong of light.

"The door's open," he roared, and then sniffed. His quick brain found the solution immediately.

"Burnt out the lock, eh? They'll have a little more space to die in," he said, and swung the stone slab into position. Lacy noticed that he did not lower the parquet covering.

"So that's where you keep them, is it, Bellamy?" he said breathlessly. "Who's there?"

"Julius Savini and his wife are there, Featherstone's there."

"Featherstone?" said the other in an awe-stricken voice. "Who are the people outside attacking?"

"The police," said Bellamy laconically, and the man went livid.

A grotesque sight he was in the ill-fitting costume that he had bought to masquerade as the Green Archer. It was Bellamy's idea—Bellamy, who had set him to make a reconnaissance of Lady's Manor dressed in his fantastic array. He had nearly been caught that night, and the memory of it made him sweat. "You told me there was a fair on outside, that the military were holding a gymkhana. You wicked old liar! Where's my money? I'm going."

"Bellamy opened his safe, took out a roll of notes, and threw them on the table.

"There's your money. You can go as soon as you like. Have you a gun?"

"I certainly have," said the other. "Do you think I'm a fool to trust myself in this house without one?"

For answer Bellamy put his foot on the stone trap and opened it. "Bring Savini up. He isn't armed, but he's ready to show fight."

The man frowned. "Bring him up yourself," he said.

"And leave you to open the door to the police?" sneered Bellamy. "Go down, you rat. What are you afraid of?"

Lacy's gun was in his hand; he was white to the lips. "I'm not going down," he said huskily, "unless you go first."

Bellamy shrugged his broad shoulders, and without another word stepped down, his gunman following at a respectful distance.

Too respectful, for Bellamy's stairs were narrow, and he who reached the floor first could, by a swift sidelong movement, come back parallel to the man who was following; and this Bellamy did. Lacy felt his ankle gripped, tried frantically to recover his balance, and came headlong to the stone floor. Abe Bellamy only waited long enough to take the revolver he had dropped and put it in his pocket, then he went upstairs to stage the last act of the drama.

Valerie stood at the tunnel entrance of the room, not knowing what to do, scarcely capable of lifting one foot before another. She was dimly conscious that a girl was addressing her. "Miss Howett!"

Valerie stared uncomprehendingly, and then: "Isn't it Mrs. Savini?" she asked shakily.

In another moment Valerie was sobbing in Fay Savini's arms, and Fay felt her shivering as though she were sick of a fever. "Is Captain Featherstone here?"

"You can see him, but he is not with us."

"Where is he? I must see him."

She scarcely noticed Julius, though it was he who showed her the grille and called Jim Featherstone to her.

"Jim, Jim!" she called eagerly, and his brain reeled at the sound of her voice.

"Is it you, Valerie? Oh, my God!"

"We shall not be here for long," she said. "The police are being reinforced by soldiers, and they are certain to catch him, and Holland thinks that the castle will be carried tonight."

"How did he get you here?"

"The Green Archer brought me."

"The Green Archer? Impossible! The Green Archer?"

She nodded.

"It was Lacy."

Jim sat back on his heels and stared into the darkness where she was.

"It can't possibly be Lacy," he said. "Are you sure?"

"I pulled off his mask. I am absolutely sure."

"It is incredible. I can't understand it. I don't think it matters very much who is the Green Archer, my poor darling. That you are here is the crowning horror."

"You think there's no hope at all of getting into the castle?" she asked.

"None whatever." Jim's voice was emphatic. It was kinder that she should know. "Tell me how the Green Archer brought you here. Surely there is a cordon round the castle?"

"We came by way of an underground passage. There must be one connecting Lady's Manor with the castle," she said. "I have always suspected the existence of one."

"That is the way the Green Archer came, and that is also why you saw him at Lady's Manor that night. He was on his way to the castle," Jim said.

"You forget that I saw him in the grounds"; which was true, as Jim remembered. They were interrupted by the arrival of Julius with a startling piece of information. "Lacy? In the dungeon?"

"If he were only in the dungeon it wouldn't be remarkable," said Julius, "but he's wearing the kit of the Green Archer. Fay's just taken him some water. I think the old man must have thrown him down the stairs."

"Lacy here?" she whispered fearfully. "Oh, Jim, can't you come through?"

"Julius will look after you. Have no fear," he said, though he was far from feeling the assurance he assumed. "I might be able to get through later, dear. I have chipped away the cement from two of the bars. I have the old man's hammer, and it is distinctly useful." He had been resting when she came, but now he resumed the work, and for the next hour the tap of his—hammer was incessant.

Valerie went back to Julius. "Is he hurt badly?" she asked.

"It is only his head," said Julius casually. "That's the only part of Lacy that you couldn't possibly hurt, not if you ran a roller over it. He was the man who carried you from your house, wasn't he? I heard you telling Feathers. Well, he's welcome. He had a lethal weapon tucked away under his gay blouse that may be very useful."

Julius exhibited with pride his discovery.

"Naturally," he admitted frankly, "my first instincts were to search him, for fear any of his valuable property fell into dishonest hands. But beyond the pistol there was nothing," he said loudly. "He's under the impression that Abe gave him a bankroll. Either that's an illusion, or else the old man took it back when he had 'outed' him. Abe never likes wasting money. And I think he's right," and tapped his bulging pocket unconsciously.

Valerie went out to find Fay fastening a rough dressing around the masquerader's head. A ludicrous spectacle he was, his ill-fitting costume ragged and bloodstained and soiled. "I had a lot of money when I came down here," he was saying. "It's not here now. Money hasn't got legs. It can't walk away."

"If you'd had it then, you would have it now," said Fay primly. "And I've had money that went faster than the air-mail in a gale of wind. You're not accusing my Julius of having robbed you, are you?"

"I don't know what I'm accusing your Julius of," growled the man, "but he took my gun. Why shouldn't he take the money?"

"Because the gun was there to take, and the money wasn't," said Fay gently. "Is it wise to accuse people who have saved your life of having robbed you? Old Bellamy must have taken it himself."

"Why didn't he take the gun?" demanded the man logically. "That's a thing he'd want to get back. Where is that gun, by the way?"

"Julius has it," said Fay, and added with unmistakable emphasis: "And Julius will keep it."

"What's the old man going to do? He can't keep us here for ever. Where can I sleep?"

"You can either sleep on the stairs or you can sleep under the stairs."

"Ain't there any beds here?" demanded Lacy truculently.

"There's bed-rock," said the humorous Fay. "And that is where you're sleeping, Lacy. And if you start kicking you'll get kicked. You're a low brute, anyway, to take this lady from her home; and if Featherstone gets you—"

"Is he here?" asked the horrified Lacy.

"He's not here for the moment; he's on the other side of the bars."

"I hope he'll keep there," said Lacy fervently.

Julius and Jim took turns throughout the evening to use the one tool which had providentially fallen into their hands. Before nine o'clock, by the united efforts of both, the grille was wrenched back, and Jim wriggled through to the girl.

And there and then, without any preliminary or apology, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

No further time was lost in explanations or demanding of explanations.

Jim had confided his decision to Savini, and found that Julius held the same view. The settee was dragged from the wall and its legs broken off. The back was low enough to allow them to push it through the hall, though it meant tearing at the costly fabric which covered it.

"What is the idea? Are you furnishing the apartment next door?" asked Fay.

"A whole lot of things are going to happen next door," said Jim. "That table looks good to me," he said, as with his hammer he knocked off first one and then the other of the legs and pushed it through to Julius.

"You can help here, Lacy." He called the man forward, and Lacy came quickly.

"What do you want me to do, Captain?" he said.

"Creep up to the top of the stairs, and the moment you see Bellamy, shout and jump, for I'll be coming up quicker than you can get down. Up there!" Jim took him by the ear and led him to the stairs and posted him just beneath the level of the grating.

"The moment he comes to that barrier shout. Is that clear to you?"

"Of course it's clear," said the indignant Lacy. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

"I wouldn't like to tell you what I think about you," was the unsatisfactory reply.

He left the man watching at the head of the stairs and went back to Julius.

"I'm not so sure that any of these precautions will be worth a snap of the fingers," he said, "but they're the best we can do. If we only had some nails!"

He was erecting a barricade around the jagged hole in the wall, and to assist him Fay had brought into employment the longest portion of the hose, which she fixed to the gas-bracket which was nearest to them. This gave sufficient light to enable them to work. Chairs, tables, bedding, all were dragged into the dungeon, and whilst they worked, Mr. Lacy sat quietly on the top step, hating Abe Bellamy, but hating worse the man in whose company fortune, had so strangely thrown him.

61. THE MAN FROM CLOISTER WOOD

Smoke was coming from the chimney of the little cottage in Cloister Wood. A small fire burnt in the kitchen grate, and a man with a fork in his hand stood watching gravely the sizzling of a cutlet. The blinds of the cottage were drawn, the doors locked tight. A curious passer-by might have knocked and continued to knock without receiving a reply.

It was late in the afternoon, drawing on to evening, and he had come by the direct road, which avoided Garre. After a while the cutlet was cooked, and he picked it up with a knife and laid it on a plate that was warming before the fire. From his overcoat pocket he took a small paper bag and emptied two bread-rolls upon the spotless table. When his frugal meal was finished he took a pipe from his pocket, filled it deliberately and lit it, leaning back in the Windsor chair, and contemplating the wall with a fixity of gaze which suggested that his mind was elsewhere.

He took a telegram from his pocket and read it for the third time. Its perusal seemed to give him a certain amount of pleasure, for he smiled. It was nearly an hour before he rose at last and walked back to the room which first Spike Holland and then Abe Bellamy had visited. The folded suit was still on the bed, but it was not as the man had left it. And the huge mud-prints of Bellamy's feet had been visible from the first.

He strolled back to the kitchen, found a book, and settled down to read. Once or twice he lifted his head to listen. He had noticed the sound before, but now its very insistence impressed him, and he went out through the back door into the unkempt garden behind the cottage. Putting both hands behind his ears, he turned his face slowly towards the area from whence the sound came, and presently he located it. Immediately he returned to the house, locked the back door, put on his hat, and went out—this time through the front door. He thought he had heard the footsteps of a man coming along the road, and slipped into the shadow of the wood, waiting until the walker was gone. When he was nearly out of sight the stranger emerged, walked rapidly along the road, crossing a field, and reached another secondary road; and then, and only then, did he stop one of the passers-by to ask a question."

"That sounds to me like shooting," he said, and the man he addressed grinned.

"That's shooting all right, sir. They say the old man up at Garre Castle is being attacked by soldiers. I don't know what there is in it, but there's been shooting going on all morning."

The stranger quickened his pace and came to Garre by a footpath, which brought him into the village almost opposite to Lady's Manor. The firing was unmistakable now, and he could see the crowd stretched across the village street. A dozen paces away was a policeman directing traffic to a circuitous route, and he went up to him.

"Yes, sir, old Bellamy is shooting up the police," said the officer with a certain pride in the notoriety which had come to his division. "We are getting more soldiers down; there are two companies in the castle grounds now. Are you a stranger about here, sir?"

"Yes, I am," said the other.

"Almost everybody in the village is with that crowd. I was just saying to one of Mr. Howett's servants that she'd be better employed if she went back and cooked the dinner."

"Is Mr. Howett there?"

"He's gone to town, by all accounts. The young lady's in the house. Do you want to see her, sir?"

"Yes, I think so." The stranger hesitated, and at that moment the policeman raised his hand to stop a trolley that was coming towards Garre.

When he looked round the stranger had disappeared. The officer thought he saw him walking up the garden path to Lady's Manor, and in this he was not mistaken.

The door of the manor was wide open, and he raised his hand to knock, thought better of it, and walked boldly into the stone-flagged hall, turned the handle of the drawing-room door softly, and peeped in. An open book lay on Valerie Howett's writing-table, and there was a little heap of knitting on the sofa. He crept softly into the kitchen and looked round. He seemed familiar with the plan of the house, as well he might be, for he had been there many times. The garden gate was half open, and he went out. Against the wall he saw a ladder, but there was no sign of mistress or servants.

It was almost dark when he heard voices outside the house, and, opening the door that led to the cellars, he passed through, closed it behind him, and went quickly down the stairs. The cellar was almost in complete darkness, but he walked unerringly to one of the cellar doors, inserted a key, and passed into the dark interior. Stooping, he lifted the lid of a box and took out a small square lamp. A touch of his finger, and the place was illuminated. He put his hand into the box again and took out a short green bow and two arrows. These latter he balanced on his finger, and one did not satisfy him, for he returned it and brought another in its place. Then he switched out the light and waited.

He heard the upper door leading to the cellar open, and one of the servants come down carrying a candle. He heard her fill a coal-scuttle, and then began a conversation between somebody in the scullery and the carrier of coals.

"What has happened to Miss Valerie?" said the voice upstairs.

"I didn't see her," replied the girl with the coal-scuttle. "Isn't she in her room?"

"No," came the answer. "I've just been up. And she's not in the garden either."

"She wasn't in the crowd," said the second girl, resting on her shovel. "And she couldn't have got through it, anyway, because the police will allow nobody to pass!"

The man sitting on the box in the dark listened idly, and presently the girl went upstairs and the door was shut.

Hour after hour he waited, until he heard a commotion above, excited voices asking questions, and then he came out of his cell and, creeping up the stairs, listened. What he heard brought him back to his retreat. A few moments later, when Mr. Howett came into the underground room and opened the door where the stranger had been, the little cellar was empty.

The firing outside the castle had dropped to an occasional shot at long intervals. The Government had acceded to the urgent representations of the police, and soon before nightfall a company of infantry arrived in Garre and took up its position in open order about the castle. Towards midnight there was a rumble of heavy wheels, and a section of artillery came down the village street, unlimbered at the gate of Garre Castle, and brought their guns into position for action, covering the castle entrance.

Spike sought information.

"We intend doing nothing till the morning," said the officer in charge, "and it will depend entirely upon what Bellamy does whether we take action then. If he continues to fire with daylight, we shall batter in the doors with the gun, under cover of which the infantry will rush the main entrance."

"Why not dynamite the door tonight?" urged Spike. "I suppose you know, that Miss Valerie Howett has disappeared? Mr. Howett's on the wire now to London."

"Those are our instructions," said the officer shortly.

Spike went in search of the Commissioner, but received no satisfaction. "I don't think it matters whether we attack tonight or tomorrow morning," he said. "The danger to those unfortunate people inside will come when the attack is delivered. That is my opinion, and it is also the opinion of the Secretary of State. We think nothing will be gained by blowing in the gate of the castle tonight. Perhaps a night's sleep will find Bellamy in a different frame of mind."

"You don't know Bellamy," said the grim Spike.

Every train was bringing reporters and sightseers from London.

The story of the siege of Garre had filled the evening newspapers' splash pages. Spike, proud possessor of a bed-sitting-room, found himself the willing host of a dozen colleagues, to whom, being young, the very idea of sleep was repugnant. He was snatching a hasty dinner when Mr. Howett came in.

"I'm going to show some of the police the way into the castle," he said. "Will you come?" Spike left his meal untasted. "I know the secret way. It is one I discovered some time ago," said Mr. Howett.

He looked terribly old; his face was the colour of putty; and when he spoke there was a quaver in his voice which alarmed the reporter. Spike did not ask him how this secret entrance into the castle had been discovered or to what purpose the discovery had been put. He joined the half a dozen detectives in Mr. Howett's car and followed him through the basement into the cellar.

"There is an underground passage here. It connects Lady's Manor with the castle." He indicated the middle of the three smaller cellars, and, taking a key from his pocket, he turned the lock and went in.

The cellar was a narrow one and contained nothing but a large box at the end. This Mr. Howett pulled towards him, and they saw that its movement disclosed a square aperture in the floor and one of a similar size in the wall. A flight of steps brought them to a passage. They had not gone far when there was a thump, and Mr. Howett, who was leading, uttered an exclamation of pain. The detective's light showed the cause. Across the passage, barring it completely, was a door. The secret way into Garre Castle was closed.

"That door has never been closed before," said Mr. Howett in a troubled voice. "I remember seeing it; it was always fastened back to the wall. There are four other doors between here and the castle, and it means that we shall have to blow every one down before we get through, and we will never break them."

"Are they locked?"

"No, they're barred," said Mr. Howett. "There is a thick steel bar at the back of each of them, and the socket is almost impossible for you to force." He brooded a moment. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," he said in a low tone. "I hoped that I was showing you an easy way, but it seems that I have given you a more difficult task than if I had asked you to force the doors of the castle."

They turned back. Spike was the most disappointed of all, if Mr. Howett be excepted. "Do you think Miss Howett was taken that way, Mr. Howett?" he asked.

"I am afraid so," said Howett. "The servants admit that they were out and that they had seen Valerie go into Lady's Manor. It's my own fault; I should have kept more men-servants."

His voice grew fainter and fainter, and as be finished Spike caught him in his arms. A hastily summoned doctor gave a more encouraging report than Spike had dared to hope.

Leaving the stricken man in charge of the housekeeper, Spike went back to the castle gates, to find that new orders had been received from London and that an attack was to be delivered at one o'clock in the morning. He looked at his watch; it was ten o'clock—a fatal hour for the little band of prisoners in the dread dungeons of Garre.

62. THE FLOOD

Lacy was growing cramped when he heard a step in the passage and crouched back, although it was so dark that it was almost impossible for the old man to see him. Presently he caught the glint of a lantern, and Abe Bellamy stepped over the barrier.

"Mr. Bellamy!" said Lacy in a frantic whisper.

Bellamy swung round. "Hullo! How did you get there?"

"For God's sake don't shout!" said Lacy. Fortunately, as he thought, the noise of hammering below would drown the sound of the old man's voice.

"What do you want?" he asked in a lower key.

"Let me out," pleaded Lacy. "They put me here to watch. They've got a gun, and they told me to shout the moment you appeared."

The old man put down his lantern, took something from his pocket, carried it to the corner of the room, and lit a light. He went to the other corner and did the same.

"Mr. Bellamy, let me out. I've told you—"

Jim heard the frantic shriek, and flew up the stairs just as the old man vaulted over the barrier. Twice Jim fired, but the bullets carried high. And then, looking round, he saw a spark.

"Get down," he shouted, and leapt the stairs, falling to his knees as the first of the explosions occurred.

The sound deafened him, and the second that followed drove down and broke a hole in the roof, scattering chips of stone in all directions.

"What is it?" It was the terrified voice of Julius.

"Stand by that hole," said Jim curtly. "And you, Lacy, come here. Why didn't you tell me that the old man was there?"

"I didn't see him—" began Lacy.

"You saw him and heard him. You were trying to get him to let you out and leave us to die like rats."

"What's that noise?" asked Julius fearfully.

"It is It," said Jim.

The gas flare was burning, and the dungeon was slightly illuminated.

"There's one chance for us," said Jim, and then his eyes fell upon the cemented trap-door. "No, there's two," he said, and smashed at the cement covering which Abe had laid down.

From above came a steady, hollow roar of sound.

"What is it? What is it?" blubbered Lacy. "What is he doing?"

"You'll see in a moment," said Jim, and as he spoke there came bounding down the stairs a veritable torrent of water. In such volume did it come that, even as it cascaded over the steps, it showed an almost solid line. Instantly the floor was covered. Jim was working up to his ankles, and every moment the water was rising.

"I can't do it," he said, and brought the hammer down with a crash in the centre of the stone. Under the terrific impact he saw a crack appear. He struck again and again, and every second it became more difficult, for he had to strike through the water, which held up the force of the blow. At last he could do no more.

Julius was already behind the barrier. Lacy had crawled through to where the women were, and now Jim leapt over the accumulation of bedsteads, sofas, and tables, and the two men went to work like slaves to cover the entrance of the hole, to fix the bedding so that it served to take off the force of the water.

"I don't think it's much good," said Jim as he came back, wet from head to foot. "The old man has blown up the water pipes."

The water was already flowing into the inner room; but now, thanks to the barricade they had prepared, the inflow was very small and amounted only to a trickle. Jim knew that the faster the water grew the greater the pressure became, the greater would be the danger.

The ventilating shaft was flush with the roof; that was the one comfort of the situation. How long would it take for the water to rise, he wondered, and made a rough calculation, based on the rate it had filled the dungeon. The volume of the water had surprised him. He put two hours as the outside limit before the water reached the roof.

"I think we'd better go out and get on the steps beneath the library," he said. "The ladies will be on the top landing, you and Lacy had better take the next position, and I will take the next. I'm not being heroic," he said. "All our heads will be nearly level with the roof, and it might be kinder to have the ladies in front."

His precautions were justified. He stopped only to turn out all the gases before he rejoined them; and he was hardly out of the room before there was a crash and the barricade broke. The water was up to his knees before he reached the stairs.

"What did you put the lights out for?" asked Lacy angrily. "That means we're going to die in the dark."

"If you leave the lights on you'll certainly die in the dark, my friend," said Jim. "We need all the air we can get, but if you left the lights burning you would be breathing gas in a few minutes."

He waited on the fifth lowest step, and presently he felt the water about his feet. Five minutes later it was around his ankles.

He waited till it was knee deep before he went up another step. "Valerie, will you come here?" She joined him in the darkness, and he put his arm about her.

He was now on the highest step that it was possible for him to stand upon, and the water had not yet reached him. But he had not long to wait. So wet were his feet and his legs that he did not recognise the encroachments until, putting down his hand to make sure, he felt the water at his knee-level. And now it seemed to be rising more and at even greater speed.

"Give me that hammer, Savini. I'll try the lock of the trap above us."

"I didn't bring the hammer," said Julius. "I left it in the dungeon."

A silence that was painful.

"I don't suppose we could have done much, anyway. Certainly this lock wouldn't be easily forced."

The water was up to his waist, but the air was still pure, and there was no pressure. What would happen when the water reached the ventilators he did not care to think about. Higher and higher it rose, until it was about his breast, and he lifted the girl to his level and kissed her.

"This is a queer way out," he said, and felt the water lapping his chin..

63. THE LAST VISIT OF THE GREEN ARCHER

Sitting at his bedroom window, his rifle resting on the window- ledge, Abe Bellamy looked down into the dark grounds. The lights of the village had been extinguished by the military authorities. Lights were even forbidden in the houses, and in a sense this favoured the defender, for such lights as there were had been in his eyes. Now he could see clearly. He saw the three men who wriggled their way up the slope inch by inch, and a shot brought them to a halt. But they had seen the flash, and a machine—gun opened up, and he lay flat on the floor and heard the bullets whistle over his head.

Presently the firing ceased, and he peeped out again. They were coming. Again he fired, and this time he hit somebody. He heard a cry. And then, watching, he saw the men were withdrawing, and he seized the opportunity to go down to the guard-room. The water was pouring from the broken mains in two greeny-white columns, and, stepping over the barrier, he waded to the grille and flashed a light. The water was nearly level with the top stair, and he nodded his satisfaction. They would not come in time to save the lives of these rats who were drowning.

In the hall he found Sen, and bade him gruffly to return to the car. The dumb man pointed to the door, and Bellamy understood. He guessed what they would be doing. They would dynamite the entrance and rush it.

He went back to the guard-room, closed and locked the door, and locked the door from the hall to the passage. It would take them some time before they discovered what was wrong—a longer time to stop the flow of the water. Nothing could save his enemies. That was the happy thought he brought with him when he took up his position in the doorway of the library, waiting for the final crash.

There were two entrances to the library: the first from the hall, the second from the foot of the narrow staircase which led to the room above where Lacy used to hide. The second door was ordinarily kept fastened, but the old man had unlocked it in preparation for emergency. The water would be up to their necks by now. He guessed that they were standing on the stairs. In ten minutes they would be dead, and nobody would have known how they died if he could have only brought the water- main to the chamber beneath the library. Now they must know, with whatever satisfaction that would give them. He had been compelled to blow an aperture between the two dungeons so that the water should reach the old home of the grey lady. If she were only there! That was the one unpleasant thought he had. She had escaped.

He was still thinking when there came a terrible crash at the door, a crash which shook the castle to its foundations. A second explosion followed immediately, and he knew that the outer door was down and that only the drop door remained. But the drop door was coated with steel, and would be a tougher proposition.

He walked into the library, leaving Sen squatting with his rifle on his knees, confronting his doom with an imperturbable face.

The old man was ready to die; he only wanted to be certain that he had set himself to do had been accomplished. This done, there was no excuse for living.

The sound of the farther door opening made him spin round. "Stand where you are!" said the newcomer sternly. "You know me, Abel Bellamy!" The intruder stood stiffly for a time, holding the bent bow, his right hand drawn back almost to his ear. Like a statue he stood, menacing, a veritable figure of fate, and the light from the silver lamp gleamed on the green arrow that was pointed to Abel Bellamy's heart.

"Don't move, or you'll die. And I do not want you to die yet, until you know."

"The Green Archer!" said Bellamy in strangled tones. "You—you, the Green Archer!"

"One by one I have slain your associates, the vile tools you employed to hound down the innocent and oppress the weak. One by one, Abe Bellamy. You are the third. What have you to say that I should not give you judgment to die?"

The words had a strange and awful ring. Though this Bellamy did not know, they were taken word for word from the English sentence of death.

"You—the Green Archer!" he could only gasp, his mind in a ferment. He could only stare, fascinated, at this sinister figure, and could notice such little details as the presence of a second arrow between the disengaged fingers of the archer's left hand. He wondered dully whether it wasn't a great strain to hold a bow so tense and so immovable.

Bellamy's gun was on the desk. To reach it he had to take two paces. He calculated them carefully, but so had the Green Archer—he knew that. He must temporise.

"If I've ever done anything that money can put right—"

"Money!" said the other scornfully. "How could you offer money to me? Can money buy back the eight years of torment you meted out to an innocent woman? Can money bring back the lash and take the scars from the skin of a man flogged by your orders and through your machinations? Can money—"

"Wait, wait!" said Bellamy eagerly. "I can give you something after your own heart—something that would please the Green Archer."

The eyes of the man with the bow narrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked quickly.

"They are there!" Bellamy almost screamed the words. "Drowned like rats, all of 'em! They're in hell now—Featherstone, Valerie Howett. As for you, damn you—!"

He leapt, and as his foot left the ground there came to his ears the thunder of the second explosion. It was a knell, a grand salute to the passing of one who feared neither God nor man nor judgment.

64. WHEN THE WATERS ROSE

Whilst Abe Bellamy was still in Sanctuary Keep, fingering the hot barrel of his rifle, five people in the cellars below waited for death. Lacy, mute with fear, the Savinis crouched together, silent, resigned. Then a miracle happened. The waters began to recede faster than they had risen.

"What has happened?"

"A respite," was the grim reply. "The trap to the lower dungeon has broken, and the waters are rushing in there. As soon as the lower vault is filled the waters will rise again."

"You've put me on a lower step so I'll drown first," whined Lacy. "I wish Coldharbour had got that girl—we wouldn't a' been here then!"

"Your head is touching the roof—you can't get higher—silence!"

Jim heard voices above—two men were talking. One was Bellamy's. He could not recognise the other. To shout for help was a waste of breath. Something touched the calf of his leg; he put down his hand and found it was a small table that had floated from the dungeon. He drew it to him, wondering to what use it could be put; and then an idea occurred to him, and he turned it over so that its legs were sticking up from the water and the top submerged. If he could get the girl on to that the legs would hold against the vaulting, and she would have support—perhaps a breathing-space in the dome of the roof. A second's thought showed him that this would only mean the prolongation of the agony, and he kicked the table away.

And then Jim spoke what was in his mind. He bent to the girl. "Valerie," he said, "I was jealous of John Wood."

"I was afraid you were," she answered in an even tone. "He fascinates me. I like him. But it's not the kind of liking that I have for you."

As she dropped her head her chin touched water, and she closed her eyes. Silence reigned, save for the whimpering of Lacy. There was no hope now, save to throw themselves into the water and float until the end came when they could float no more.

He stretched on tiptoe to keep his mouth from the water, and told her to do the same.

"What was that?" whispered Julius.

They had heard a thud above them, as though a heavy article of furniture had dropped, and then on top of it came a voice like thunder that shivered the water and sent little ripples dancing about Jim's lips. It was an explosion, he knew, and it was close at hand. If the police could only get into the castle in time! It was a matter of minutes now, for the water was not rising at the same pace; the obstructions of the doorways called for greater pressure and greater volume. Then, over his head, he heard a click, and there appeared in the water under his eyes the reflection of a line of light.

The trap was opening!

He put up his hand and pushed, but he had to press the other end of the stone through water.

"Savini—Valerie—push!" he gasped, and their hands went up slowly and the trap moved.

Somebody was above, pressing on the other end of the stone to lift it. "Are you all there?" asked a voice.

"Yes. Can you pull at the end that's raised?"

A hand came over the edge of the stone—a brown, sinewy hand, and the trap rose until it was perpendicular.

Fay was the first to emerge, and fell exhausted upon the rug before the fireplace. Julius followed, and then Lacy thrust his way madly, striking out left and right in his terror.

Valerie caught the edge of the trap, and Julius drew her to safety. She looked back. Jim had disappeared, and she was staring into the black water.

"Where is he—Jim?" she said wildly. "That man threw him into the water!"

Julius dragged off his soddened coat and went down the steps.

There was no room to swim—he must dive. Without hesitation the Eurasian plunged into the darkness. He could see the square of light from the open trap, and presently his hand touched a coat, and he clutched it.

Striking out with all his strength, he dragged the unconscious Featherstone to the top of the submerged steps, and a few seconds later Jim was safe.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a Tommy, rifle in hand, his bayonet glittering. The soldier stood in the doorway, and he was staring at Abe Bellamy, spread-eagled on his back, his arm outstretched, and through his heart two arrows, so close together that they almost touched.

"Who did that?" asked the soldier.

Jim struggled to his feet and looked round the room. But the man who had opened the trap and who had slain the terror had vanished.

Mr. Howett met them in the hall and drew the girl away from the still figure of the Chinaman that lay there so quiet. Jim left the girl to the care of her father, and staggered back to the room, faint and aching. Lacy's blow had caught him on the point, and he had momentarily been knocked out.

The water was now welling up through the floor, and had already covered the passage from the dining-room and was flowing into the hall. He sent a police officer to find the main supply and turn it off, and, with the assistance of Jackson, who was one of the first to enter the castle, lifted the body of Bellamy to the sofa and searched his pockets.

He was thus engaged when Spike Holland came into the room.

"Is he dead?" asked Spike.

Jim nodded. "He is quite—I am nearly. Get an ambulance to shift that."

"That" was Lacy, who still lay moaning on the floor.

When Spike returned, Jim was sitting on the sofa by the side of the dead man, his head in his hands. He looked up as Spike came In. "Where is Savini and his wife?" he asked.

"I've sent 'em to my rooms. Savini was anxious to know if I had a fire in the room and if water ruined bank—notes." Jim smiled faintly.

"If the Green Archer killed Bellamy he must be still in the house," said Spike while he was sitting at the table waiting for his tall to come through. "He couldn't have escaped by the passage."

"Which passage is that? The underground passage from Lady's Manor? Why couldn't he have come that way?"

"Because the doors are all bolted on the inside. As soon as I've read this message through to the paper, I want to assure myself on that point."

"I really have found the Green Archer this time, Holland," said Jim as he rose stiffly.

"I found him quite a long time ago," said Spike complacently. "His name is Mr. Howett, but I don't know that I'm going to print that fact."

"If you do," said Jim, "you'll be printing something that is absolutely untrue. The Green Archer is—" But he changed his mind ...

"The Green Archer is—?" suggested Spike urgently. "Give me the story, Featherstone—there's time for the early edition."

Jim dragged himself to the door and looked back.

"Perhaps I'll never tell you," he said.

65. JULIUS ROASTS MONEY

At the Blue Boar, Jim found that the faithful Angus had arrived with a change of clothing in preparation for his master's release—an act of thoughtfulness which Captain Featherstone appreciated.

As soon as he had changed and shaved he made his way to the Howetts' house, expecting to find that the girl had gone to bed. To his surprise she was in the drawing-room, and with her was John Wood.

She came towards him with her hands outstretched, and he took her in his arms. "I wanted to stay with you, but daddy hurried me away," she said, "You know Mr. Wood?" Jim nodded to the man, and John Wood, with a little smile on his sensitive lips, watched him steadily, his eyes never leaving the detective's face. "I have a great surprise for you, Jim" she said. "The most wonderful thing has happened! Guess whom I found when I came here?" He shook his head. "My—my mother!"

As she spoke the door opened and Mr. Howett came in, on his arm a frail, beautiful woman, and Jim instantly recognised the likeness between the two. "This is Jim—mother," she said the word shyly. "You've heard of Jim Featherstone?"

Mrs. Held took both his hands in hers. "I owe you a great deal, Captain Featherstone," she said, "but I think you will have your reward." Her eyes strayed past Jim to the man on the sofa, and she smiled. "You must meet my son, Captain Featherstone," she said.

"Your son!" gasped Jim.

She smiled at his astonishment. "John Wilfred Bellamy," she said quietly, and Jim, who knew so much, yet did not know this vital fact, could only look bewildered from one to the other.

He was still feeling the effects of his struggle in the water when he came again into the village and walked towards the inn. The street was filled with people despite the lateness of the hour, and lamplighters were restoring Garre to its normal illumination.

He found Spike in the midst of a crowd of colleagues in the bar, and Spike was happy. "Where is Julius?" Jim asked.

"Come and see him." Spike squeaked in his joy. "He is sitting before the fire toasting ten-pound notes, and Fay has borrowed a flat-iron from the landlady and is doing laundry work that would turn a Chink blue with envy."

Jim followed him up the stairs. In the big sitting-room which Spike had occupied since his arrival at Garre, and which had been an informal club and meeting-place for the newly arrived reporters that day, Julius Savini was literally roasting bank-notes. Wearing a suit of Spike's pyjamas, he was sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, holding at a distance from the fire, and with the aid of a toasting-fork, a square of white paper.

"I think that is done, Fay," he said as he looked at his 'toast' with an approving eye.

Fay took the bank-note from the end of the fork, laid it upon the cloth, and rubbed it gently with the iron in her hand. She saw Jim and smiled. The landlady whose dressing-gown she wore was stout and short. Fay was tall and inclined to thinness. The effect was amusing.

"Come right in, Feathers. Julius is drying those bank-notes which old man Bellamy gave him the day he put us in the clink. They're our own," she added with a certain dignity, "and if that poor nut Lacy ever suggests that my Julius robbed him, I shall ask you to lock him up."

"How much money have you there, Fay?" asked Jim, tickled.

"Nearly ten thousand. We haven't counted it as yet, but that is our estimate. Julius and I are going into the country to start a poultry farm. Eggs have always been a passion of mine. Where is Lacy?"

"I've sent him to the nearest hospital, and I don't think you need worry about him. When we searched him before he left, Sergeant Jackson found a considerable sum in his pocket."

"Lacy's money doesn't interest us," said Fay loftily. "Does it, Julius?" He shook his head, but he did not meet the detective's eye. "Envy none—that's been my motto, Feathers, all my life. If this poor fool has money, I'm glad. Where was it?"

"I forget. I think it was in a pocket under his foolish green coat, where the other money was."

"What other money?" asked Fay innocently. "Was it much—I mean the dough you found?"

"About two thousand," said Jim, and Fay uttered an exclamation of annoyance.

"Do you hear that, Julius?" she asked sharply. "He had two thousand pounds in his pocket." She recovered her self-possession with an effort. "I'm very glad," she said without any great heartiness, "though it is a waste of good money, because a man like Lacy doesn't know how to spend it. Spending is an art, Feathers; you have to be educated up to it. I suppose it was in the left pocket of those funny pants of his?" she asked carelessly.

"I'm not sure, Fay," said Jim, "but I believe it was."

"And I told you, Julius—" she began reproachfully. Julius coughed. "I told you," she went on, "to take his gun and leave the money alone. You see how nicely Julius behaved, Feathers?"

"Honest to goodness, Fay, are you going to run this farm of yours?"

She nodded. "Mr. Howett is going to help us," she said. "And mind you, Feathers, in spite of our having capital—money that Julius has saved through years' of hard work—"

Jim laughed. "I'm not going to inquire how Julius got the money," he said, "and I'm willing to accept the story you told me just now, that the old man gave it to him. So don't think up any new explanation."

He took her by the shoulders, and, before Savini's discriminating and approving eye, he kissed her lightly on the cheek. "You're too good a woman to b a crook, and too nice a woman, and at heart too straight a woman," he said quietly. "And if Julius lets you go that way again I shall never forgive him."

She did not speak until Jim had gone, and then: "Did you see that, Julius?" she asked a little unsteadily. "I like his cheek!"

"He likes yours apparently," said Julius, fixing a limp and soggy 'fifty' on the end of the toasting-fork. "That fellow's too good for a policeman."

There are points of view.

66. THE SECRET OF THE GREEN ARCHER

The following morning Jim attended by appointment to meet Mr. Howett. Valerie had gone to town with her mother, and John and Howett were alone. And he was his old brisk self; the kindly eyes that gleamed behind strong glasses held the old power, the old command.

"It seems to me that you ought to know the whole story from beginning to end, Captain Featherstone," he said. "I think Valerie has already told you—no, I will begin at the very beginning.

"There were two brothers, Abel and Michael Bellamy. Abel was the elder, Michael six years his junior. The Bellamys' circumstances were very much like mine; that is to say, they were poor at first, and they could not give to Abel the education they certainly gave to Mike. From the very first Abe hated his brother, and when, as he grew up, he saw the difference in their social position, he hated with a more bitter and a more decisive loathing. Almost from the first Abe made money. He had a remarkable series of successful building speculations. Gold simply flowed into his lap, but for all that he never forgave his brother for his educational advantages, or, it may be, for the favour that had been shown to the younger son; and after their parents' deaths he lost no time in plotting his brother's downfall.

"He might have grown tired of that hobby, but, happily or unhappily, Michael fell in love with a woman—the only woman in the world who has ever inspired anything which bears the slightest resemblance to love in Abel's life. Her name was Held—Elaine Held, a girl of a good family, who committed the indiscretion of showing Bellamy how much his ugliness appalled her. Abe, in his brutal way, went to the girl's father, offered him a large sum of money if he would stop the marriage of Michael and Elaine and induce the girl to marry him. The father, who was a member of a good social set in Cleveland, rejected the idea indignantly, and the marriage took place.

"It was the first serious set-back that Abe Bellamy had met with in his career, and he took it to heart to such an extent that he spent years in organising methods for bringing his brother to ruin. From time to time he made attempts to induce Elaine to divorce her husband on some excuse and. marry him. Elaine never told her husband, and to the day of his death poor Michael Bellamy knew nothing of the cause of his ruin.

"A child was born—a boy—and for a time Abel ceased his persecution. It was after the birth of the second child that, meeting Elaine by chance one day in York, the old desire seems to have revived, and he renewed his old plea. When she rejected his suggestion, it was, I believe, in such terms as would leave Bellamy no doubt as to how she felt about him, and he went away swearing revenge. A month later the little girl, the second child, was taken out by its nurse, and whilst the attention of the girl was distracted elsewhere the child was kidnapped.

"Abe sought the distracted mother and father as a disinterested friend, offered to expend the whole of his wealth to recover the baby. Secretly he conveyed to the woman the price she had to pay, which was then, as always, that she should divorce her husband and marry him. She dared not tell Michael, although she was suspicious that Abe Bellamy was behind the abduction. She could only pray that his heart would be softened and the child restored. At last, when Michael had decided to put detectives on the trail, Abe Bellamy seized the opportunity which the River Bend disaster offered, and sent a man to drop the child's shoe near other personal debris that had been gathered for purposes of identification—and the rest was easy. Faked witnesses were produced who saw the woman and the child, and the hunt was dropped."

"But that was not Valerie," said Jim. "That occurred twenty years ago, and Valerie came to you twenty-three years ago!"

"There were two River Bend disasters. That is where John Bellamy made a mistake. The first occurred twenty-three years ago; there was one at exactly the same spot three years later. Wood, or Bellamy as I will call him, had only the scrappiest of information go upon. He had heard from his mother the story of the girl's abduction, and had not attempted to verify the date of the River Bend disaster until his mother had disappeared.

"Soon after this terrible happening Michael Bellamy died, and never doubting that now she was a widow she would marry him, Abe Bellamy came to the girl—she was still a girl—and renewed his suit, only again to be rejected. He threatened all kinds of vengeance, and remembering the fate that had overtaken her daughter, the death of whom she had laid at Bellamy's door, she raised what money she could, sold the little property which her husband had left her, and went to England. It was years before Bellamy traced her. She living in her maiden name, in comfortable circumstances, at a place not many miles from here—at Guildford. Her son was training in a technical college to be an engineer when Bellamy again appeared on the scene, and, making no proposal of marriage, but posing only as one who regretted his folly and was repentant, induced her to withdraw her savings, which were invested in a sound commercial concern, and to put them into some wild-cat scheme, with the result that she lost almost every cent. Her courage was wonderful. She took what was left of her shattered fortune and removed to London, taking the boy with her, and living near the college where he was receiving his final training.

"Bellamy had once struck at Elaine through her child. He decided to repeat his tactics. The boy found himself surrounded by people who were anxious to show him hospitality, and, suspecting nothing, he was taken to a house in the West End, where wealthy, foolish people are preyed upon by professional gamblers and their harpies. Young Bellamy was neither rich nor foolish; he hadn't been in this gilded den very long before he realised its character. Before he could go, one of the women made an outcry that she had been robbed of a diamond brooch. The police were called in, the brooch was found in Bellamy's pocket, or rather pinned on the inside of his evening jacket, which he had taken off to play a game of billiards, and he was brought before a magistrate and sent to prison for six months with hard labour.

"This time Bellamy came into the open. He told the woman that he was responsible, made no secret that he had engineered the whole thing, and threatened even worse penalties. It was about this time that he bought Garre Castle, and from the first, I think, he was influenced by the strength of it, and by the opportunities which it had for holding prisoner the object of his malice. So far as John Bellamy was concerned, he was as good as his word. One of Abe's satellites brought him into touch with a crook warder, a man named Creager, who had been under suspicion of trafficking with prisoners, and on one occasion nearly lost his job. It was probably Creager who sketched the outlines of their dastardly plot. Abe would hardly know the law of England or the rules of prisons, and it is likely that Creager himself was the author of the frame-up which followed.

"One morning a cry for help was heard from Bellamy's cell, and Creager staggered out with his head bleeding. You remember there was a letter which came into your possession, in which Creager said that he was certain to get hurt. The wound was self-inflicted by a spade, which had no right to be in the cell, and which Creager afterwards swore the man had smuggled in inside his clothes. The boy—he was little more—was taken to the punishment cell, and in course of time brought before the visiting justices.

"Now, in prisons, as you know, Captain Featherstone, there is only one punishment for a man who assaults the guard, and that is the lash. It is a horrible punishment, though I am not saying that for certain crimes it is not more effective than imprisonment. The boy received thirty-five lashes, and bears the marks on his shoulders to this day. When he came out of prison he went in search of his mother, only to find that she had disappeared. With the prison taint on him, he changed his name to John Wood, and, working night and day, alternately at his lathe and in search of his mother, he succeeded in inventing a very valuable device, which he subsequently patented and which has brought him a small fortune.

"All this time he never ceased to search for Elaine Held. When the war broke out he joined the army. Here he had to give his own name, because the authorities demanded his birth certificate. He was reported killed whilst flying over Germany. The mistake was afterwards discovered and rectified in the official gazette, and one of the most extraordinary features of the case is that Abe Bellamy did not know that this correction had been made.

"The boy's passion for children developed with his fortune. He founded one of a series of homes for babies in Belgium; and I believe, is extending his scheme to England and America. And, of course, he made the will in favour of John Wood, because, as a soldier, he had accumulated a number of things which he wanted to come back to himself, and that was the only way. There again we have the fact that the English authorities never bothered to discover whether or not Bellamy was dead. They accepted the official notification, and Bellamy passed into possession of the legacy which he had left himself!"

Jim waited for him to go on, but apparently Mr. Howett had finished. "And that is all the story, Captain Featherstone," said the grave man.

Jim looked up at the ceiling and puffed a ring of smoke upwards. "In Cloister Wood there is a cottage," he said. "That cottage is exactly five miles by road from the Addley Aerodrome, which maintains a mail connection with Belgium summer and winter."

"I believe that is so."

"I am told," said Jim, still regarding the ceiling with a fixed gaze, 'that Mr. Wood was a frequent passenger."

"That may have been the case."

"Used to arrive late in the afternoon and leave early in the morning. Was always in Belgium if you wired to him, as one did after the Creager murder."

"That is possible," said Mr. Howett again.

"Another curious accomplishment of John Wood Bellamy is his proficiency with the bow and arrow, which may be, as you say, Mr. Howett, a coincidence, just as it was in your case."

"How do you know?" asked Mr. Howett quickly.

"I had inquiries made in Belgium quite a long time ago—in fact, after the death of Coldharbour Smith—and I discovered that Wood was in London. And I found that quite close to Wenduyne is an extensive stretch of sand-dunes, where a man, an eccentric Englishman—they called him an Englishman, though he is an American—could practise archery for many hours a day, and had been doing so for years, even before the war. That, you will admit, is remarkable."

Mr. Howett turned squarely to face Jim Featherstone. "I'm going to ask you a question, Featherstone," he said. "You're an officer of the police, and you have certain duties to do; but I understand that there are times when the police turn a blind eye, even to the most heinous crimes. You call that 'acting in the public interest.' It is a fetish with the people of this country, this 'public interest'; and I'm not so certain that it wasn't a fetish that decent people can worship. Who is the Green Archer?"

"You ask me that," said Jim, "in all seriousness?" Mr. Howett nodded. "I will tell you who the Green Archer is," said Jim, still avoiding the old man's eyes. "He is the man who took Elaine Held from the dungeon where the old man kept her, and carried her off in the middle of the night, and brought her to Lady's Manor, and was discovered by you and held up by you at the pistol-point, until you learnt the truth and assisted him to escape."

"I didn't know who he was," said Mr. Howett quickly. "His face was masked. I found the underground passage later by accident. In fact, I once went into Garre Castle and was seen by Julius."

"Bellamy made a similar discovery when he went down to the store- room to look for milk. Lacy told me that this morning," said Jim. "The weeping woman, whose voice Valerie heard, was Elaine Held, and she was driven by a circuitous route to the cottage in the wood. The Green Archer is the man whose boat you found the night Smith was killed. He is the man who was near enough to Spike Holland in the vestibule of the Carlton Hotel to hear Creager, whom he recognised and who did not recognise him, any more than Abe Bellamy recognised him when he went to buy the castle. He heard Creager, I say, tell Holland that he had a good story, and decided upon his death rather than that story should be told, for he misguidedly imagined that the story was of his flogging, and that he was to be betrayed, and all his midnight searchings of Garre Castle were to be in vain.

"The Green Archer is the man who saw Valerie go over the wall into the grounds of Garre Castle, and, abandoning his usual method, followed her and saved her from the dogs. I will go further," Jim went on carefully. "He was one of the first of the men to meet Valerie when she came out from the castle. He was the man who took Mrs. Bellamy's diary, which disclosed her identity."

"What are you going to do? Give him a name?" asked Mr. Howett.

"It is not in the public interest that I should name my future brother-in-law," said Jim, "even if he is a murderer"—the challenge this time was definite—"even if he is an executioner," said Jim, and the old man held out his hand.

"If I know anything about the workings of your mind, Jim Featherstone," he said, "you're going to resign from a good job. Maybe you're right. They tell me you've got money of your own, or I'd offer you the best position it is in my power to give you."

"I should like to be your son-in-law," said Jim, and for a second the old man's face clouded.

"Well, you may even be that," he said thoughtfully. "It depends entirely upon what answer Elaine Bellamy returns to a question which I am going to put to her just as soon as she is well enough to discuss matrimony."

END