THE GREEN ARCHER - 3

THE GREEN ARCHER

EDGAR WALLACE

( INSTALMENT 3 )

34. THE ARCHER

The hounds of Garre were now kennelled in an ancient shed that had held the hunting dogs of the de Curcys in the days when Columbus was a child playing in the streets of Genoa. Abe Bellamy had laid down a rule for their feeding. Their last meal was in the early afternoon; after that they were left hungry, by design. A hungry dog was a wakeful dog, argued the old man, and a savage dog too. It was he who gave them their morning food; usually he found them sitting in a solemn line before his bedroom door, their intelligent faces turned up at him.

"You're going to town tomorrow, Savini. I want you back early. You're married, I hear?"

"Yes, sir," replied Julius, wondering from whence the information had come. Featherstone, he knew, had not told. Then the explanation flashed on him. Coldharbour Smith, a man to whom the loyalties were unknown!

"Pretty smart kind of wife you've got, they tell me," said Bellamy, looking at the secretary from under his shaggy brows. "A good-looker, huh?"

"Yes, sir," said Julius, wondering what was coming next.

"Smith has a fine job for her," said Bellamy, returning to the survey of an illustrated newspaper. "I guess you won't mind her making money—honestly?"

Julius overlooked the insult, in his curiosity to discover what the old man was driving at. This was indeed an unexpected development, though he did not for one moment imagine that his employer was acting the part of disinterested friend. That was not Bellamy's way. "I'm very glad to hear you say that, sir," he said deferentially. "Fay is a good girl and knows nothing about the life I lived—"

"Don't lie; she was one of your gang." Julius cursed the informer silently. "If she was honest I shouldn't have any use for her. At least, Smith wouldn't. Write to her, Savini—no, see her. You are going to town tomorrow. Drop in and talk to her. Tell her that if Smith wants her help she's to give it. She'll be paid well. Tell her that."

His characteristic head-jerk terminated the interview. Julius went to bed after seeing the old man on his way to the kennels. He never waited for the arrival of the dogs.

In a few minutes Bellamy was back, his famished hounds at heel. They waited expectantly whilst he barred and bolted the door, then followed him up the broad stairway. At the entrance of his room he stopped to look round. One dog was stretched at the head of the stairs, the others were sniffing at the door of Savini's room.

Two o'clock was chiming when the door leading to the storeroom opened stealthily inch by inch. So slowly, so noiselessly, that a dog lying a dozen yards away did not look round. As slowly the door closed again, but on the floor near to the wall was something that had not been there before—a large bowl of milk. The first to see it was one of the dogs that had been wandering about the hall below, and the sound of his noisy lapping brought his companions.

The hungry beasts gathered about the bowl, their heads buried in its depth. Soon the bowl was empty, and one by one they strolled off to lie contentedly, licking the spots of milk that had fallen on their paws. The first of the hounds to find the milk stretched himself, his head between his paws and his eyes closed. Then almost simultaneously the second and third of the dogs lay over on their sides. Five minutes passed, and a green figure slipped through the door, went swiftly to the head of the stairs where the switch controlling the hall lights was concealed; a touch; and the corridor was in darkness.

Silently he moved, stooping to lift one of the dogs to the side. The dog half opened his eyes, and the green man patted him and smoothed the silky ears. The animal was asleep again in a second.

In the faint light he stood motionless outside Abe Bellamy's room. Slim and terrifyingly tall he looked. The bloated white face was grotesque and appalling in its immobility. In one hand he held a long green bow, a full quiver hung at his side, the green feathers of their butts shimmering. He waited for a long time, then, stooping, he thrust a thin, long-nosed instrument into the keyhole. Attached to the handle was a thin wire which ran into the quiver. He gripped the end of the key and turned it. He made no sound, even as he twisted the handle and drew the door wide open, revealing the leather-covered inner door. Again the instrument in his hand was applied, this time to the end of the iron rod which ran through the door and served at its other side to retain the catch when it rose. Whatever the instrument was, it must have been highly magnetised, for its current acted through the iron bar, lifting the catch sufficiently to allow the door to be pushed open ...

When Abe Bellamy woke, the phosphorescent figures of the clock at the side of his bed pointed to a quarter-past four. He had grown accustomed to looking at the doors to see whether they were open. They were, he noted, shut, and he lay down again. Moving his pillow to make himself more comfortable, he heard a faint jingle of steel, and got out of bed with a curse to retrieve his key chain, which had fallen to the floor. He did not go to sleep again, but lay thinking, and his thoughts were not pleasant. Valerie Howett! She would be asleep now, and even into her dreams, he thought, no hint of her danger would come.

Here, in one respect, he was wrong. Valerie Howett was at that precise moment very much awake.

To all women, at some period of their lives, comes the realisation that their lives, hitherto free and untrammelled, are in the keeping and largely in the disposition of others. The knowledge is sweet, but it can irritate also. And it is all the more irritating when no definite claim has been made to this mastership and relationships are still vague and uncertain.

Valerie Howett had reached the stage with Jim Featherstone that, whilst any serious talk of love or marriage was not entertained, she felt so far bound to him that, if any man had proposed marriage to her, she would have regarded herself as engaged. Yet no word of love had passed between them. She did not even know if he was free to marry. She tried to settle the matter in her mind by reviewing the circumstances under which she had become acquainted with the Police Commissioner, but abandoned that line of examination when she realised that, in all probability, Jim Featherstone was interested in her only as "a case." He had been asked by her father to take a professional interest in her, and probably his interest was still professional, despite that queer thrill in his voice when he had bade her good night at the gate. She turned her mind to the more flattering speculation.

It seemed a very long time since she had seen him last, though in point of actual fact it was only a matter of hours; and it was because she missed him with such unaccountable poignancy that she was angry with herself and deliberately tore up the letter she had been writing to him. Mr. Howett had retired earlier than usual, and she left a servant to lock up, and went to bed a little dissatisfied with her own inconsistency. For somehow the search for Elaine Held had lost some of its urgency, and she could not understand why. Her room was in the front of Lady's Manor, overlooking the strip of garden. Beyond the hedge which bordered Lady's Manor was the road. Looking from her window, she saw a man strolling along the centre of the road, and caught the gleam of his cigar. She smiled inwardly, knowing that it was Spike Holland who had taken upon himself her guardianship. And this thought of Jim's care cheered her.

Usually she slept well, but this night she tossed and turned for an hour before she fell into a fitful sleep. Twice she wakened and the second time decided to get up and heat some milk. She looked out into the deserted road; Spike was not in sight. She hoped he had gone home to bed. Pulling on her dressing-gown, she found her slippers and lit a candle, and she had opened the door of the room when she heard something which made her blow out her candle. It was the sound of voices, whispering voices, and they came from below.

Her heart was thumping painfully as she crept to the balustrade and looked down into the hall. There was nothing to be seen, but the voices were distinct, and somebody was crying softly. She was not dreaming; she pinched herself to make sure. Should she arouse her father? Her hand was raised to knock at his door, but she hesitated.

Again came the whispered colloquy from below, and that undercurrent of soft weeping which did not cease. It could not be a servant; if any of the servants had been taken ill in the night the girl would have come to her.

She turned the handle of her father's door and went in, moving her hand in search of him. The bed was empty! She could not believe the evidence of her senses. She struck a match with trembling fingers and lit the candle. The bed had not been slept in. His pyjamas lay neatly folded on the pillow.

She was bewildered and then relieved. It must have been Mr. Howett she had heard. Probably a maid had come to him.

She carried the candle down the stairs, and at the first sound of her foot, soft as it was, on the staircase, the whispering and the sobbing ceased. She went straight to the drawing-room; the sounds had come from there. She tried the door, but it was locked.

"Who's there?" she asked quickly, breathlessly.

No answer came for a moment, and then she heard the whispers again, and: "It is father, Valerie."

"What is the matter?" she asked with a sigh of thankfulness.

"I'm seeing a friend; I will come up to you," was the hesitant reply.

"But who is it, Daddy?" she asked in surprise.

"Please go to bed, dear." Mr. Howett's voice was urgent. "I don't want the servants aroused."

Reluctantly she turned and made her way back to her room; Who was the friend who called at this hour of the morning, and why had her father not gone to bed? It was so unlike him. He was a man of routine, who had never done anything unusual within her recollection. She always thought of him as one who hated mysteries, and here he was participating in the greatest mystery of all. She could not understand it; it was so unlike him. Nevertheless, she was glad that his was one of the whispering voices; but whose was the other?

She sat on the edge of her bed, her door open, listening.

Presently she heard the sound of somebody coming from the drawing- room and the click of the lock as the front door was opened. Curiosity got the better of her, and she stole softly to the head of the stairs and looked down. Fortunately she was holding the rail, or she would have fallen. For there, in the centre of the hall, dimly illuminated by the light which came through the open door, was the Green Archer.

35. DOUBT

One glance she gave at that sinister figure, and then she turned and fled to her room, locking the door behind her. It was incredible, impossible, outside the bounds of reason. Her father! And who had been his visitor? She heard the soft purr of a car, but did not get up to look. Instinctively she knew that the stranger had gone and that it was the stranger whose sobs she had heard. But Mr. Howett—the Green Archer! Her brain whirled.

She sat with her head in her hands, and did not stir when she heard him go to his room and close and lock the door.

Valerie went down early to breakfast. She had a headache and was feeling dead tired, but she was anxious to hear what explanation her father offered—she could not think of him in any other way but as her father—for the happening of the night. She must not even so much as hint that she knew his secret, she told herself; and when he came in to breakfast she greeted him as though nothing had happened.

"Your visitor kept you very late, Daddy," she said as she seated herself opposite to him. He looked pale and ill; evidently he had not slept either.

"Yes, Val," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes. "I promised I'd come along and see you last night, didn't I? I ... well, I had rather a shock. I wonder if you would mind if I did not discuss it?"

"Of course I don't mind, dear," she said with a cheerfulness she did not feel.

"I expect you were a little frightened," he said, reopening the subject himself some time later, "and that's just the thing I didn't want to happen. Did you go into my room?" she nodded. "And found the bed empty. Well, that must have worried you, dear. I would give a lot of money not to have had you wake up."

"Was it anybody very important?"

"Very important indeed," he answered gravely. "Valerie, I don't like the way these eggs are served." It was an old complaint of his, and one which he invariably employed when he wished to change a breakfast—table subject. "I am going to town today," he said when the meal was over. "There's a man coming from Philadelphia I want to see pretty badly, and perhaps I'll be late returning."

He was so full of explanation for his visit to town that she knew that he had not told her the real reason. But she did not question him, and to all appearance saw nothing extraordinary in his conduct, even though he must have remembered that he told her, only the previous day, that only illness would take him away from his history, In one sense she was glad that he was going. There were some questions she wished to ask the servants, and perhaps a close scrutiny of the drawing-room would reveal to her the identity of the visitor.

He left immediately after breakfast. Spike, seeing him go, hurried to the house. "Nothing wrong, is there, Miss Howett?" he asked anxiously.

"What a question for the Howetts' guardian angel!" she smiled, and Spike made a wry face. "Your guardian angel sat down in the shelter of a hedge and fell into a state of coma." Then, seeing her look of alarm, Spike stated in plainer language that he had fallen asleep. "I ought to be in bed preparing for my duty," he said, "but the truth is that the days are so full of interest that I never think about retiring until it is nearly time to go on patrol. There is trouble in the castle."

"What has happened?"

"The Emerald One got busy last night, and when old man Bellamy woke up this morning he found his dogs sleeping off the effects of an almighty jag they'd had in the night."

"Drugged again?" she asked in surprise.

Spike nodded. "I've just seen Julius. He says the old man's keeping those dogs in his room in future, and he's just raising Cain! Had all the servants up, questioned and cross-examined them, and talks about calling in the police."

"Poor Mr. Savini must be in a terrible state of mind," smiled the girl sympathetically.

"As a matter of fact, he isn't," replied Spike. "I've never seen him so pert and lively. Treated the whole thing as a joke, and says he wishes the Green Archer had poisoned the dogs instead of doping them. Your father's out very early, Miss Howett."

"Yes, he has an appointment in London."

"So has Julius," prattled Spike. "By the way, I've been on the 'phone to Featherstone this morning."

"Mr. Holland, did a car pass you very early this morning?"

"Yes," he said instantly, "it was that that woke me up—a two- seater Delarge, all hooded up though it was not raining. I wondered where it had come from so early. Why?"

"I saw it passing my window. It woke me up too," she replied untruthfully, and the interest faded from Spike's face.

"You didn't see who was driving it?" she asked.

"I caught a glimpse. It was the head-lamp that woke me up; and you must be a pretty light sleeper, Miss Howett, because it was less noisy than any big car I've seen for a long time. What struck me was that it was a woman driving, somebody in a long cloak. I only saw her for a fraction of a second."

"There was nobody else in the car?"

"I wouldn't swear to that," said Spike. "Why are you asking me this, Miss Howett?" he demanded suspiciously. "Nothing happened at Lady's Manor last night?"

"Nothing," she said hastily. "Only I wondered who it was that would be driving at that hour of the morning:" Spike out of the way, she began the tactful questioning of the servants. They added nothing to her knowledge. Nor did the drawing-room yield any clue to the identity of the visitor. Should she search her father's room? Loyalty to the man whose love had first saved and then cherished her made her reject that plan, and she was reduced to the confirmation which her own eyes had given her.

36. THE EMPTY DUNGEON

Julius found Abe Bellamy in the park on his return from town the next day. For once the old man seemed to be anxious to see him, for he held up his hand and stopped the car half-way up the drive, and Julius got out.

"Have you seen your wife?" he barked.

"Yes, sir, I saw her."

"Is she going to do what I—Mr. Smith wishes her to do?"

"No," said Julius boldly, 'she says she doesn't care for the job."

"I suppose you know that means I'm going to fire you?" threatened Bellamy.

"I shall be very sorry, sir—" began Julius.

"Give me the money," growled Bellamy, and the secretary counted into his hand the notes he had drawn from the bank. Julius was near the entrance to the hall, when Abe called him back. "Did your wife tell you what Mr. Smith wanted?"

"No, sir," said Julius.

The old man's eyes searched him. "That will do," he said.

He had ordered his dinner early, for that day he had gone without lunch. It made little difference to the grey woman. She had a supply of canned food which helped to keep her alive when, as sometimes he did, Bellamy spent days without making a visit. Once he had purposely allowed her emergency supplies to run out, and had kept her two days without food—a piece of malice which, to his annoyance, she had passed without comment.

If the castle was the apple of his eye, then this secret prison of his was its very core. With his own hand he had furnished it, with his own hands connected its gas-supply and installed its ventilation. To introduce electricity involved too many dangers. A short circuit would bring prying electricians to the castle; the wires could not be as well hidden as was the other means of illumination. He had worked a week to connect one of the old chimneys of the main building with this subterranean room and provide a constant supply of fresh air.

Dinner was brought in at six, and was of the usual proportions, and Julius, who superintended the placing of the table, withdrew. This time the old man ate his dinner first, before he loaded the tray for his unfortunate guest. His mind was on the Green Archer. How wonderful it would be to capture him and thrust him down that Little Ease down below ground-level, and clang the steel gates fast in his face and leave him there to eat out his heart year after year and at last to die all unknown. The stone trap from the upper dungeons could be cemented down. He could be left there until madness came to him ... Abel Bellamy breathed more quickly at the thought. Who was he? He had suspected Julius at first; then he had thought it might be that prying policeman Featherstone. Or was it a woman? Was it Valerie? That would be a sweet revenge. He would make a newer dungeon for Valerie, on the lower level. He shook his head; the other way was best. Smith! He chuckled heavily as he rose and pushed back the writing-table.

He was taking his time tonight, for he was not in the mood to be hurried. The parquet flooring came up on its concealed hinges; he snapped back the lock in the stone and set it swinging on its axle. But even then he did not descend the stairs. He was trying to get Valerie Howett right. What was best—that Smith should take her? ... He did not trust Smith, and was he to trust him to the extent of making life a hell for that daughter of Elaine Held?

Balancing the tray, he went down into the dark, lit the gas, and opened the door. As he placed the tray on the table he called the woman by name, and this time he went straight to her sleeping-room and kicked open the door. "Here's your food. Answer me when I call you," he roared. Only the echo of his voice came back.

"Elaine!" he shouted. Had she followed his advice—had she died? Had she sought, in the turned gas faucets, a way out of her imprisonment? He could not smell gas.

He pushed open the door of the kitchen. It was empty. The bathroom—empty. He ran from room to room like a madman, chased round. the pillars as though she were concealed behind one of them, threw over the settee with a crash, ran back to the door and peered out. "Elaine!" he screamed. But Elaine was not there. The grey woman had gone!

Where was she? She must be there, she must! There was no way out. The walls were solid. There were none of the secret doors and passages in which they had told him Garre Castle abounded. He had tested every stone, every flag in the worn floor. He ran into the bedroom and pulled the bed away from the wall. Perhaps she was hiding there to frighten him. But the bed was empty; there was nobody there. Her meagre wardrobe was hanging on two pegs that with difficulty had been driven into the wall.

He sat down dully, his head in his hands. The grey lady was gone. But where? How could she get out? There was only one way, and that was by way of the library. Even if she had got through the door ... But she couldn't pass that way. The door was bolted. The Green Archer ... the Green Archer again! The Green Archer could not have passed through the floor. No other key would turn that lock. It had been made especially by a German lockmaker, that and the safe, and the same key fitted both—that tiny key that sent steel arms crashing into their sockets, and held the stone immovable.

He carried the tray back to the library and examined the stone trap before he closed it. There was no suggestion, not so much as a scratch upon its surface, that it had been forced. The key had no duplicate; it was impossible that the grey woman could have gone that way. It was nearly nine o'clock when he came out of the library, and Julius stared at him, for in three hours the man's whole appearance had changed. He was hollow- eyed, grey of face, horrible.

"Get me a connection with Limehouse," he said. "And tell Sen I want him—here."

Julius wondered. Never before had Sen, the chauffeur, crossed the threshold of Garre Castle.

Sen was by birth Chinese. Abe Bellamy had found him when he was on a flying visit to Seattle—a lank, inscrutable man, who had been trained at the American Mission in Hankow. He had the curious quality of understanding four languages and speaking none, for he had been dumb from birth. It was this latter advantage, more than Sen's erudition, which secured him a job; Abe had paid for his training in a motor—school, and had maintained him in his employ for eighteen years. He lived over the garage that Bellamy had built in an extreme corner of the park. Here he lived frugally and cleanly, occupying such time as the big Rolls did not claim in the translation of the "Lun Yii"—that book of books—into English. What wages Sen received, nobody but Bellamy knew. What he did with it, nobody, not even his master, guessed.

Sen had one god, and his name was Abel Bellamy, though the old man did not speak a dozen sentences to him in the course of the year. Perhaps of his affliction was born a new sense, a keener perception of Bellamy's mind. He was the one man in the world that Abe did not bully or get into a passion with. Sen had, his orders by the private telephone wire, and tapped the transmitter once to signal that he understood, or twice if he wished the message repeated. He was good-looking for a Chinaman, with dark, sombre eyes and good features. In his chauffeur's uniform his very nationality was disguised. In a pocket of the car near to his hand he kept a number of cards. On one was printed "I am dumb, but I understand you," and on the other were requirements such as petrol, tyres, etc., which it might be necessary to secure on a journey.

His aloofness from the castle household was complete. He avoided even Julius, and the only attempt that the secretary had ever made to make friends had been met by a cold stare and the hasty retreat of Sen.

Julius, at the telephone, called the chauffeur, and the answering tap came immediately. "Mr. Bellamy wants you to come right away. He doesn't want the car, he wants you." Sen arrived soon after. In his moments of leisure he wore his big-sleeved blouse, and with his hands concealed in their folds he went into the presence of his master.

"Take the second car to Newbury Junction, wait in the dark road leading from the station, and change the number plate. You will pick up a man, and go where he tells you. You will return to Garre tonight."

Sen bowed his head, waited for further instructions, and, none being forthcoming, he went out.

37. FAY GOES AGAINST HER PRINCIPLES

Jim Featherstone was dressing for dinner, and his valet remarked casually that he did not seem to enjoy the prospect of a function to which he had been looking forward—a reunion with old war comrades, for he was attending the annual dinner of his old regiment.

"Angus, you have spoken the truth," said Jim. "I never felt less inclined to listen to patriotic speeches and emotional references to dangers shared and hardships borne."

"Maybe when you've had a drink or two—" began the valet hopefully.

"If you mean to suggest that I can't be happy unless I get drunk," said the annoyed Jim, "I can only tell you, Angus, that you lie in your boots. I don't want to go to this dinner because I'd rather be somewhere else."

Whilst he readjusted the dress tie with nimble fingers, Jim wondered what the sedate Angus would say if he confessed that he would much rather be sitting in a drawing-room at Garre looking into the most lovely eyes in the world. Angus would probably despise him, for he was a loveless man who, when he was at home, lived with his mother, and raised rabbits for profit.

The dinner was a very cheery gathering, and for a moment Jim regretted the carelessness that would have kept him from meeting so many good fellows with whom he had lived, and very nearly died, in those hideous years in Flanders. The festivities ceased, so far as Jim was concerned, at eleven o'clock, at which hour he left for Scotland Yard to receive reports, for he was acting in the place of a superior on his holidays. He was in his office, running rapidly through the brief notes of arrest that had been reported, when the clerk on night duty came in.

"There's a lady to see you, sir," he said.

"Has she been waiting?"

"No, sir, she's just come."

"Who is she?" said Jim, his mind flying instantly to Valerie.

"I don't know her, sir. She says it is very important. She's a Miss Clayton."

"Fay!" said Jim in surprise. "Show her in, please." And then: "Why, Fay, this is an unexpected joy."

She stood in the doorway surveying him and, against her will admiring him, for Jim was a fine figure of a man in his evening kit, his chest glittering with decorations. "Nobody would think you were a policeman, Featherstone. You look almost like a gentleman. What is the passementerie effect on your coat?"

"They're medals won at the Cattle Show. Won't you sit down? Well, Fay, what brings you here?"

"I wish you'd forget that Fay stuff," she said primly. "I suppose you know I'm married? Not that I really mind. I'm easygoing; that is my trouble. Featherstone," she said, her tone changing suddenly, "you be careful of that girl."

"Which girl?" he asked, recognising the seriousness of the warning. "You mean Miss Howett?"

She nodded. "There's something happening, and I can't quite see what it is. I had a visit from Coldharbour Smith this morning. You may know him. Of course you do."

"What about Coldharbour Smith?" he demanded impatiently. "What is the job? I'm sorry if I'm rough with you," he said, seeing her injured look, "but I'm more than a little anxious."

"He had a great scheme for playing a joke on Miss Howett," Fay went on. "Personally it didn't raise a laugh in me, and I'm pretty easy to amuse—I've laughed at jokes in Punch. The idea was to tell Miss Howett that a woman she's been looking for—her mother—was staying in Coldharbour's club, the Golden East, and, having thoroughly interested her, I was to take her to Limehouse, and—that's where my job ended, except for collecting five hundred. What do you think, Captain Featherstone?"

There was an expression in Captain Featherstone's face that made the question superfluous. "When was this to happen?" he asked.

"I don't know. No particular night was fixed, but I have an idea that it was this week."

He had risen and walked across to the fireplace, and was looking down at the blazing coal. She could not see his face, and she guessed that he had taken the position he had so that she should not.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am to you, Mrs. Savini," he said. "In turning down this suggestion you have acted as I should have expected any decent woman to act, and I can't tell you that I'm surprised."

A dull colour came slowly into the girl's face; it was the first compliment that she had been paid for many years. "I know this is a squeal," she said, "and I never dreamt I should do it."

"But you have done it, and it shan't stand against you." He looked at his watch; it was half-past eleven. "I wonder if I can get Spike Holland."

"I tried today—" she began, and he uttered an exclamation.

"It was you, then, Fay? Miss Howett told me that somebody was trying to get in touch with her. What a good, soul you are!" He walked across to her and offered his hand, and frowning uncomfortably, she took it.

"If you ask me to your wedding, Featherstone, and you miss any of the wedding presents, on the level it won't be me who took 'em," she said.

"Can you wait while I telephone?"

She nodded. He got through almost immediately to the Blue Boar, and to his amazement Spike came at once to the 'phone. "I thought you were on guard, Holland."

"No necessity, Captain. Miss Howett left about seven."

"Left with whom?" demanded Jim quickly.

"With one of your men—the man you sent down from Scotland Yard. Hasn't she reached you yet?"

"No," said Jim huskily as he put down the instrument.

"What is the matter?" asked the girl in a low voice.

"Miss Howett is not at Garre. She went away this evening with a man who pretended to be a detective from Scotland Yard," he said slowly. Only for a few seconds was he stricken to helplessness by the shock of the news. At the press of his bell a uniformed clerk came in, and he gave his orders quickly.

"Get K Division; order out all reserves; form a cordon about the Golden East. It is marked 37 on the raid plan of the division ... Got that?"

"Yes, sir," said the clerk, scribbling.

"All reserves of A Division on duty or in the station to join me immediately. Two police cars—hurry!"

From a drawer in his writing-table he took out a long-barrelled Browning, drew back the jacket, and pressed a cartridge home. He slipped it into the pocket of his evening dress and took up his coat from the table. "I was going to suggest that you should come with me, but I think you'd better not," he said. "Nobody saw you arrive at Scotland Yard?"

"Featherstone—" Fay's voice shook—"this man Coldharbour Smith knows something about me. It wouldn't interest you very much, but it means a whole lot if Julius knows. If he puts up a fight, get him good!"

The shade of a smile passed over his set face. "Bloodthirsty woman," he said with a touch of his old flippancy, and was gone..

By the time he reached the courtyard of that palace of gloom, half a dozen special service men were assembled, and to them briefly he told the object of the raid. "You understand, this is to be ostensibly a raid to catch the faro players. I've had a warrant on ice for three months, and I'm executing it tonight. I expect to find a lady concealed on the premises, and if I do I should treat it as a favour if one of you men will stop me shooting Coldharbour Smith."

38. THE RAID

A car came up at that moment, and they all bundled in, and were racing along the broad boulevard of the Thames Embankment before the second car had arrived. Through the deserted city, into the glare of Whitechapel. The theatres were disgorging their crowds, and progress was slower; yet within a quarter of an hour the car swung into the street on which the Golden East stood, and Jim sprang out before the driver had stopped. The cordon was already formed, and the street seemed to be filled with unobtrusive men, who closed in on the building as the car pulled up. Jim passed the door-keeper and ran up the stairs. The coon band was playing, and a dozen couples were dancing on the polished floor; but, oblivious to their comfort, he pushed past them into the bar to where the white-coated satellite of Coldharbour Smith was leaning nonchalantly upon the counter, seemingly absorbed in the dancing couples.

"Where's Smith?" asked Jim.

"He's not been here tonight, Captain."

Jim nodded, and turning to the ballroom, made a signal to the leader of the band, and the music stopped. "Everybody in this room will get their coats and wraps and will pass one by one before me," he ordered, and the guests obeyed with some alacrity, though there were one or two sulky- looking individuals who seemed to resent this disturbance of the harmony. In the meantime the special service men had flowed into the building, and two of them followed Jim behind the bar.

"The door's locked. Coldharbour's got the key," said the sulky barman.

Jim Featherstone put up his foot and drove with all his strength; the door opened with a crash. The lights were burning in the empty room, and on the table stood a pint bottle of champagne which was half empty. There was one glass. He took up the glass and smelt it. "Through that door." He pointed to the door leading to the street. "There's an exit below."

He himself continued up the stairs. At the top there was a small landing and a locked door, under which a line of light showed. He tapped, and instantly the light went out. Waiting no longer, he put his shoulder to the panel and drove in the door.

"Put on the lights," he ordered sharply. "Any man who attempts to rush me, I'll shoot."

A detective behind him threw a ray of light from an electric torch and revealed a dozen uncomfortable-looking men, a hint of a green table, and a scatter of cards, and then the light went on.

"You're all under arrest here," said Jim. "What are you playing—faro?"

"We're only playing bridge," said a voice.

"Tell that to the man on the bench tomorrow morning," said Jim tersely.

A door led out of the room, and he passed through to find himself in the kitchen of the establishment. There was nothing here. He came down again to the private room behind the bar, and found a disconsolate barman. "This is pretty tough on me, Captain. I only bought the business from Coldharbour a week ago. I've put every penny I've saved into it."

"Then you've lost it," said Jim savagely. He could see that the man was speaking the truth, and he remembered that Coldharbour had talked about handing over his business to somebody else. "I'll close this club in a week after I've had a conviction against the men upstairs. What do you think of that, Barnett?"

Barnett evidently did not think much of it. "It's tough on me—" he began.

"Was Coldharbour here tonight? Who was he with?" The man refused to speak. "I'll give you a chance. I'll make this case against you as light as possible, and I'll not move to suspend the licence of the club, if you tell me when Coldharbour Smith was here."

"He was here half an hour ago," said Barnett.

"Who was with him?"

"A lady."

"Who else?"

"The man that brought her up. He went away."

"And where are they now?"

"I don't know, Captain. I swear I don't know. All I know is that Coldharbour collected every cent of money that was due to him and slipped out. He said he was going to America or some place."

"How has he gone? No liner has left these shores for America or South America since Monday. How has he gone, Barnett?"

"I don't know, sir." The man hesitated. "He's always meeting these sea captains. They come here regularly. He's had a lot to do with one of them—been here for hours with him."

"Who was the captain?"

"A man called Fernandez. He's the part owner of a small tramp, and runs it himself—the Contessa; she's lying out in the Pool, or was this afternoon, because the skipper was in here."

Jim reached for the telephone and gave a number.

"Superintendent of Thames Division? ... It is Captain Featherstone speaking. I want the Contessa held. She's a tramp lying in the Pool ... Oh, you know her, do you?" He waited a moment whilst the divisional exchange put him through to the riverside station. "Yes ... Captain Featherstone speaking. I want the Contessa held, inspector ... She's in the Pool? Good!"

His car carried him to a sub-station of the Water Police on the riverside, and he jumped into the little motor-boat that was awaiting him.

"The Contessa shows no sign of moving," said he inspector in charge of the boat. "She's still at anchor."

"Has any boat left the Pool?"

"There was one went out early this morning—the Messina. She was a South American cargo-boat, too."

The tramp, with her riding lights on the mast, lay in the very centre of the Pool, that broad stretch of the Thames where the shipping of all the world forgathers sooner or later. The launch came alongside, and, catching the monkey ladder, the river policemen went aboard hand over fist, and Jim followed.

Apparently no watch was kept, for the deck was empty, and without ceremony the river policemen led the way below. The captain of the Contessa was awakened from a drunken sleep and hauled up to the saloon, which was on the deck level. He had seen nobody and had heard nothing, he said, when he was partially sober. He thought his crew were all drunk; at any rate, he was certain his officers were, and he was not mistaken.

"This can't be the ship," said the troubled Jim as they regained he deck. "These men are genuinely lit up, and there isn't a man on board who's capable of taking the ship down the river."

The search was thorough but short, for they made the startling discovery that the ship had no steam. Her fires were drawn and cold, and it was a physical impossibility for her to get under weigh, even though she had had any such design.

"It must have been the other ship that went down this afternoon," said Jim.

The river policeman shook his head.

"She'll be at sea now," he said, "unless she was waiting for this fellow to join her. He could very easily get to her by motorcar if she lay up for him off Tilbury."

They went down the monkey ladder again and joined the motor-boat, and Valerie Howett heard the chug-chug of the little motor as it made for the shore, and in her heart was blank despair.

39. FAY HAS A MESSAGE

"There's something to pay on this, miss," said the postman. Fay had come to the door in her dressing-gown, having been awakened from her sleep by the thunderous knocking at the door.

"I won't take any letter that isn't stamped," she said, annoyed.

"It isn't a letter and it isn't a post card," said the postman, examining the ragged slip in his hand.

"Who is it from?" asked Fay, and the carrier of mails grinned.

"It's against regulations to tell you, but it's from somebody called 'Julius'," he said, and she almost snatched it from his hand.

She had to go to her room to find the money, and it took her five minutes to decipher the message, which was written on a sheet of paper torn from a note book, on one side of which her address had been written in pencil. The writing was wild and shaky, but after a while she made out the meaning of it.

"Lacy has taken Miss H. Saw them in village and jumped the car. Went to G. East. Smith, L., and Miss H. come out and gone in boat to ship. Am following. Tell Featherstone."

Fay had no sooner mastered the note than she reached for the 'phone. She tried three numbers without finding Jim Featherstone, but left a message at each. She had finished dressing when the bell rang furiously, and Jim's tired voice answered her."

"Want me, Fay?"

She read the letter over the telephone without preliminary.

"Good for Julius. What is the postmark?"

She consulted the paper.

"E.5," she said. "Haven't you seen him—Julius?"

"No. Nor heard. He didn't say where he was or what was the ship?"

"No. He wouldn't know, would he?"

"True: I'll come up."

In ten minutes he was with her, a tired looking young man, unshaven and dusty. "We held up a ship at the mouth of the river, but they weren't aboard, They wouldn't have been if the ship Julius saw was in the river last night, for it was low tide and they wouldn't have pulled out until four o'clock this morning."

She had bustled round the kitchen and there was hot coffee for him, for which he was grateful. "There goes your 'phone," said Jim suddenly, jumping up. "Perhaps it is Julius. May I answer?"

"I'll risk getting a bad name," she said; "but you might explain that I'm not in the habit of having policemen to breakfast with me."

The moment Jim Featherstone heard the voice he recognised it as Abe Bellamy's. "Is Savini there?" he asked.

Jim beckoned the girl and handed the receiver to her. "Where's your husband?" asked the old man.

"He's not here, Mr. Bellamy. Isn't he at Garre?"

"Should I be asking for him if he was at Garre? He went out last night and didn't return. You can tell him to send for his clothes and his money. He's fired!"

"Perhaps he's with Lacy," said the girl sweetly. "Lacy went down to take Miss Howett to Coldharbour Smith—even the police know that."

There was so long a silence at the other end of the wire that she thought he had gone away. Then: "I know nothing about Lacy," he said in a milder voice, "and nothing about the Howett girl—what is this stuff you are giving me?" Another pause, and: "What are the police doing?"

She put her hand over the receiver and repeated his question. "Tell him we are holding up all ships in the river," whispered Jim.

"You've got somebody there," said the suspicious old man. "Who is it?"

Jim nodded. "Captain Featherstone," said the girl, and heard Bellamy swear and the "clok" of his receiver.

"Now the question is, where is Julius?" said Jim Featherstone. "I confess that I'm just a little relieved to know that he's around. I never dreamt that I should ever be relying on him!"

"You don't know Julius," said the proud wife.

Jim, unfortunately, knew Julius only too well, but he did not say as much. He returned to his office, where he had left Mr. Howett, who had received the news of his foster child's danger with extraordinary courage. "I can't believe that harm will come to her," he said. "You understand, Captain Featherstone, that you are to spare no expense to recover my girl."

"If money would buy her safety she would be free," said Jim as patiently as he could. "Forgive me if I'm a little irritable, but I'm nervy this morning. You were not at Lady's Manor when Miss Howett left?"

"No ... I was in London." Mr. Howett spoke with difficulty. "But if I had been at Garre I should not have stopped her going with a man I believed to be from Scotland Yard. Have you any kind of clue to work on?"

"I believe I have," said Jim after thinking for a time. He rang for his secretary. "Go to records, and look up Lacy—Henry Francis Lacy, if I remember rightly. He was convicted three years ago at the Old Bailey on a charge of burglary. Circulate his description to all stations. He is to be held wherever he is found under the Prevention of Crimes. Act, and I am to be notified immediately he is pulled in. Lacy is a land man," he said, "and unless he has a suspicion that he is wanted we shall probably find him somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Golden East. This is more likely because Barnett, the barman, did not tell me the name of the man who was with Smith, and one of the first things Lacy will go out to discover is how far he is implicated in this business."

"What do you make of Julius Savini's disappearance?"

Jim shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Julius is weird. There are streaks of decency in Julius Savini which nobody would suspect. I am satisfied that the note he sent to his wife was a perfectly genuine one, and that the man is somewhere close to Valerie. I never dreamt that I should envy Julius Savini," he added, half to himself.

A cold bath and a change of clothing brought Jim Featherstone, refreshed, to the chase. The Thames Police had organised a comprehensive search of every vessel lying in the Pool, from London Bridge to Greenwich, and Jim joined the little steam pinnace that carried the chief inspector from ship to ship. In every case they drew blank.

Passing the little ship that Jim had visited the night before, he saw a lazy curl of yellow smoke coming out of her discoloured funnel, but the only person visible was one of the untidy-looking seamen, who, with folded arms, was looking idly over the side.

"I suppose there's no advantage in searching her again," said Jim doubtfully.

"I don't think so, sir," replied the inspector. "They would hardly take this lady to a ship that wasn't even ready to get out of the river. I should think Barnett was lying when he said that Coldharbour had taken the young lady to the Contessa."

Jim nodded, but he looked back wistfully at the squat and ugly tramp, and wished that Barnett had been speaking the truth.

When he subsequently interviewed the barman, he found him almost in tears.

"If I die this minute, Captain, I didn't put you wrong. If I did, it was because Coldharbour must have known I was listening at the keyhole, and faked the talk."

"Did you hear anything else except that they were going to the Contessa?"

"Yes, sir, I heard Coldharbour say that he was going to marry the young lady when they got aboard. He was telling this Spanish captain what a good looker she was, and how he got one of the girls round here to go up West and buy a whole trunkful of clothes for her, because she wouldn't have any when she got aboard. I've put all my life savings into this club," said the distracted man, "and I've borrowed money on mortgage. You can imagine what I feel like, Captain! Why, I'd give Coldharbour away a dozen times over to save my money, and that's telling you straight."

Jim believed the man. If he had led the search party astray, it was through no fault of his own. Coldharbour had probably arranged the conversation; the fact that it must have been in English went to prove that it was not genuine.

More to the point—and this made for the salvation of Barnett's little fortune—it was not in the interests of the police to close the Golden East, as Jim had threatened. These crime 'sanctuaries' were becoming scarce, and it took a long time to work up the reputation of a new place. Moro's served its purpose, and, like a moth to the flame, drew all that was crooked in the West End. The Golden East did its duty at the other end of the town.

He was interrogating Barnett when Spike Holland arrived with news. Spike had come to London by road, and had stopped to make inquiries about the car which had carried the girl and the spurious police officer. "There was a man on the baggage carrier. He was seen at two or three places, particularly in one of the suburbs of London. A policeman saw him and wanted to pull him off, and from the description there's no doubt at all that it was Julius."

"Savini!" said Jim thoughtfully. "That accounts for his message. Now, where is Savini? If we can find him, it would be a simple matter to find Miss Howett."

"Old man Bellamy has come to town: he arrived this morning," said Spike. "It is difficult to get any news now that Julius is gone, and the lodge keeper is a poor substitute. But he told me that the old man has cleared out and he isn't returning for days. Which is curious," said Spike, "because Bellamy hasn't spent a night away from the castle for eight years—that's the one bit of information I got from the lodge- keeper that Julius couldn't supply. Captain, I've got a great hunch about the archer."

Jim Featherstone was in no mood to discuss the Green Archer for the moment, but he listened as patiently as he could.

"A man who can use the bow arid arrow skilfully and as accurately as this green bird must have had a whole lot of practice," said Spike. "Doesn't that strike you?"

"I haven't given it a great deal of thought," said Jim, a little impatiently. He was anxious to continue his search, and for once Spike was boring him.

"Archery isn't the game it used to be," Spike went on, "in the days of good King Hokum, when the merry lads and lasses tripped it on the green, and all the girls wanted to be seen with the man who got a gold—a gold is the medieval bull's-eye, in case you don't know it."

"I did know it," said Jim wearily. "Well, what are you driving at?"

"It struck me," said Spike earnestly, "that if we made a search amongst the archery societies, we might, by a process of elimination, unearth the green fellow. I'm going to see the secretary of the Toxophilite Society. What 'Toxophilite' means I don't know: it sounds like a new serum for measles; but maybe he'll tell me something."

"Go ahead," said Jim, who was genuinely glad to see the back of the reporter.

The Toxophilite Society had its headquarters at Regent's Park, and by great good luck Spike arrived on the ground almost simultaneously with an assistant secretary. "Yes, I can show you the list of members for the last thirty years," said that official, and Spike spent a studious afternoon in a close examination of the club's records.

It was when he was going through a record of old competitions that his finger stopped at a name and his mouth opened wide. He went in search of the secretary, and that gentleman returned with him to the little office. "I don't know the name," he said. "Is it amongst the list of members?"

Again they inspected the members' book, but the name did not occur.

"It was an open competition, which means that outsiders may have competed," said the secretary. "It is rather curious that the name is not amongst the members, because the shooting must have been magnificent. You see there were ten golds in succession. Do you know this person?"

"I think so," said Spike breathlessly. "Oh yes, I think so."

He had found the Green Archer at last!

40. JULIUS TAKES ACTION

Ships and their ways were mysteries to Julius Savini. He had travelled by sea, but he had never been on board a ship that was quite like the Contessa. Reaching the well of the foredeck, he glanced round: a steel ladder which led to the upper deck where the boats were swung offered the most likely place of concealment, and he climbed quickly, his weapon of offence under his arm. It was a short-bladed sword, and he had stolen it from a small boy who had been its proud possessor a quarter of an hour before.

Ancient though it was, its point was sharp; and though its edge lacked cutting qualities, it could in an emergency be employed with disastrous effects. He would like to have paid the boy, but he had no money, so he had stolen it, and, pursued by the howling battalion whose armament he had ravaged, he had fled to the little wharf from whence the girl had boarded the Contessa, and, finding a handy boat, had pulled away, passing the boat that was going back to the wharf to pick up Coldharbour Smith.

Julius was not a swordsman, and was ignorant in the science of the arm; but its possession brought him the courage which was so necessary at this moment of crisis. Exactly what he was going to do, he did not know. Valerie Howett had come on board the ship with Lacy, and Lacy he knew and had immediately recognised, as the machine had passed through the village of Garre, as a crook associated with Coldharbour Smith. Possibly the motive which had made him take that wild leap to the luggage carrier was wholly mercenary. He wondered himself, in the darkness of the boat deck, whether that was not the case, though he would like to feel that it was the urge of humanity which had sent him on that terrible journey.

The night was young, and he wondered what he was going to do. Coldharbour Smith was on board, and somebody else had come—a motor- boat with four men. He had seen them dimly as they made to the side of the vessel, but he was entirely ignorant of their identities, or another story might have been told.

Presently he heard the boat depart, and made his cautious way along he littered boat deck, past the funnel. His objective was a patch of light, which proved to be a skylight of frosted glass. He lifted one edge gently, and it came up an inch or two, giving him a view of a corner of a dirty-looking saloon. In his excitement Julius nearly betrayed his presence, for the very first person he saw was Valerie Howett! She was sitting in a chair at the end of a bare table; and one glance at her set, white face told Julius all that he wanted to know.

He had had an uncomfortable feeling in his mind that the girl might have been voluntarily accompanying Lacy, knowing his character, and that all his trouble and misery had been for nothing. Now he knew. Coldharbour Smith sat on her right, his sparkling hands resting on the table, his evil face turned to her. They were talking, but the river noises were such that Julius could not hear a word that he was saying. He found a brass hook that was evidently employed to keep the skylight open, and with great care he slipped it into the socket, then, lying down, he put his ear to the opening. Coldharbour would not have seen him under any circumstances, for the saloon was lit by an oil lamp, so shaded that most of the light was thrown down upon the table.

"We shall sail tomorrow night," Smith was saying, "and you can get it out of your head that your friend Featherstone will come along at the last moment and take you off. Do you know what it means to me if you're found?" he asked. She did not turn her head, but sat staring into vacancy. "It means a life imprisonment—I'd sooner hang. And I'll hang for you, my lady, if you give me any trouble."

"If it's money you want," she said, breaking her silence, "I can give you more—"

"Forget it," said Smith contemptuously. "I've got all the money I want. You don't think you're going to persuade me to let you go, do you? You'd be squealing in half an hour, and it would be me for the quarries! You don't know Dartmoor Prison, or you wouldn't think I'd take the risk of going there. American prisons are palaces, where men are treated like men, but Dartmoor is hell—no, I'm going on, or I'll hang. I always wanted to settle down," he went on, "but I've never had the right kind of girl to settle down with. We can be married on board ship: any sea captain can marry you if you're outside the three-mile limit. If you don't want to be married, why, that's your look-out."

"This is Abel Bellamy's work," she said, in so low a tone that Julius could hardly hear her.

"We'll name no names," said the discreet Coldharbour. "All I know is that you're going along with me, and I think, by the time we reach our destination, you'll be a sensible girl." He rose and stood looking down at her. "Valerie, your name is, isn't it? That's what I'm going to call you. You can call me Coldharbour, or call me Harry—Harry's my name," he added unnecessarily.

He waited for some response, but she did not even look at him, and, putting on his hat, the removal of which, when he came into the saloon, had been a great concession to the decencies on the part of Coldharbour Smith, he stalked to the door. "There's a sleeping cabin behind that curtain," he said, "and a wash—place. You'll be comfortable on this ship. It is as good as yours."

He slammed the door after him and locked it. Julius waited until he was gone, then lifted the skylight to its fullest extent and, slipping through, dropped on the table before the startled eyes of the girl.

"Don't speak," he whispered.

"Mr.—Mr. Savini—" she stammered.

"Don't speak," hissed Julius.

He pulled off his shoes and went to the door. There was no sound, but at any moment Coldharbour Smith might return. Walking to the table, he turned down the wick of the lamp and, pulling the extinguisher, plunged the cabin in darkness. Then he felt his way along the chairs to where the girl was sitting.

"I was on the car behind," he explained rapidly.

"Can you get me out?" she whispered.

"I think so. I'm not sure yet." He looked up at the skylight. "You might be able to get out that way," he said, "but I think it will be easier to break open the door, or wait for Smith to open it. He's certain to come back before he goes to bed."

They waited an hour, but Smith did not come, and Julius began to work with the point of his sword at the lock. He gave up the attempt in a little while.

"I can't do it," he said, wiping his streaming forehead. "You'll have to go by way of the skylight, Miss Howett, or not at all."

Even as he spoke, there was a heavy, lurching step over their heads, the flash of a lantern, and somebody stooped, pulled out the hook, and let the skylight fall with a crash. Worse than that, by the sound that followed, it was clear that the somebody was fastening this possible method of escape.

"That's that," said Julius, almost cheerfully. "I'm afraid I'll have to wait for Coldharbour. Lie down and sleep, Miss Howett. He may not come yet."

It took a long time to persuade her to carry out his instructions.

She found a light in the little cabin behind the curtain; the bunk had been made, the pillow-slips were clean, and looked almost inviting. She lay down, never imagining for a moment that she would doze, but she had hardly closed her eyes before she was asleep. Julius Savini put a chair against the door and sat down, his sword on his knees, a dishevelled figure, heavy-eyed and aching in every limb. He alternately dozed and woke through the night. The day broke, the skylight showed grey and white and golden, as the first rays of the sun flooded the ship. And then, unexpectedly, it was flung up, and the face of Coldharbour Smith appeared.

"Good morning, my little dear," he began, and then he saw Julius, and the face disappeared.

Julius Savini, alert and tense, heard the key turn in the lock, and waited ready to spring. The door was pushed open suddenly, and he confronted the levelled barrel of Coldharbour Smith's Browning. Before the levelled Browning, Julius dropped his hands.

"Let us have a little talk, Julius," said Smith. "And first of all, put that sword on the table." There was nothing to do but to obey. "What's the great idea?" demanded Smith. "Who sent you here?"

Julius Savini was a man of quick inspirations, and he had one now. "The old man," he said nonchalantly. "He got a bit worried about the girl, and he told me to come aboard and see you. He wants you to let her go back."

Smith's lips curled in an ugly smile. "Like hell I will!" he said briefly. "What's the idea, Julius? If he sent you aboard, why didn't you come straight to me?"

"I couldn't find your cabin. At least, I thought this was your cabin, and dropped in because I didn't want the sailors to see me. I'd hardly got in before somebody closed the skylight."

Smith nodded. "They shut it because I told them to," he said; "but I never thought I'd trapped such a bird as you! So Bellamy wants me to take her ashore, does he? And has Bellamy made arrangements for getting me out of trouble over this affair? You're lying, Julius." He looked at the man keenly. "Your clothes are all covered with dust, and what are you doing with that sword? I'm going to hold you and find out from the old man what your game is. You'd do anything for money, Savini." Then, as an idea struck him: "Did Featherstone put you aboard?" He slapped his thigh. "That's it! You're a stool pigeon, are you? Well, isn't that surprising?"

He whistled shrilly, and a dark-skinned sailor came clattering down the companionway. To him Smith spoke in a low voice. He went away and came back with a pair of rusty handcuffs.

"I do a bit of police work myself sometimes," said Coldharbour Smith. "Put 'em out, Julius!"

Julius Savini obeyed, and the irons clicked about his wrist. He was rushed across the deck and through a narrow door into the dark foc'sle.

"Sit down with your back to the bulkhead," Smith commanded, and when this was done he strapped the Eurasian's feet together.

"If the old man says you are telling the truth, I'm going to apologise to you, Julius," he said pleasantly. "In the meantime you'll stay there, and I'll decide what I'll do with you when we're at sea."

He slammed the door tight and turned the iron catch which held it, and Julius Savini grinned to himself, for the handcuffs were just a size too large, and he had freed his wrists before the sound of Coldharbour Smith's footsteps died away in the distance.

41. THE QUESTIONING OF LACY

It was late in the afternoon when a detective, who was apparently killing time in the Commercial Road, saw a familiar face. "Lacy, if I'm not mistaken," he said, and caught his man scientifically.

"What's wrong, Johnson?" asked the prisoner innocently. "I don't remember that the police have got anything against me?"

"You'll take a little walk with me," said the detective, and Lacy, who did not know what was in store for him, or he would have fought, meekly accompanied his captor to the nearest police station, protesting his ignorance of any reason why the police should behave in this strange arid, to him, inexplicable manner.

Captain Featherstone interviewed him in the cell, but did not disclose the charge on which he had been arrested. To Jim this was one of the most critical moments of his life, for he had decided upon an act which, he knew, might bring him into disgrace, and lead to the abandonment of the career he had mapped out for himself. But there was nothing in life that could balance against Valerie Howett's safety. He would have gladly surrendered his own life, if by so doing he could restore the girl to her father.

Jim lived in St. James's Street, which, on a Saturday night, is one of the quietest streets in London, for all the stream of road traffic which passes ceaselessly up and down. "I'll take this man to Scotland Yard to interrogate him. No, I shan't want your assistance, Johnson, thank you. You will be noted to the Commissioner for your arrest." To Mr. Lacy's surprise, he was taken out of the cell and placed in a comfortable motor- car, with Jim at the wheel. "You may for the moment regard yourself as not being under arrest," said Jim.

"Where am I going?"

"You're coming to my flat," was the surprising reply.

"What am I being held for, Captain?" asked Lacy curiously.

"I'll tell you that in due course," was the short reply, and Lacy gave himself over to the mental discussion of all sorts of interesting possibilities.

The car stopped before a shuttered shop, above which Jim's flat was situated. There were no other tenants: the shopkeeper lived in one of the suburbs. Angus, the valet, met the pair on the landing. "Give Mr. Lacy a drink," said Jim, "then take the car to the garage, and don't come back."

He himself went to his room and took off his coat, vest, and collar, and when he came back Angus had fulfilled his duties and was waiting.

"Take the car, and don't come back tonight," said Jim again, and Mr. Lacy, a glass of whisky and soda in his hand, wondered, and for the first time was a little nervous.

"Finished, Lacy?" said Jim, when the door had closed on his valet. "Now will you step into my study?"

It was not so much a study as a gymnasium, a large room, bare of carpet. Attached to a beam in the ceiling were two stout cords, terminating in rings, and there was a punch-ball attachment at the farther end of the room. Jim closed the door and locked it and motioned the man to a seat.

"I don't know what you're rolling up your sleeves for, Captain," said the alarmed Lacy.

"I'll tell you later," said Jim. "Where is Miss Valerie Howett?"

"Miss who, sir?" He had hardly uttered the words before a fist like iron caught him under the jaw and sent him with a crash against the wall. He got up slowly, whimpering. "What did you do that for? You hit me again, and by God—"

"Where is Valerie Howett?" asked Jim in the same even tone.

"I don't know," said Lacy defiantly.

This time he was prepared, and tried to parry, but they cut under his guard, those two lightning blows, and he fell with a crash.

"Get up," said Jim curtly.

"I'm not going to get up," said the man, nursing his bruised face. "I'll report you for this, Featherstone. I'll have that coat off your back—"

"Get up," said Jim, "and don't harbour any illusions that you won't be hurt while you're sitting. Get up!"

"I'll see you in hell first," snarled the older man, and leapt as Jim Featherstone's boot drove at him. "I'll have you for this. My God! I'll settle you for this, Featherstone. I'll be before the Commissioner on Monday morning!"

"If you're alive," said Jim. There was a look in his eye which gave the phrase a special significance. "I'm telling you this—" his finger jerked out to the man "—that unless you tell me what I want to know, I'm going to tie you down to that floor, and I'm going to burn you until you tell."

"That's torture!" shrieked the man. "You can't torture me. You wouldn't dare—it is against the law!"

"Bellamy once told me that he believed in torture," said Jim slowly, "and I thought he was a brute. But I'll not leave the flesh on your bones if you don't tell me where Valerie Howett is."

The man stared at him awhile, then, with a scream, sprang for the door. Jim's arm shot him back again. Fear gave Lacy courage, and he leapt at his captor. Jim stepped aside and brought him to the ground with a short swing to the body. There he lay gasping. "Tell me where Valerie Howett is, and I will give you a thousand pounds."

"I wouldn't do it for a million," blubbered Lacy. "She's where you won't get her, you swine! Smith's got her and—"

He was jerked instantly to his feet and smacked against the wall as though he were a wicker figure. "Is life sweet to you, Lacy?" Jim's voice was low and vibrant. "Are there no friends, no women you want to meet again, no places you ever wish to see?"

"I'll die before I tell you," gasped Lacy.

"You will die after you tell me," said Jim Featherstone, and jerked him to the ground.

With one pull he tore vest and shirt from the man. It was the brutality of it, the horrible threat of it, that broke the prisoner's resolution. "I'll tell, I'll tell!" he screamed. "She's on the Contessa."

"You're a liar, she isn't."

"I'll swear to you she is, Captain. We were on the ship when you came there last night, in the chain locker. She tried to scream, but Smith had his hand on her mouth. I can prove it; I heard you saying, as you walked by, that she wasn't there."

"Get up," said Jim. He pointed to a stool. "Now sit down. When were you on the Contessa last?"

"I left last night. I never could stand those little ships—they make me ill."

"And the lady was there then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where is she? In what part of the ship?"

"Coldharbour had it all fixed up for her. The Contessa's been running rum to America. She practically belongs to Smith. It was his idea that the fires shouldn't be lit, and that she should stay in the Pool for a day or two until the affair had blown over."

Jim unlocked the door and went back to the sitting-room. "Finish your whisky," he said.

"You're not going to charge me, are you, Captain—not after the pasting you've given me?"

"If what you say is true, I'll not charge you," Jim replied. "Drink up your whisky. I shall hold you tonight. If your statement is accurate, you shall go free within two hours. If it's not, I shall bring you back here, and we will have a heart-to-heart talk."

Lacy said nothing.

On their way to Scotland Yard, Mr. Lacy nursing his injuries, Jim asked: "Did you see Julius Savini?"

"Julius?" said the other contemptuously. "He's not in is business at all."

"I have an idea that he's very much in it." said Jim.

42. THE PASSING OF SAVINI

The sleeping cabin in which Valerie Howett spent the greater part of a day that seemed unending showed unmistakable evidence that it had been got ready for her use. An opening had been rough-sawn through, to what Smith described as the washing-place, and which was, in reality, the only bathroom the steamer possessed. The door leading to the alley-way beyond had been screwed up, and here too the dead lights were so tightly clamped over the portholes that, exerting all her strength, she was unable to move the wing screws that held them in place.

One discovery she had made was of a sliding door between the cabin and the saloon. Its end was concealed by the hanging curtains, and she only found it by accident when Smith was out of the saloon. This was some slight protection, for it fastened to the wall of the cabin when closed, though it would take very little time to batter it down.

She had witnessed the scene between Smith and Julius, and later had ventured to ask what had happened to the intrepid Savini. "He's safe," was all the reply she received.

It was one of the trials of the day that Coldharbour Smith took his meals with her. He was a man without breeding, and his manners were elementary. "You'll get used to me after a while, Valerie, my dear," he said as he munched noisily. "I'm beginning to like you already. And I'm not the kind of man to take likings to strange girls. Now at the Golden East ... "

Valerie listened and shuddered, and he seemed to take her obvious revulsion as a compliment. "We're sailing tonight. The skipper thinks there will be a bit of a fog and that we'll be able to slip down the river without anybody noticing—not that the police will board us again."

"You can't hope to escape," she said with sudden vehemence. "Do you imagine that when I get to wherever you are taking me, I shall not complain to the police?"

He smiled complacently. "You'll be my wife then, and it will be your word against mine."

"Where is my mother?" she asked.

He laughed aloud. "I don't know. The old man took her away years ago. There's no sense in pretending I don't know, because I do. She used to lodge in my house in Camden Town. She was only there a week, hiding."

"Hiding?"

Coldharbour nodded. "From Bellamy. He was very fond of her, like I am of you, but she turned him down. I'd just done a job for Abe and made good money. He found that she was looking for new lodgings and he sent me to see her. I told her I'd heard she was in want of rooms and I had a little place. So she came, for the rent was low. She thought Bellamy had gone to America—he always had six alibis ready in case of trouble, but he went no farther than Queenstown, so she thought she was safe. One night I told her the same tale as Lacy told you; got her to go to Garre with me because I said her little girl was there—that was you. And you couldn't have been so little, either," he said, "must have been about sixteen then. That's the last I saw of her—when I showed her into the castle." He smiled knowingly. "The old man says she's escaped—"

"Escaped!"

Valerie jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing with excitement.

"Sit down, sit down," said Coldharbour testily, "and don't get excited. The old man is lying. She's dead, that's about the size of it. He couldn't tell the truth, old Abe." A frown came to his face and made him even more unprepossessing. "I owe the old devil something—I almost wish she had got away. But it's a fake—all this stuff about the Green Archer is a fake. Abe put it up so that he'd have an excuse if this woman got away. Green Archer!" He laughed softly.

Valerie was thinking hard. Suppose it were true! It might be. There would be at least an explanation for Bellamy's vengeance on her. But he must have planned her abduction long before the escape, just as soon as he had discovered that Valerie Howett was the child he had stolen twenty- three years before.

"I expect she's dead," Coldharbour went on cheerfully. "You can't keep a woman locked up in an underground dungeon for eight years without breaking her up. Why, even at Dartmoor, where you get air and exercise—"

"Then she was there all the time," said Valerie.

"Of course she was there all the time," was the contemptuous answer. "I don't know in what part of the castle, but she was there."

This was at lunch—a meal she left almost untouched. In the afternoon there was great activity on board the Contessa. She heard constant movement above her head and the sound of voices bellowing. There was a pump at work somewhere below, and the ceaseless thump of it drove her distracted. She had seen none of the officers or crew except the negro steward who served the meals, but she guessed that they were few in number and wondered where the captain found accommodation. And what had happened to Julius? She dare not let her mind rest on Jim and her father, nor could she contemplate her own fate.

Smith came down to dinner, and she saw at once that he had been drinking. His unhealthy face was grotesquely marked by two red patches over his high cheek-bones. He looked like an ugly doll that had been badly painted.

"Merry and bright, little woman?" he demanded loudly. "I've brought you some wine—dem'n rum!" He shrieked with merriment at his own jest. "Pro'bish'n's very bad, but it's made a lot of money for some of us." He slammed a black bottle on the table as he sat down. "Ole Julius, eh? Come sneaking on board to give me away to the police! Left his little wife for a life on the ocean! Can you beat that? But he hasn't got a little wife like mine!"

He leered across at her and tried to catch her hand. Failing in this, he pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and poured out a glass of amber fluid.

"Drink!" he commanded.

She pushed the glass aside.

"Drink!"

"I will not drink," she said, and flung the glass and its contents on the floor.

The action apparently afforded him the greatest amusement. "That's what I like—spirit!" he chuckled, and without another word tackled the huge plate of food that the steward had set before him. Presently he wiped his mouth, tossed down another glass of the brandy, and rose unsteadily to his feet.

"My little love!" he began, and made a wild clutch at her.

She swung round on the swivel chair and shrank back.

"Come to me!" he shouted. "I want you—"

But with the courage of despair she fought him back and, wrenching herself free from the hand that had grasped her sleeve, she flew into her cabin, pulled the door tight and hooked it.

"Come out!" he roared, beating on the panel with his fist. The wood shivered but did not break. His rage was demoniacal. He tore with his nails at the edge of the door; he kicked and beat at it, and all the time his foul tongue babbled horribly. "I'll have you out!" She heard his hoarse voice and trembled. "Savini put you up to that—Savini ... !"

He rushed out and across the short space of deck which intervened between the saloon and the place where he had left his prisoner. Mad with drink and baffled desire, murder was in his heart. Turning the catch of the foc'sle door, he flung it back. "Savini! I'm going to finish you—d'ye hear?" There was no answer, and he groped along the floor for the man he had left.

But Savini had disappeared.

43. THE GREEN ARROW

The shock of the discovery sobered the man. He came from one darkness to another and called a sailor.

"Who opened that door?" he asked.

"I took him food about two hours ago," said the man.

"Did you fasten the door after you?"

"Yes—he wanted water. I went to get him a can, and only then was the door unfastened."

Coldharbour Smith struck a match and searched the prison. As he expected, the handcuffs and rope were on the floor. Making his way for'ard over the boat deck, he found the captain in his chart-house.

"Emil, how soon can you get away?" he asked.

"In two hours the tide will turn," said the little Spaniard; "but, my friend, look at this infernal mist!"

Already the mist was thick, and such lights as were visible were dim blurs.

"That's all to the good. Can you get away at once?"

"It is not possible." The Spaniard was emphatic. "There is not sufficient steam. Perhaps in an hour, but if this fog grows thicker, what am I to do?"

"Go through it," said Coldharbour. "You know the river—get to sea."

He went back to the saloon, and with a glance at the closed door of Valerie's cabin sat down to consider the position. If Julius had gone ashore ...

Coldharbour Smith pulled his gun from his pocket and laid it on the table before him. Valerie made no sound—he wished he hadn't frightened her. But chief of his wishes had to do with Julius. Where was he? If he was ashore, then the end was near. Suppose he was still on board: there were a dozen places where a man might hide. With this thought in his mind, he went out on to the deck and peered through the thickening yellow mist. He saw a boat and a man pulling leisurely towards the ship. Only one man, he was certain—perhaps one of the sailors returning from the shore.

Watching the solitary rower, he discovered that his destination was elsewhere, for he passed under the steamer's bows and faded into the fog.

Once again Smith went back to the saloon, seating himself at the end of the table so that he had a clear view of the open door. Julius was the point on which his future turned. If there was danger, real danger, he would show no mercy to this girl. If he was to be punished, there should be cause. His keen ears were strained for the noise of oars, for a voice hailing the Contessa. At the first hint that Featherstone was coming he would close and lock the door ...

Brooding he sat, and the minutes passed. Once he heard the captain giving instructions about raising the anchor, and the steam capstan was tested and found wanting. He heard a faint shuffle of stockinged feet and looked up. For a second he stared, and then his hand shot out and gripped the butt of his automatic ... The launch which was picking its way across the foggy waters steered without error to the side of the Contessa.

Jim had some premonition of what might happen, and had given instructions that the engine should be shut off the moment the vessel was located. Her weigh carried the boat to the side of the ship, and Jim leapt on board, followed by the River Police. The decks were empty, the door of the saloon closed.

"Go forward and hold the captain," he whispered, and one of the men crept up the ladder to the boat deck.

Jim moved to the door of the saloon and turned the handle softly. To his relief the door opened, and he stepped in. The saloon was in darkness, absolute silence reigned. Taking a flashlamp from his pocket, he sent a ray of light travelling round the wall of the saloon, and presently it rested on the door of the cabin in which Valerie had been confined. A brief examination showed the nature of the door, and he pulled it back. A light burnt in the cabin, Valerie's furs lay on the bed, but she was not there.

Nor was she in the adjoining compartment.

He returned to the saloon and sent the light along the table, and then he jumped back and raised his gun. He had seen the shape of a man in a chair at the table end.

"Hands up!" he called, and focussed the figure with his lamp. In the circle of light sat Coldharbour Smith. He lay back in his chair, one hand resting on the table gripping an automatic, his sightless eyes staring up at the open skylight.

He was dead, and from his breast stuck the green—feathered shaft of an arrow.

44. THE MAN IN THE BOAT

Jim called in the River Police inspector, and they lit the saloon's lamp before making a further examination.

Coldharbour Smith must have died instantly. The arrow had passed through the heart and had been driven with such force that it had penetrated the wood of the chair-back.

"He saw whatever he saw, and reached for his gun," said Jim. "How long has he been dead?" The hands were warm. "He must have been killed whilst we were coming alongside; the lamp-shade was hot—did you notice that?"

He waited not a second longer than was necessary, and hurried out in search of the captain. The little man was in tears, which developed into something like hysteria when he learnt of the tragedy.

"I knew there was a lady on board," he sobbed, "but by—" he mentioned a number of saints rapidly "—I did not know that there was any wrong. I am a man of sensibility and kindness, senor, and if I had known that the lady was not Senor Smith's wife ... "

"Where is the lady now?" demanded Jim sharply. "I warn you that if you are playing tricks with me you will not see Vigo again in a hurry."

By now the second pinnace was alongside, and the ship was swarming with uniformed men. From keel to crow's-nest the search went on, but without discovering the girl.

"The saloon skylight is wide open, sir," reported one of the policemen. "That's queer on a night like this."

Jim had noticed this too. An examination of the top deck showed a length of rope ladder fastened awkwardly and evidently by an unskilled hand to a stanchion. Moreover, a boat was missing. This the captain discovered. It had been swung out and half-lowered to afford a foothold to men who had been caulking a sprung plate. Now the supporting bolts dangled empty at the end of the ropes. Valerie could not have lowered the boat by herself—of that Jim was sure. Where was Julius Savini? The captain offered information.

"The poor Smith had him locked in the rope-store, but he escaped and swam to land."

Then it came out that the man who had taken Julius his food had seen him swimming in the water and had thrown a heavy bolt at him. He had not dared tell Smith that the prisoner had escaped that way. Going back to the saloon, Jim ordered in more lights and went to work to make a minute inspection of the room.

"A typical Green Archer killing," he said when he had finished.

"The arrow struck in exactly the same place as it did in the case of Creager. Not so much as a finger-print to show the murderer—perhaps executioner is a better word."

"How will he get ashore?" asked the puzzled inspector. "Unless he knows the river he'll never make it on a foggy night like this."

Jim, with a sinking of heart, realised that the same applied to the girl—unless she was with the Green Archer. Once the shore was sighted it would be simple to land, for hereabouts every narrow street that ran from the long wharf road terminated in a landing slope. The Green Archer was in all probability on the river at that moment, rowing blindly through the mist in a vain search for safety. Leaving a boat's crew to hold the ship, Jim took the first of the launches and began a systematic quartering of the river.

At intervals the engines of the launch were stopped, and they listened for the sound of oars, but it was not until they were nearing the north bank that they were rewarded; "There's a boat near—listen," whispered the river man and, bending his head, Jim heard the unsteady clump of oars against rowlocks.

"He's not a waterman," said the inspector. "One oar is working ahead of the other."

Presently the sound was located and the launch went slowly ahead. The bulk of a warehouse showed before them through a thinner patch of mist, and then Jim saw the boat. One man was rowing, and he was bringing its nose alongside one of the street-end quays.

Instantly the launch gathered speed and flew in pursuit, coming to a stop beside the craft as its occupant was stepping out.

"Stop, you!" called Jim; and jumped ashore to the slimy quay.

The figure turned and peered at him. "Isn't that Featherstone?" it asked, and Jim stood stock still in his astonishment. For it was the voice of Mr. Howett.

"Why! Why, Mr. Howett, what are you doing here?"

"I heard you were going to the Contessa and followed you," said Howett calmly. "I found this boat, or rather, I saw a man row in as I was searching for a boat, and asked him if I might take it." It seemed on the face of it an improbable story. From any other man Jim would have rejected it instantly as an invention. "Have you found her?" asked Mr. Howett. His tone was extraordinarily steady.

"No; she is not on board. Smith is dead."

"Dead! And Valerie is not there? How did Smith die?"

"He was killed by the Green Archer," said Jim, and Mr. Howett was silent.

"Valerie has either escaped or has been taken from the ship," Jim went on. "I am going back to Scotland Yard. Will, you come, Mr. Howett?"

The other nodded. "Dead?" he muttered. "Quite dead?"

"As dead as he will ever be," said Jim.

He reached the Yard an hour later, for the fog lay thick on the city and travelling was difficult, but no news awaited him. He had left the murder in the hands of the river division, but, tired as he was, he wrote a brief report after seeing Mr. Howett back to his hotel. All stations were seeking the girl, and his writing was interrupted a dozen times by the arrival of reports. He had finished, and was on the point of leaving, when Fay Clayton was announced.

She came in, red-eyed and haggard. "Have you found Julius?" she asked. Jim shook his head.

"I hope he is safe," he said. "Smith held him prisoner on board the Contessa, a little steamer lying in the river, but apparently he escaped. Tell me, Fay, is Savini a good swimmer?"

Fay smiled in spite of her worry.

"My Julius can swim where whales would drown!" she said proudly. "He's the greatest swimmer you ever saw, Featherstone. If that boy was wrecked in the Atlantic Ocean he'd swim—why?"

"Because he jumped overboard. It was a little foggy, but if he can swim he's safe."

Her assurance vanished and she became the agitated wife once more. "He'll be drowned! Why aren't you looking for him, Featherstone? Leaving him there in the water with nobody to search for him—it's murder!"

Jim dropped his hand on her shoulder. "Julius is all right, my girl," he said kindly. "I wish I could be as sure about Miss Howett." It was in his mind to say that Julius was not born to be drowned, but tactfully he forbore. Then he told her about Coldharbour Smith's end.

"He deserved it," she said promptly. "That man wasn't meant to live, Featherstone. He was beast right through—you don't think my Julius did it, do you?" she asked suddenly. "Julius wouldn't recognise a bow and arrow if he saw one." Jim quieted her fears that suspicion might attach to the admirable Savini, and sent her home.

The buses and tubes were not running at this hour, and no cabs were available. She walked, finding her way with some difficulty. It was past two o'clock when, weary and footsore, she came to the block where her flat was. As she reached the door, she saw a car drawn up by the pavement, and remembered that it had passed her a few minutes before. In the shadow of the locked entrance a man was standing, and she had only to see him to realise that it was Abel Bellamy.

"I want to get in," he said gruffly. "A friend of mine is living here. I didn't know they shut the outer doors."

"You can't come in, Mr. Bellamy," said the girl hotly. "After the way you've treated my husband, I wonder you have the nerve to come—and at this hour!"

He glowered down at her.

"So you're the woman, eh? ... Mrs. Julius Savini? Well, I'm coming in because I've got a few words to say to your husband."

"Say 'em to me," said Fay, "and say 'em quick, because I'm tired."

"You can tell him that I've discovered that three thousand dollars have been stolen from my safe, and that I am applying for his arrest. That's all, Mrs. Savini."

She caught his arm as he turned to go. "Wait. It's a frame-up, but you're too clever to have left him any chance. Come in and let me hear about it." He followed her up the stairs and into the flat. "Come in here," she said, switching on the light of the dining-room. The first view of him at close quarters appalled her. "My God, you're a beauty!" she gasped, and his lip went up.

"Beauty, am I?" he said, seating his huge frame on the most solid of the chairs. "I guess I can return the compliment."

"Now what about this steal, Mr. Bellamy?" she asked. "I know Julius hasn't done it, because he's not that kind."

"Not that kind, isn't he?" he sneered. "You know better. Anyway, I'm not accusing him—and I've lost no money. But I wanted a talk with you, young woman."

"You've got a nerve!" she exploded. "Lying your way into my house! Now you can get out, or I'll 'phone the police."

His cold eyes held hers for a spell, and under their magnetic gaze her courage oozed away. "You'll not 'phone for the police," he said. "I want to speak to Julius."

"He's not here, I tell you."

The old man's head jerked sideways. "Go look," he said.

She hesitated, "Go look!" he growled, and she went out of the room. What made her open the door of Jerry's old room she did not know. It was the nearest, perhaps. She turned on the light and fell back in amazement. Julius was lying on the bed, a soiled, collarless, unshaven man, fast asleep.

At first she could not believe her eyes: then with a cry she sprang to him and caught him in her arms, sobbing her relief on his soiled coat. Julius woke slowly and painfully, blinking at the light.

"Lo," he said. "Fay ... hope you don't mind ... told her to go to your room."

Fay flew out into her own room. Lying on the bed, covered with an eiderdown, was a girl, and there was no need to ask who the sleeper was.

Valerie moved in her sleep and sighed, and Fay Clayton, crook and worldling, stooped over and kissed her cheek.

45. AN OFFER AND A REJECTION.

When she returned to Julius, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, prosaically rubbing his hair.

"What is wrong, Fay?" he asked quickly.

"Bellamy is here," she said.

He screwed up his eyes in an effort to concentrate his thoughts. "Bellamy—Abel Bellamy here? What does he want?"

"He wants to see you. How long have you been in, Julius?"

He shook his head. "I don't know—some time, I think." He had taken off his boots when he lay down, and he looked round for them helplessly. The man was drugged with sleepiness. She found him some slippers.

"Don't see him, Julius, if you don't want to."

"I'll see him," said Julius with a twisted smile. "Is Miss Howett all right?"

Fay nodded, and with many yawnings and stretchings, Julius rose and followed the girl into the dining-room. It was a novel sensation for Julius to meet the eyes of the man of whom he had lived in terror, yet he could face Bellamy with a certain strange serenity.

"Well, what have you to say for yourself?" asked the old man.

"Don't bully me," replied Julius with a wave of his hand, as if he were sweeping the whole vision of Abel Bellamy out of his mind.

"Where is the girl?"

"Which girl?" asked Julius innocently.

"The girl you followed to the Contessa."

"She's home," said Julius airily.

"I guess it comes natural for you to lie. She's here, in this house, or flat, or whatever you call the place. You were seen bringing her in."

"Then why the devil did you ask me, if you knew?" demanded Julius irritably. "Yes, she's here."

The old man bit his lip. "How did you get away?"

"That's nothing to do with you," said the bold Julius, and the old man swallowed something.

"And Smith didn't see you—?"

"Smith is dead." It was Fay who made the startling announcement, and Julius gaped at her.

"Dead?" he said incredulously. "Dead?"

She nodded.

"Who told you this?" asked Bellamy.

"Featherstone, about an hour ago."

"But how did he die? Who killed him?"

"The Green Archer," said Fay, and Abe Bellamy came to his feet with an oath.

"You're mad!" he said. "The Green Archer—was he seen?"

"What's the good of asking me questions? Now see here, Mr. Bellamy, I'm not an information bureau; I'm only telling you what I have been told. Coldharbour Smith was found in the saloon dead, with a green arrow through his heart. That's all I know about it."

They looked at one another, husband and wife, and in Savini's eyes was a look of uneasiness which he did not attempt to disguise.

As for Abe Bellamy, the news had momentarily stunned him. "So much the better," he said at last, and then: "Savini, you and I understand one another. I'm not going to make a long story, but I'm offering you ten thousand pounds—which is fifty thousand dollars—and I'm giving your wife the same amount, if you'll do something for me. You know what it means—a hundred thousand dollars, which will bring in interest of six or seven thousand dollars a year—a man can live comfortably abroad on that amount."

"You're not offering this for nothing," said Fay sternly. "What do you want us to do?"

Abel Bellamy pointed through the door.

"That girl in there," he said. "Bring her to Garre Castle. Bring her tonight. We will go down together, all of us; my car is at the door."

Julius shook his head. "There are lots of things I would do for money, Mr. Bellamy, but that isn't one of them. You couldn't name the sum that would make me do it, either." Fay nodded in agreement with her husband.

"Nobody will know," said Bellamy, lowering his voice to a husky whisper. "The girl has disappeared from the ship. Nobody knows even that you were with her. It is money for nothing, Savini. I'll make it fifteen thousand—"

"If you made it fifteen million, it'd be just the same," said Fay. "Julius won't do it, and I'd hate him if he did. We've lived on mugs for years, Julius and I; but they've got to be men, and they've got to have nothing more to lose than their money."

Abe Bellamy dropped his eyes to the table and stood for a long time in thought, then he turned up the collar of his coat. "Very well," he said in a milder tone. "We'll let it go at that. You can return to Garre on Monday morning, Savini. I'll see if I can't give you a better job with bigger pay."

"I'm not coming back to Garre."

Abe spun round. "You're not, eh?" he said, menacingly. "I suppose you think that you'll get more out of Howett than you'll get from me?"

"I don't care if I never get a bean out of Howett," said the indignant Julius. "I'm not doing this for money. And besides—" He stopped, remembering his original intention; then, to the surprise of his wife: "I'll come back to Garre on Monday morning, Mr. Bellamy," he said.

The old man looked at him for a while and nodded. "I think you're wise," he said.

Fay saw him to the door and closed and bolted it on him. Then, before she returned to Savini, she put a call through to Jim Featherstone, and gave him a message which sent him running into the fog, without greatcoat or hat.

"You're not to make a noise," whispered Fay, letting him in. "She's still sleeping. What did I tell you, Featherstone? Julius got her away. My! That man is the most wonderful thing ... "

She apostrophised Julius in loud whispers all the way down the passage.

Julius was in his dressing-gown, wide awake but hollow eyed.

"She's wonderful, Captain," he said, as he shook the other's hand warmly. "I've just been through to Mr. Howett and told him that Miss Howett is safe and sleeping."

"How did you get away?"

"It was easy and it was hard," said Julius cryptically. "I got rid of my handcuffs and unfastened my feet. It was only a question of getting the door open, and I had to wait till evening before any of those brutes thought of bringing me food. When the door was opened, I jumped at it, and before the sailor could realise what had happened, I was over the side and into the water—he nearly caught me with something particularly heavy that he threw after me, but I dived. The fog was thick and the water was very cold, and I hadn't been in it long before I realised that a half- starved man was in no condition to find his way to the shore.

"Then the feeling came to me that I was deserting Miss Howett, and I turned and swam round to the other side of the ship, and hung on to the mooring chain for a bit. I was getting cramped and scared, when I saw a rope hanging from a boat that was half lowered. I don't know how I managed to climb into that boat, for I was as weak as a rat. But at last I managed it, and lay quiet for a little while, wondering what I should do next. Did you ever try sitting in an open boat; wet to the skin, with a fog fastening down the wetness so that it stayed wet? It's a wonderful cure for swollen head. At last I could stand it no more, but clambered up on the top deck. I heard voices in the saloon and opened the skylight. Smith was drunk, and he was getting fresh with Miss Howett, but she threw him off and ran into her room and shut the door. I think it was finding the length of rope ladder in one of the boats that decided me as to what I should do. I had hauled it up with me and fastened it to one of the stanchions, intending to use it to get up and down from the boat. It was when I saw Smith dash out of the saloon in search of me that I had my inspiration.

"I pushed up the skylight, dropped the end of the rope ladder into the saloon, and went down it hand over fist. I was scared stiff," he confessed frankly, "for fear lest this fellow came back. It took me an awful time to persuade Miss Howett that it was me, and not Coldharbour Smith, but at last she opened the door, and I held the ladder while she went up, and followed as soon as she was clear. I didn't dare trust the weight of both of us. We were down in the boat before you could say 'knife'. I didn't understand the working of the davits, but Miss Howett, who had done a lot of yachting, showed me how to payout the rope and lower the boat. She took one end and I took the other.

"We had the boat in the water and unshackled in a minute. That is about all, except that it took us a long time to find a landing-place. We had wonderful luck in finding a taxi-cab, and I suggested that Miss Howett should come here—I did not know where her father was, and I knew Fay would look after her."

"When you came away from the Contessa," asked Jim, 'did you see any other boat?"

"We saw a little boat with one man rowing. He was on the south side of the ship, and we wondered who he was. He wasn't near enough to distinguish him. Do you think he was the Green Archer?" he asked quickly.

"It might have been," replied Jim.

"Queer," said Julius thoughtfully. "We hailed him because we weren't certain of our direction. He must have heard us, yet he didn't reply."

Jim got up. "Thank God you got away," he said. "Now you'd better go to bed, Savini. Mr. Howett will be here early in the morning with Miss Howett's maid. Fay—" he took the girl's hand in his "—I am beginning to share your amazing faith in Julius Savini. And if we ever meet professionally in circumstances which we should all deplore, you will have a very good friend at court."

Julius had not told him about the old man's visit, and Fay reminded her husband after the detective had taken his departure.

"No," said Julius, scratching his rough chin, "I don't think it would have been wise. You heard what he said, Fay—Featherstone, I mean? He might be useful in case of a getaway," he said speculatively. "I had an idea that I might make big money out of a certain person, but even that idea has got a little distasteful, and I'm going back to the old plan. I think Bellamy will be very sorry he invited me back."

"Maybe you'll be more sorry," said Fay prophetically.

46. FOUND IN THE BOAT

A party of five cheerful people sat down to lunch at the Carlton next day. It was Sunday, and the big restaurant was not so well filled. But to two people, at least, all the world sat about that table.

Mr. Howett was grave and preoccupied. He was, indeed, so intent on his thoughts that he had to be reminded, every time a waiter put a plate before him, that there was a dish to be discussed.

When he joined in the conversation at all, it was, curiously enough, at the provocation of Julius. Julius was explaining some part he had played in the rescue, when Spike Holland drifted in; and when Spike Holland came into the Carlton it was an invariable sign that he had a host hovering somewhere in the background.

The host proved to be the good-looking man with the grey hair whom Valerie remembered dining at the next table on a day when Jim Featherstone's occupation was unknown to her. Jim rose and bowed as John Wood passed. This time their table was on the other side of the restaurant. They had been seated a little while when Spike came over to them "A man who commits a murder on Saturday deserves instant death," he said bitterly. "All the Sunday papers are filled with that Green Archer story, and it's mine, Captain Featherstone! I didn't get a word till I saw it in the papers."

"Too bad," smiled Jim. "But I don't arrange these things, Spike, otherwise you should have had a beat on it. I'll give you the real story after lunch. I see you've got your baby man in tow?"

"Yes, he came over yesterday and spent the night at my apartments. He's starting his Babies Home in England, and wants to negotiate with old man Bellamy for the purchase of Garre Castle—what do you think of that for an idea? Says he won't be happy till the battlements are lined with two-year-olds defying the Green Archer with rattles. Curiously, he thinks that Garre Castle would make an ideal headquarters for such an institution; and although he doesn't like Bellamy, he is going to Garre this week to see him."

"Do you know him very well?" said Mr. Howett, suddenly taking an interest.

"Not too well. I've a journalistic acquaintance with him, but he's a real good fellow and worth knowing. By the way, Mr. Howett," asked Spike carelessly, "were you in London about fifteen years ago?"

Mr. Howett inclined his head.

"I was up at the Toxophilite Society the other day," said Spike, "making inquiries with the idea of tracking down the archer, and in one of the competitions I saw your name as a winner—L. R Howett."

"I was interested just a little," said Howett shortly. "We used to have an archery society in Philadelphia years ago. I believe it is dead now. I remember I entered into an archery competition while I was here on a visit. I was feeling rather lonely, and I saw the announcement of the competition, but I don't remember what was the result."

"But, Daddy, I never knew that you were interested in archery," said the girl in astonishment.

"I was. I am no longer," answered Mr. Howett, and turned the conversation into other directions.

Julius was listening all a-tingle with excitement, but the conversation drifted into other channels.

"He's a remarkable—looking man," said Valerie, looking after Spike as he walked back to his table. "I don't know that I've ever seen a face that so fascinated me."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Jim.

"How old would you say he was?" she asked, ignoring the interruption.

"It is difficult to tell. He might be thirty-eight, and he might as well be twenty-eight. Obviously the hair is prematurely grey."

"Tell me about him," she asked, and with admirable self-restraint, for no man cares to recount the virtues of another man to the woman he loves, Jim told the story of John Wood's hobby.

"I think I've told it you all before," he said when he finished. "He has a remarkable face, and he's a remarkable man. He has no other interest in life than child welfare. I don't think I've ever met a man who was more completely absorbed by his hobby."

"He doesn't like Mr. Bellamy: does he know him?"

"Yes," said Jim, "he knows him very well. He was a friend of Bellamy's nephew. In fact, young Bellamy left him all his property when he died. Incidentally, Wood gave me what I firmly hope was a clue to your own identity, Valerie," he said in a lower voice, and recounted the story of the kidnapped child and the railway accident. "I thought at first it was you, but it happened twenty years ago, when you were three years old, and obviously you were less than a year old when you passed into the Howetts' care."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I seem to remember reading about the River Bend disaster. Of course, that settles it beyond doubt. It cannot be me—I know," she smiled, "because I have seen the clothes I wore when I came to the Howetts."

Jim was unprepared to learn that Mr. Howett proposed returning to Lady's Manor. He thought that, warned by the terrible experience of his foster-child, Howett would either keep her in town or take her back to America—this latter possibility was a source of some worry to the young man.

They left that afternoon, and Jim saw them off. The inquest on Coldharbour Smith had been fixed for the Wednesday, and though he wished to spare her the ordeal, it was vital that she should give evidence.

He returned to the vestibule to get his coat and hat after the car had gone, and saw the man from Belgium and Spike Holland speaking together in a low tone. He did not want to interrupt their conference, but passed them with a smile.

Scotland Yard was a wilderness on Sunday, and Jim's visit was a matter of form, though, following this new development of the Green Archer mystery, there would be plenty of work for him on this particular occasion. The officer on the door desk stopped him as he was passing. "Inspector Fair, of the River Division, is in your office, sir. I told him you would be returning. He said he'd wait. I think he wants to see you particularly. I telephoned to your flat."

It was a visit which Jim expected, though he was puzzled as to the urgency of the call. Inspector Fair, a weather-beaten man, who looked more of a sailor than a policeman, was sitting in an easy chair when Jim went in.

"Sorry to bother you," Captain Featherstone, but do you remember last night we picked up a friend of yours who was getting out of the boat—Mr. Howett, I think it was?"

"Mr. Howett—yes," said Jim.

Inspector Fair picked up from the floor two objects which the chair had hidden, and laid them on Jim Featherstone's desk. One was a short, stout bow with a metal shaft, the second was the inevitable green arrow.

"Where did you find these?" asked Jim uncomprehendingly.

"In Mr. Howett's boat," replied the inspector.

47. VALERIE TELLS A STORY

Jim looked at the incriminating evidence for a long time without speaking. Then, grasping at a straw, he advanced what might yet be an explanation.

"Mr. Howett said he saw a man row to the quay, and asked him if he might take the boat."

"Mr. Howett also said the man made no reply. I thought that was a curious story, didn't you, Captain Featherstone?" asked the other.

"I saw nothing curious about it;" said Jim a little coldly. "It seemed very likely that the man was originally in the boat, and that, startled by seeing Mr. Howett standing on the quay, he either forgot to take away his weapon, or else he left it there deliberately to challenge attention."

"H'm!" said the river man, unconvinced. "It is your case, and I don't want to butt into it, Captain Featherstone; but if you'll take the advice of a man much older than yourself, you will not dissociate Mr. Howett entirely from any suspicion of having caused the death of Coldharbour Smith. After all, he would be justified, remembering that this scoundrel had taken his daughter."

"Mr. Howett—absurd!" said Jim.

"It may be absurd," replied the imperturbable officer, "but what are you going to do about it? Are you going to call Mr. Howett at the inquest? That is a most important point. Everybody who was seen on the river in those circumstances must be under suspicion, and must, I think, be called to inform the coroner as to what he saw or heard."

Jim was in a dilemma. It was impossible to keep the girl's name out of the case, but he wanted to limit the association of the Howetts to its narrowest confines. Who was the man that Valerie and Julius had seen rowing alone in the fog, and whom they had hailed, without eliciting an answer? Was that Mr. Howett, or was it the man for whom he was looking? He determined to examine Howett at the first opportunity. He was equally determined that Howett should not come into court.

In the meantime, there was this second arrow murder to be explained to a public grown weary of unpunished crimes.

Searching Smith's effects, a very large sum of money was discovered—mostly in United States currency. This meant that the person from whom the money was drawn originally could not be traced.

The inquest required the most delicate handling from the police point of view. Already the newspapers were filled with stories of the mysterious crime, and the killing of Creager was recalled, both pictorially and literally. And then, on the morning of the inquest, the Daily Globe came out with a beat. It was very nearly a complete record of the Green Archer's movements, and the newspaper had been careful to dissociate Abel Bellamy from both tragedies.

"The difficulty is," said Spike, making his usual call at Scotland Yard on the morning of the publication, 'to bring him and either of the murders together. The only connection is the fact that Miss Howett lives at Lady's Manor, which is in Garre, and within range of the green fellow."

"I haven't dared read the account," said Jim. "I can only hope, Spike, that you have been discreet."

"Discretion is my weakness," said Spike; "and, after all, it's a straightforward story. Coldharbour Smith, a criminal, and a man with a criminal record, seized Miss Howett and decided to hold her to ransom. By a trick he gets her on board the Contessa and is on the point, as we suppose—at any rate the Globe supposes, and that's all that matters—of sending a message to her father telling him that she will be released on payment of umpteen thousands. It is a very ordinary blackmail case, as I have presented it. There's no talk of marriage or of this man's sinister intentions, and certainly no hint that old man Bellamy is concerned in the affair."

Jim nodded. "If I can arrange things, that is the way the inquest will run. The only danger is—".

"Lacy," finished Spike. "He's the boy that may spill the beans, especially as it seems to me very likely that you must charge him with being an accessory to the abduction, and therefore an accessory to the murder. Maybe he'll have something to say about you also, Featherstone," Spike went on significantly. "He told me a harrowing story of a beating he had had, and his immediate plans for getting his own back."

Lacy was the danger. Jim realised that, and when at the inquest the man's name was called and he did not answer, and on being sought could not be found, Jim was a very much relieved man, although the adjournment of the inquest for his attendance merely postponed the evil day. Since the man had not appeared on subpoena Jim had only one course to take, and that was to arrest and hold him, and very unwillingly he handed to his assistant the necessary warrant for execution. But Lacy was not to be found.

He had disappeared from the house in which he lived, vanished from the district of which he was so bright an ornament. Three days later the inquest was resumed, and Spike Holland watched the proceedings professionally, and was impressed by their amazing unreality. No word was spoken of Garre. Castle; no reference made to the Green Archer (except by an inquisitive juryman, who was promptly snubbed by the coroner). It was a murder, bizarre in its character, otherwise prosaic, and when the stolid jury returned with their verdict they tore the last remnant of romance from the case. The verdict was: "We find that the deceased Henry Arthur Smith was killed on board the steamship La Contessa within the area of Rotherhithe in the County of London, as a result of being stabbed with a sharp-pointed instrument by some person or persons unknown, against whom we return a verdict of Wilful Murder."

No reference to as much as an arrow; no word of Valerie Howett, who had given her evidence in a low voice which hardly reached the reporters' table.

"An ideal verdict," said Jim with a sigh of relief when it was all over. "I wonder what Bellamy thinks."

Mr. Howett asked him down to Lady's Manor for the weekend, an invitation that Jim was not slow to accept. Ordinarily reserved, Mr. Howett was now almost taciturn, Valerie told him a little while after he had arrived. "The castle is now more closely guarded than ever," she said, "and Mr. Bellamy refuses to admit even the tradespeople. They leave their goods at the lodge. Mr. Savini has become a sort of major-domo, and his wife—"

"Fay?" said Jim incredulously. "You don't mean to say that she is here?"

"She came last Tuesday—she is a sort of lady housekeeper. Mr. Savini thinks that that dreadful man Lacy is hidden at the castle. I promised I wouldn't tell you that."

"Pretend that you haven't," said Jim hastily: "He is the one man whose whereabouts I do not want to know, until I am ready to bring home to Abel Bellamy full responsibility for his many crimes."

They were in the garden, and she was absently smoothing the shaggy petals of a big white chrysanthemum. "Do you think I must give up hope of finding my mother, Jim?" she asked.

He did not care to answer as directly. "Hope, that kind of hope that is part of one's habit of thought and is years old, need never be given up," he said at last.

She wanted to tell him something, and had brought him into the dusky garden for the purpose. And yet every time she tried to bring herself to speak, she had stopped herself. It was not her secret; to tell, would be to rouse suspicion against one she loved very dearly. And yet, to reveal the thing that was in her thoughts night and day would be the surest method of relieving her troubled mind.

"Jim, I'm trying hard to confide in you, and I am just a little frightened. It is about—about my father, Mr. Howett. Will you please forget that you are a police officer and remember only that you are my friend?"

He took her cold hand in his and she did not resist. "Tell me, Valerie," he said gently. "I never felt less like a policeman!"

She sat down by his side on the broad wooden bench, and then, hesitatingly, she spoke of that strange experience of hers when she had heard the sound of voices and the weeping of a woman.

"When father told me that it was he who was in the drawing-room, I should have gone to bed—instead, my curiosity led me to look—and oh, Jim, I nearly died! There in the hall was the Green Archer!"

Jim was puzzled and not a little worried. "When Mr. Howett came upstairs, did you see him?"

She shook her head. "He went straight to his room."

"Deliberately or hurriedly?"

"Hurriedly." She was reluctant to say the word.

"He didn't knock at your door or say good night?"

"No; he went into his room and locked the door."

"And the woman—you did not see her?"

"No; Mr. Holland thought he saw her driving the car that passed him and woke him up."

Jim looked dubious.

"An hysterical woman would hardly drive a car; though women make extraordinary recoveries. It is a queer story—"

"I will tell you a queerer," she said, and told him for the first time of the mysterious sounds she had heard on the night of her escapade when she had found the green arrow in the kitchen.

At his urgent request she brought it down to the drawing-room, and he took it in his hand and measured it.

"This is a longer arrow than any of the three I have seen," he said at last. "Creager and Smith were killed by arrows that were at least six inches shorter. This is a real 'cloth yard' such as the ancient archers used."

He felt the needle-sharp point and examined it under a magnifying glass.

"Hand-fashioned," he said, "which accounts for our failure to trace purchases in the sports stores where arrows are made. The shaft is also home-made—it is beautifully finished."

He turned it over curiously and brought it under the light.

"There are half a dozen finger—prints here," he said suddenly. "They are probably yours, but it will be worth while having them photographed. May I take the arrow to town with me?"

"No," she said with a vehemence which startled him for a moment, until he realised the reason. She was afraid—afraid that the finger- prints would reveal the identity of the Green Archer.

He handed the arrow back to her as the door opened to admit Mr. Howett.

"My dear—" he began, and stopped. "What is that?" he asked sternly.

"An arrow, father," Valerie faltered.

Mr. Howett took the weapon from her hand and, turning without a word, walked quickly from the room.

The eyes of the two young people met, and in Valerie's was a look of pain that hurt Jim Featherstone to see.

48. THE TAPPING IN THE NIGHT

The dogs of Garre had gone. One morning came a kennel man, leashed them, and took them away, and the household of Garre Castle breathed more freely. Abe Bellamy, meeting his secretary upon his return, briefly announced their departure.

"I sent them back," he said. "They were fool-dogs to allow themselves to be drugged. Savini, I want a woman here to look after things—I'll have no more butlers. I want somebody who can tell the servants their work. Will you bring your wife to Garre?"

Savini's first impulse was to refuse. "My wife wouldn't accept a position of housekeeper," he said. "It means that she would be a sort of upper servant."

"Ask her," said the old man shortly.

Julius wrote, never dreaming that Fay would accept. To his surprise she answered his letter in person, bringing her luggage with her.

"I'm tired of living alone, anyway," she said. "And I'm crazy to see this ghost, Julius. I like castles—it's not so pretty as Holloway, but there's much more freedom."

Julius winced. There were moments when he did not like to remember that his wife had been an inmate of that fortress prison in Holloway Road.

He took her into the library to see Bellamy, who did not seem at all astonished by her prompt arrival. He was mild of manner, even polite, gave her the keys of the castle—and a warning.

"I've got a watchman who wanders around at night. You needn't worry if you hear noises. He sleeps most of the day and you won't see him."

When they had gone back to their own room, Fay had a few questions to ask about this midnight rambler.

"I don't know who he is," said Julius. "The old man told me the same. I guess it is some thug of his, gunning for the Green Archer." When that evening he read an account of the inquest he knew. "It's Lacy," he said emphatically, and the girl agreed.

That neither she nor her husband had been called as witnesses struck her as strange. Thinking over the matter that night when she was sitting on the edge of her bed, smoking her last cigarette, she came to a conclusion.

"Featherstone has toned everything down and suppressed every scrap of evidence to keep Bellamy's name out of the case," she said.

"Why?" asked the astounded Julius. "That's the last thing Featherstone would do. He wants to get Bellamy."

She shook her head. "You're clever, Julius, but you'll never represent your country abroad. Diplomacy isn't your long suit. Suppose Featherstone had held the old devil—where was the evidence against him? And how could he bring him into court without splashing Valerie Howett's big story? I am as sure as I'm sitting here that there is a big story about her, and that Bellamy is in it. Otherwise, why should she pay you to give her information about him?"

She slipped into bed and sat, clasping her knees, her brow wrinkled in thought. "I have been thinking things over, Julius. Why did he want me down here?"

"Heaven knows: possibly he had a pull on me if you were around."

She did not answer. He was half asleep when she spoke again. "Perhaps Holloway would be safer," she said, and Julius grunted.

Fay did not sleep well on this the first night of her stay in Garre Castle. She was as wide awake at three as she had been at midnight. Once she heard somebody walking past the door, a stealthy, shuffling somebody who had a cough which he tried to suppress.

She was dozing when she heard a faint and regular tapping. At first she thought the tapping was inside the room, but listening, she realised that it came from below. "Tap, tap, tap," and then a pause. "Tap, tap, tap," this time continuously.

She nudged Julius and he woke. "What is that noise?" she whispered.

He sat up in bed and listened. "I 'don't know. Sounds like somebody downstairs."

"What is under us?" she asked.

Julius thought for a while. "The dining-room—no, the guard- hall. I showed you the place, the first day you came."

He felt her shudder. "The entrance to the dungeons!" she whispered fearfully. "Oh, Julius, I'm frightened."

He patted her shoulder. "Don't be silly. Perhaps it is the water- pipe—Bellamy always accounts for anything unusual that way." Nevertheless he was puzzled by the sound. "It can't be in the guard-room. It sounds like a hammer on steel, and we should hear it more distinctly."

"Then where is it?" she asked fretfully.

Julius Savini had certain senses abnormally developed. During his somewhat chequered career his keenness of hearing and his ability to locate sound had proved invaluable to him. And he had instantly located the tapping. It came from the dungeon, that place of gloom.

"Where is it?" asked the girl.

"It's the water-pipe," replied Julius. "You go to sleep and I will see if I can stop it."

He pulled on a coat and she heard him opening the drawer of the bureau. "You don't want a gun to stop a water-pipe knocking, do you?" she asked almost tearfully.

"I'm naturally a nervous man," was the calm reply. "I'm not going to wander around this old castle—"

But she was out of bed and he heard the swish of her silk dressing- gown as she pulled it on. "I'm not going to be left here alone," she said with determination. Julius was not displeased, for he was no more anxious to be alone than she.

One light burnt in the corridor as they went softly along. Bellamy's door was open.

"He hasn't gone to bed," whispered Julius. "His door was in exactly that position when I came up." In proof, there was a light in the hall below, and Julius went down the staircase very slowly. The library door was closed, and now he could hear the tapping more clearly. It came from the direction of the dining-room. Followed by Fay, he went along the dark passages, past the dining-room door and into the square stone guard-room. Before he reached there, he saw the reflected beams of the lantern which was on the stone floor. There was the gleam of another light at the foot of the dungeon stairs. Creeping forward, he peered down. There was nobody in sight, but the noise of steady hammering was louder.

The gun in his hand trembled as he put his foot on the first of the worn stone steps. Suddenly the hammering ceased, and the sound of feet on the uneven floor of the dungeon sent Savini swiftly into retreat. Gripping his wife by the arm, he flew along the passage and up the staircase. From the upper landing he had a clear and uninterrupted view of the hall. They had to wait some time before the workman appeared. It was Abel Bellamy.

He was coatless. His shirt opened to show his big chest, his shirt- sleeve rolled up to the shoulder. Looking at those huge and muscular arms, Julius saw that they were streaked with grey dust. Bellamy carried a big hammer in one hand, a lantern in the other, and as he came into the hall, he raised his arm to wipe his streaming forehead. Savini drew back and went swiftly down the corridor into his room and closed the door softly.

"What has he been doing?" whispered the frightened girl.

"Fixing the water-pipe," said Julius facetiously, and never dreamt how near he was to the truth.

49. THE TRAP

Early that morning Julius was astir. There was ample excuse for going into the guard-room, for his duties now brought him to every part of the castle building. The guard-room held a surprise.

There was a hinged grating, a heavy steel grille which had been put there to close the entrance of the dungeons, but which, in Bellamy's time, had never been used. Now it was down and fastened by a brand-new padlock. When he saw Bellamy later he remarked upon this.

"Yes—one of those fools of servants nearly fell down the stairs when you were away," he said. "I've had it fixed so that there can be no accidents. Why?"

"I thought I'd like to show Mrs. Savini the dungeons," said Julius.

"Well, you can't," was the uncompromising reply.

When they came into contact again during the day, the old man raised the question himself. "If your wife wants to see the dungeons, I'll show her over them myself some day," he said, and Julius thanked him and reported the conversation to Fay.

"I don't want to see his old dungeons," she said at once. "Julius, I'm leaving. The Maida Vale flat isn't a palace, but it's less creepy."

Julius accepted her decision without comment. Not so the old man when he heard the news. "Tell her she can't go," he stormed. "I want her here. She's got to stay for a week at any rate."

"You had better tell her yourself, Mr. Bellamy," said the wise Julius.

"Send her in." Fay came, more than a little antagonistic. "Savini says you want to leave the castle."

"And Savini's right," she said. "This place gets on my nerves, Mr. Bellamy."

"Scared of ghosts?" he sneered.

"No, I'm scared of you."

Abe Bellamy chuckled. If she had racked her brains to think of something to please him, she could not have found a better way.

"Afraid of me—what is there to be afraid of? Ugly men don't frighten women—they like 'em."

"Cavemen have never been fashionable with me," said Fay; "and it isn't your homely appearance that's made my own house attractive. You're no matinee idol and that's the truth, Mr. Bellamy, but you don't worry me. It's this creepy old castle and the noises at night—"

"What noises?" he asked quickly.

"Julius says it's the water-pipes, and perhaps he's right, but I can't sleep and I'm losing a whole lot of beauty that I can't afford."

He was watching her through half-closed eyes, and when she had finished, he laughed again, a soundless laugh, as if he were struggling to master his mirth.

"Have your own way," he said. "Stay until the end of next week and then you can go."

Her mind had been made up to leave at once, but she agreed. "And why I said 'yes' I don't know. Another week in this place is going to turn me grey, Julius."

"You're a fool," said Julius.

That night they both heard the tapping, but it did not keep them from sleeping. On the third night Julius woke with a start, to find his wife also awake. "What was that?" he asked.

"It sounded like an explosion." Even as she spoke there came a muffled roar that made the floor shiver.

Savini rushed into the passage and down the stairs. He was halfway across the hall when the old man appeared. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Savini could smell something: the acrid fumes of a spent explosive. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing; I was doing a little blasting. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Blasting—at this hour of the night?"

"Couldn't be a better time, eh?" said Bellamy. "One of the walls in the dungeon looked like as though it was hiding something. All these old castles have treasure-rooms, and I've been thinking for a long time of breaking it down." Abel Bellamy was not the kind of man to go treasure- hunting at three o'clock in the morning. "Frightened your wife? I thought I was the only thing that scared her! Go back to bed, Savini."

There was no other course for Julius to follow. "The old man has been blowing holes in the wall," he told her.

"If he has blown a hole big enough for me to crawl through I'm crawling," replied Fay with determination. "And you're coming too, Julius—I don't care how easy the money is, you're leaving! Why did he have you back—why did he ask me down?

"Because we're two of the people who could talk. I knew that he was behind Smith—didn't he send you to give instructions to me? Smith said as much. He couldn't afford to leave you in town or me either. I've been blind. He hates to see women around, and yet he sends for me! If I'd had the brain of a gnat I should have seen it before. We leave as soon as it is light."

Julius had an uneasy feeling that she was right, and said as much.

"Of course I'm right!" she said scornfully. "Julius Savini, you're a dead man if you stay here! That old fox is starting something. It isn't the blowing up of the walls that worries me! I guess there isn't enough dynamite in stock to blow up Garre Castle. It's the plan behind all these tappings and bangings."

Bellamy was in the library when they presented themselves, and he looked up over the day-old copy of the Globe which gave an account of the inquest. "Going out?" he asked, seeing their attire.

"Going home," Fay answered.

He put down the paper. "Thought you were seeing out the week. You, too, Savini?" Julius nodded. "Well ... I think you're foolish, but I won't quarrel with you. Here are your wages. You're not entitled to any, leaving me in this way. Write out two receipts." Julius obeyed, sitting for the last time at Abe Bellamy's writing table. "Savini, remember that leather folder? Don't ask me which. Remember the way you used to sneak round when I was out, trying first this drawer and then that? Remember all the information you used to give Valerie What-is-her-name? I'm going to return good for evil."

Julius, on his guard, watched, as with a thrust the old man pushed back the table and kicked the rug aside.

"I'm beaten," said Bellamy calmly, "beaten to blazes; that fly cop Featherstone knows all about the woman I've got down here, and I guess you know too, or you wouldn't be running away."

He stooped, lifted the parquet block with his finger—nails, and inserted the key. The Savinis watched, fascinated, as the stone slab swung back. Without a word Bellamy went down the steps. "Come and see," he said, and Julius followed, and then, reluctantly, Fay. The old man lit the gas bracket and unlocked the door. The lamps were burning as he had left them.

"Come in," said Bellamy at the entrance to the tunnel.

"I'll stay here," said Julius. He felt Fay's hand on his arm, and it was trembling. Bellamy turned carelessly away.

"Well, stay—the woman is there if you want to see her."

Suddenly one hand fell on Savini's shoulder and the other on the girl. Before Julius could recover his balance he was flung into the tunnel and his wife thrust after him. The door closed with a crash and they heard the shooting of the bolts.

Then Abe Bellamy's face appeared at a little grating in the door.

"Going home, are ye? By God, ye're home! Your last home, you crawling nigger—your last home, ye gutter woman! Leaving to carry tales, were ye? There ye are and there ye'll stay till ye die!" Abe Bellamy's voice was a hoarse squeak; he had lashed himself to a fury that was near to madness. "I've waited for you, Savini! And that wife of yours—" he began, and leapt aside only just in time.

A bullet came 'smack!' against the wall behind him, a second struck on of the iron cross-pieces of the grating. The possibility of Julius being armed had not occurred to him.

Swiftly he dropped the iron shutter which covered the grating and, clamping it into place, went upstairs and replaced the trap. Then he wrote a long letter and carried it with his own hand to the keeper's lodge. "You ride a bicycle, don't you? Take this to Lady's Manor." The man rode off and Abe waited by the gate. Ten minutes brought the lodge-keeper back, and almost immediately afterwards the old man saw a familiar figure emerge from the Blue Boar. "Go, tell that gentleman I want him," he said, and the interested Spike returned with the keeper.

"Good morning, Holland. That friend of yours has left me."

"Savini, Mr. Bellamy?"

Abe nodded. "Just gone—he and his wife. Caught them trying to open my safe in the night. Just fired them out. Thought you would like to have that for the Globe."

"Great," said Spike without enthusiasm. "Which way did they go? They didn't pass the Boar?"

"No; they walked to Newbury—that was what Savini said he was doing. He talked of seeing a lawyer there. I'm through with the castle, Holland. You can't trust these English people, and Savini's half English."

"What are you doing about it?"

"I'm firing the whole crowd. Paying them off and shutting up, the place," said Bellamy. "Just keeping on this lodge man and a caretaker. Maybe if you come up some day this week I'll give you a good story."

Spike's eyes twinkled. "What are you going to do with the Green Archer?" he asked.

"He's the new caretaker," was the prompt reply. "Perhaps I'll be able to tell you something about the Green Archer, too, Holland. He's fooled everybody but me. Never seen his face, have you?"

"No," said Spike quietly. "It isn't his face that I want to see—it is his back."

Abe's brows met. "His back?"

"I want to see the marks that Creager made when he flogged him," said Spike.

He was unprepared for the effect his words had upon the old man. Bellamy staggered as if he had been shot, and his huge hand went out to the stone pillar of the gate for support. His face was bloodless, and the pale eyes grew suddenly luminous.

"You want to see his back ... that Creager flogged! ... " he muttered—and then, turning on his heel, he ran up the drive as though a veritable spectre was pursuing him. Straight to the library he ran, slammed and locked the door, and, tottering to his favourite chair, dropped into it exhausted.

The man Creager flogged! A ghost had risen in Garre more fearful than the Green Archer. For two hours he sat, staring blankly from the window, and in his heart was a strange and baffling emotion. It was the fear of death.

CONTINUED IN

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