Evelyn is compelled to commit an indiscretion. There is draught, followed by a gun-fight; in the end, a lot of people are run in in a police round-up. Everyone is being pursued as well as pursuing everyone else. The gangsters form a syndicate, then repair to The King of Beans. A banquet is spoilt by a tropical storm, and the person fêted leaves on a long motor tour, in full evening-dress.

1.

Evelyn scarcely dared to breathe lest she betray her presence in the flat.

In one of the rooms, a clock began to chime out the hour. The gangster climbed over the window-sill and stepped into the room. Then he carefully brushed his trousers to remove all traces of the lime which had soiled them as he climbed the wall. Evelyn watched his every movement, while Gordon remained ignorant of her presence.

She had withdrawn behind the door-curtain just in time and now couldn't help wondering what he would do if he discovered her. It was not an enviable situation to find oneself alone in a flat with a gangster. And she could scarcely cry out for help since she had no more right to be there than Gordon. They were both housebreakers in the eyes of the law.

She could hear the floor creak as he moved about. He must be going from one cabinet to the other, looking for the "Dreaming Buddha." She was filled with rage to think that it had been almost within her grasp and now she might have to actually watch her rival steal it while she stood by, afraid for her life.

Since she must now give up hope of gaining possession of the statuette she felt that she should at least try to escape or move to some more strategic position in which she could cry out for help.

Cautiously, she started for the window. The thick carpet deadened the sound of her footsteps and the creaking of the floor. Now her hope of escaping depended on whether the handle would grate or not. She touched it, and very slowly began to turn it. Soundlessly the window opened. There was only a faint stir of air, probably because Gordon had left the window open in the adjoining room.

This time it seemed that Evelyn was in luck. The flat was on the fourth floor but there was a fire escape just beside the window. There was every possibility of escape.

But now that she felt secure of an avenue of escape, she plucked up more courage. She had not had time to examine the glass-case by the window and it was just possible that the little enamelled box with the Buddha was in it.

She moved a few steps back from the window.

Evening was closing in and it was dark in the room. She had to move quite close to the glass cabinet to make out the contents. At the very moment when she had satisfied herself that the Buddha was not there she heard someone slam the front door of the flat. She heard first voices, then the click of the electric switch in the entrance hall.

Wilmington had come home, bringing a visitor with him!

2.

"But he ordered supper for eight o'clock only," was Evelyn's first thought. Now she dared not move. The gangster, too, must be standing riveted to the floor as she was, and equally dismayed.

What now?

"Your attitude, Adams, absolutely beats me," she could hear the host saying firmly. "It was out of curiosity, not fear, that I yielded to your request to visit me in my flat."

"You'll understand everything soon enough," said the other shortly.

The door was ajar, and Evelyn was able to see quite clearly all that was happening in the dining-room. The visitor was a short, stout man, with a slightly rasping voice and a slovenly dub-footed gait; a cigarette drooped from the corner of his lips and he allowed the ash to fall and rest on the front of his coat, making only the most perfunctory gesture of flicking it away. He had scarcely been in the flat for a minute when Evelyn became aware of the foul odour of cheap French tobacco.

Wilmington seemed both pale and nervous. She noticed an occasional twitch of his fine nostrils and he gnawed his lips as he paced the room. The stout one flung himself into an armchair, and, with the seemingly confident air of the bully and in similarly strident tones he began:

"Look here, Wilmington. You're expecting Fleury at eight o'clock; so you have just sixty minutes to consider my offer, because I'm not going to wait till our friend arrives. I must warn you that your game is up."

"You want to frighten me."

"No, I don't. This is only a warning. Four months ago, when I told you that I suspected you had Clayton's map, you laughed at me. You said you'd given up spying since your marriage; that you had nothing to do with that unhappy fellow Brandon's tragedy; and that I should leave you alone or you'd report me to the police. I knew you were only bluffing."

"You are bluffing yourself, Adams," the host said, with the gentleness of a purring leopard. He narrowed his eyes unpleasantly. "I know your tricks - after all, we used to work together..."

"Then you ought to know that I carry a gun in the outer pocket of my coat, and that at the present moment my finger is on the trigger. And you must also have seen me pick a fellow off by firing from my pocket at a distance of fifteen yards."

Wilmington glared at the man in impotent rage.

The stout chap took out another Caporal with his yellow, claw-like fingers and lit it from the stump of the one he had just smoked. He stubbed out this stump on a glass salad-server, and from the expression on his face one would have thought he was in great pain.

"You've been holding out on the map in the hope of getting a higher price for it once the riots in the colonies had been quelled. What you forget is that these delaying tactics have given me time for making some careful investigations. Quite apart from my own formidable influence there is also to be considered the fact that my employers can use their authority all over the world. I have taken full advantage of my fortunate position and I am now here to take possession of the map together with the necessary documents before Fleury arrives here or, possibly, the police. For naturally we are all under police observation."

"My dear fellow, you are very confident in your game of bluff. But I know you of old."

"Since you are so insistent, I will now remind you of some of the facts which have put you in my power. When you realise just how familiar to me are your foul deeds, you will not be so ready to speak of my 'bluff.' Well, then, my dear Wilmington - or should I say Mr. Stuck, since that was the name on the warrants when you were in the Intelligence - a year ago you married Lieutenant - Commander Brandon's sister. Your address and manner as well as the financial support you received from your employers made it possible for you to move in good society. As Brandon was a most capable man with an important post as ordnance officer in the Admiralty, your marriage gave you new scope in your work. And you didn't fritter your energies away. You did not go in for stealing merely trivial documents. You did not waste time on minor snippets of information. You were biding your time until something big came your way, meantime adapting yourself until you felt at home in your high-class surroundings. And since you are sly and cunning as well as clever you managed very well. At last came your lucky chance. Clayton, the explorer, returned from his last expedition, dangerously ill. He had been exploring the jungles of Central Africa and when he arrived in Britain he was a dying man. For several weeks the newspapers were full of his story and loud in praise of his achievements. Nevertheless, no more than a handful of people knew that the man had handed over to the Minister of Defence a diary, several maps and a great many photographs. He had struck oil - oil wells of exceptional richness!"

Wilmington shrugged.

"I've already heard that story."

"Wait a minute... All this priceless material was placed in an official envelope at the Ministry of Defence, sealed in five places and delivered to the Admiralty's cartography department. In due course this envelope found its way to Lieutenant-Commander Brandon's desk. Soon afterwards, Clayton died. Now you are just as well aware as I am of the immense importance of a discovery of oil in African territory not yet controlled by any of the Great Powers! And no one working for the other Powers had managed to get anywhere near that particular territory. The orange-coloured envelope containing the map and relevant information was the only key to possession; never in all the history of espionage had there been such a priceless document. But the man who had access to it was himself unapproachable. Meanwhile riots had broken out in the colonies and all the Great Powers were united in opposition. It was at this moment that you gained possession of the orange-coloured envelope with the five seals!"

"Tell me, Adams, why don't you write? With your vivid imagination..."

"Because, as you will shortly have to admit, I'm more gifted in my old profession. Let me tell you that your life is at stake now; the police are looking for you, Fleury, Hannusen and everyone else involved."

"Will you kindly get to the point and tell me what you want?"

Adams lit another cigarette from the stump of his last one, then blew forth a huge cloud of smoke which rained flakes of ash on every side. He lay back still more comfortably, throwing his legs over the arms of his chair, and continued in drawling tones, but without ever taking his hand from his bulging coat pocket.

"In your endeavour to carry out your plan you corrupted a whole family. Today, only the eldest of the Brandon brothers and the unfortunate lieutenant-commander are alive - if any can be said to be alive after spending agonised months in the hell of the Sahara... Ah, you have gone pale? Didn't you know that Brandon was in the Legion?"

"Rubbish!" Wilmington hissed, and took a step forward.

"Be careful!" There was a threatening rasp in Adams's voice now. "My finger is still on the trigger."

The bulge in his pocket moved menacingly, and Wilmington, panting with rage, was checked. The stout fellow laughed.

"Beginning to find the story a bit awkward, are you? Your wife, Isabel Brandon, gave birth to a child. One day, the baby disappeared. You told the despairing mother that she could get her child back provided she obtained an impression of the office keys used by her brother, the naval officer! You taught that unhappy woman whom you had driven half-crazy with despair, how to take impressions like a burglar. She endured two weeks of mental agony, then produced the impressions. But how would it be possible for you to get hold of the document without losing your splendid social position? You devised a magnificent scheme. Lieutenant-Commander Brandon doted on his brother, a young man of twenty who was head over heels in love with a dancer. But that lady was your chosen instrument. I know her well. Ethel Ardfern is her name. She had seduced the boy, who had been brought up by Lieutenant-Commander Brandon since his father's death. She persuaded the boy, Derek, to run away to Canada taking her with him. The day they were to take a train to Southampton, the boy wrote a letter to his brother."

Wilmington stood riveted to his place and looked fixedly at his visitor.

"That letter read as follows. 'George, I've had no choice but to do this. Can you forgive your wicked brother? - Derek.' They agreed to post the letter immediately before embarking in Southampton. Ethel had a big car and before driving out to the railway station, she asked him to accompany her on a visit to her mother, who lived near London. But she stopped the car in a lonely country lane and a fellow called Dickman, who was her accomplice, murdered the boy. That night, Ethel danced at the bar as usual. But Derek's farewell letter, extracted from the boy's pocket, was by then on its way to you. The following morning, you stole the envelope - and your methods, I have to admit, were worthy of a genius. In the morning, you called at the Admiralty a few minutes before Lieutenant-Commander Brandon was due to arrive. By some means you managed to gain access to his office; there you used the duplicate key, extracted the document, and went back into the vestibule and sat down. When Brandon arrived you were waiting for him with his brother's farewell letter together with the wax impression used to make the duplicate key. You told him that Derek had rung you up in a state of great agitation to tell you about some crime he said he had committed... He dared not ring up his brother... he was in debt... he would have landed in jail... he had been blackmailed and driven to have a duplicate key made that he could steal the orange-coloured envelope. Now he was emigrating, leaving England for good. Naturally - so you told Lieutenant-Commander Brandon - you had driven straight to Derek's rooms. The boy had already gone, leaving behind this letter and the wax impression. You hadn't been able to make head or tail of the business, so you'd brought the things round to Brandon. The commander stared, pale-faced, at the impression and the letter, in which he read the lines, written in his younger brother's familiar hand: 'George, I've had no choice but to do this. Can you forgive your wicked brother? - Derek.' He then went into his study and found that the orange-coloured envelope containing Clayton's map had vanished. The poor blighter had not the faintest idea that the orange-coloured envelope, folded in two, was in the pocket of your overcoat at that moment hanging in the vestibule. Who would have thought of such a thing? It was truly a stroke of genius!"

Now Wilmington was no longer standing bolt upright. His eyes were fixed on the floor. Adams lit himself yet another Caporal from the wet, yellow stump, then poured himself some wine from a bottle on the table, and drained the glass.

"You had better luck with your scheme than you had dared to hope for. That crazy Brandon just could not bring himself to denounce his younger brother... He was not aware, of course, that he had been murdered... Well, so this mad hero, this Commander Brandon, decided to give his brother Derek a chance to make a fresh start; he did not want him to be a social outcast because of what he had done... Brandon wrote a letter to his superiors, telling them that the map had been stolen, that he felt responsible for its loss and therefore felt obliged to tender his resignation. He explained that he had taken the papers from the office without permission, and that on his way home he had been attacked and had his attaché case wrested from him.

"The authorities would not believe this story. Commander Brandon was denounced as a spy. They could not arrest him, but news of his disgrace circulated throughout the world. So you have ruined a respectable old family. The mother died here, in Paris. One of her sons was murdered, another had to flee the country, the eldest a misanthrope..."

"I've heard enough of your rot. How can you prove your extraordinary story?"

Adams grinned complacently.

"I can prove it all right. But I haven't finished my story yet. Some time afterwards, your wife died, too."

3.

Wilmington had been pacing up and down, and when these last few words had been spoken he had his back turned to Adams. Now he swung round and stared at the stout little man in dismay.

"Ah, that one's struck a nerve, eh?... Well, let's get the story straight. First I grilled Ethel Ardfern as I'd seen you do it. I got her on board a hired yacht... you get the idea? First inject with tetanus, then withhold inoculation until victim signs confession in the presence of witnesses. Ethel also knew about this kind of interrogation. She knew that no quarter would be given, and she spilled the beans to get the inoculation... Unfortunately, as she was a bit slow about making her confession, the inoculation didn't work..."

"You scoundrel!"

"Easy!" shrilled the stout fellow, pointing his gun at Wilmington's chest.

There was a moment's pause. Evelyn was paralysed with horror, her lips parted, her hands pressed to her cheeks, in an unconsciously theatrical pose, while in the other room Gordon was also listening in amazement.

Wilmington sat down, lit a cigarette, and said nothing. White-faced, he drew deeply and blew out clouds of smoke.

"From Ethel's confession," Adams went on, "we learned of Dickman. He was the bloke that stabbed Derek Brandon to death. Dickman told us everything hoping that we would let him get away with it. Well, we didn't. I have him locked away on a boat in Toulon harbour, in spite of the fact that I have a written confession, duly witnessed, that he received his instructions and payment from you. I can also produce evidence to prove that your wife's death certificate was forged. Then I risked a heavy sentence some nights ago when I did a little exhumation on my own in Pére Lachaise; your wife's body was examined by qualified experts who tell me that there is still the blue discoloration of cyanosis on her lips."

"Stop it!... Shut up!... You..."

"I have more bluffs up my sleeve. For instance, we can easily get hold of Lieutenant-Commander Brandon. We've found out that he serves, under the assumed name of Münster, in the 2^nd company of the Legion, and is at present being treated for serious wounds in Morocco. So, you see, my star witness is alive. The man whose name has been dragged through the mud because of your criminal activity is still alive!"

"Stop it, I tell you," said Wilmington, panting and cowering as if he had seen a ghost. "Take the map! Take it away! Only be quick about it, for Fleury will be here any minute... How much are you prepared to pay for the orange-coloured envelope?.. You have it, you bloody stool-pigeon."

"You won't do too badly. But first I want to make sure that the seals on the envelope haven't been tempered with. Don't try to tell me it's in the other room and don't put your hand in your pocket. Just go to the safe over there and open it."

Evelyn had been listening to the dialogue in a sort of coma. She was sure they would kill her if they discovered her presence. But terrified as she was, she could not put out of her mind the thought of the unhappy Brandons. She made a silent vow that if ever she got out of this place alive, she would make all these secrets public... Though it would be difficult to prove anything. Meantime, Wilmington had crossed over to the safe from which he extracted a large envelope on which the five seals were evidently intact. He put it on the table and Evelyn had a great longing to snatch up that envelope and run off with it to Morocco to rescue poor Commander Brandon! She wondered if Gordon had also heard the story - or had he got away already? In any case, she would memorise the poor commander's alias as a legionary. Münster... Münster, she repeated to herself.

"We ought to move quickly now," Wilmington said. "Today, two different people came to my office inquiring after Commander Brandon. They pretended to be looking for a statuette of the Dreaming Buddha that was surmounted on some sort of a box-something left here with the rest of his belongings. I suppose that was just an excuse. They must have been agents from one of the organisations."

"Why? Isn't there a statuette like that among Brandon's things?"

"Oh, yes. I remember seeing it at the Brandon brothers' flat. In the bathroom, if my memory serves me well. But I don't believe their story. They would have to think up something which would sound plausible. Somehow they must have found out that Commander Brandon did own a box like that."

Adams's face darkened.

"But why should both of them ask the same question? It sounds to me as if there is really something about that statuette. A number of people must have discovered something special about it, the clues lead to you, and now they're all competing with each other to get there first. I don't like this business."

Wilmington paled.

"Do you think so? But what on earth would they want to do with an enamelled case which has been in a bathroom for years - or with the statuette either, for that matter?"

The stout chap reflected.

"Have you got the statuette here?"

"Hell, no. I fobbed them off by saying that I had it, or at least that's what I let them think. The thing must be in Africa, with Brandon - though he may well have thrown away a gew-gaw like that when he absconded."

"I would give a lot to know about this Buddha business," Adams brooded.

"I say, Fleury may be here any moment."

"You're right. Now let's have that envelope."

"But you must hand over the money first, Adams! This represents two years of risky work by an ambitious man who has not yet received a cent for his pains."

"You have sacrificed enough lives in the cause for me to appreciate that fact."

At that moment there was the resounding crash of falling window followed by the tinkle of broken glass. A light breeze had arisen and a sudden gust of air had slammed the window in the room where Gordon was hiding. It was only because of the unusual stillness of the evening that this had not happened earlier.

4.

Like two startled animals, Adams and Wilmington bounded into the next room. But Gordon was on the alert, and met them with a battery of chairs, one of which caught Adams on the shoulder. Next came a small table and a Chinese vase. Then Adams fired two random shots and hurled himself upon Gordon who retaliated by seizing Wilmington by the waist, and tossing him bodily at his assailant. During the next few minutes the flat resounded with the noise of combat, the thud of falling bodies, the crash of overturned furniture and the splintering sound of broken china and glass; the general effect was like a stampede of beasts of prey.

Suddenly a shot rang out, fired from somewhere on the stairs outside the flat; this was followed by the sharp peal of the door bell and the sound of fists pounding on the door; next came the regular sound of a swinging axe. There was only a second before the door would give way; the police must have been lying in wait for Fleury and having caught him, were preparing to raid the flat.

In the empty room, the orange-coloured envelope with the five seals had been left lying on the table. Evelyn now saw her chance. She slipped into the dining-room, picked up the orange-coloured envelope from the table, put it in her handbag and stepped out of the drawing-room window onto the ladder of fire escape. Now she had all that was necessary to clear the name of the Brandon family and if she could find Brandon still alive he would surely be ready to give her the statuette in exchange for this envelope.

She was already planning to go to Morocco when the sound of fighting was redoubled and she realised that she was still in danger and might not even get to the street in safety.

Gordon hurled himself on Adams. Wilmington whipped out a gun. Now Gordon freed himself with a powerful kick that sent the stocky fellow rolling. He thus became a sitting target for Wilmington, who however did not shoot. The accumulated hatred, rage, resentment and thirst for revenge of a man whose vanity had been grievously wounded, welled up into a determination to shoot Adams like a mad dog. He fired into his face from a distance of only two yards.

But the gun misfired and it was Wilmington who now faced death, while Gordon escaped. For Adams heard the click of the trigger and aimed at Wilmington the bullet he had reserved for Gordon. Wilmington received it in the stomach, gasped, and with the last movement of his hand, clutched at the curtain, rolled over and wrapped himself into the bright brocade as if into his own shroud.

At that moment the door fell before the last blow of the axe and it was borne in upon Adams that Gordon had escaped and that he alone was left to face the police.

Quickly he ran into the dining-room, noticing immediately that the window of the adjoining room was wide open. Behind him he heard the commotion as the police surged into the hall, stumbling over the body of Fleury. He just had time to slam the door and lock it so that the police would be detained in the vestibule for a few more minutes. Then he leapt into the adjoining room, through the open window, and was standing on the ladder of the fire-escape in time to look up and see a foot lifted from the top step and disappear onto the roof. He fired a shot after the fugitive.

5.

When she stepped out of the window and looked down Evelyn cried out in horror.

In the street below, a pitched battle seemed to be in progress. Patrol cars were arriving, their sirens screeching. People were running hither and thither and it seemed that Rue Mazarin was being blocked on every side. Four men, handcuffed, their clothes in tatters, were led out of the house from which Evelyn was fleeing and were taken to a police van. In the light streaming from the open door she could see a man lying on his face, motionless, in a large, dark pool of blood. A smartly dressed woman was dragged by the straps of the handcuff fastened about her wrists, then hustled, screaming, into the van. This scene of horror was floodlit by the headlights of an armoured car.

When Evelyn heard the first shot fired in the flat behind her, she began to climb up the ladder, at first hesitatingly, then more quickly as she began to realise the danger of her situation. She could not flee in the direction of the street; her only way of escape was over the roof. She struggled upwards, tearing her skirt on the way, and summoned all her strength to grip the edge of the gutter and hoist herself onto the roof. Once there, oblivious of her bedraggled hair, muddy hands and torn clothes, she ran along the roof, searching for some place of safety. Once she fell to her knees and rested a moment in a pool of rain, almost unconscious with pain. She struggled to her feet, ran on and came to a halt beside a chimney-stack.

Then, looking back across her perilous route, she caught her breath in horror, for there, at the very point where she had emerged from the fire-escape onto the roof, she saw first two large hands, then a bald head and finally the nose with the disfiguring scar.

As she turned to flee once again from her enemy, the ex-convict, he was already so close that she could hear his footsteps. A shot rang out and she stumbled over some planks; a taut clothes-line caught her by the throat; she fell, sprang to her feet and fled on.

There was another shot, but this time it was her pursuer who was being pursued: by someone who was himself being followed. She won a breathing space, for Gordon ran to cover behind a chimney and fired back at Adams. So they hunted each other while the Paris police hunted them both.

Evelyn seized the opportunity to run ahead, still clutching her small black handbag containing the valuable envelope, and suddenly she came to the sky-light of a studio.

Without hesitation, she gripped the frame of the open window, lowered herself into the room, hung there suspended for one breathless second, then, eyes closed, relinquished her hold.

Fortunately it was a rather low-ceilinged room, and she landed safely in the darkness within. She listened and began to distinguish voices in the adjoining room.

"You can choose which you like. The postcards are nine-by-twelve. But if you would like enlargements..."

She was in a photographer's studio.

Quickly, she looked about. There was a door on the right; this she opened, went through and crossed another dark room, this time long like an entrance-hall. When she opened a second door at the far end, she felt a rush of fresh air: she was on the stairs.

Hurriedly she descended, stumbling in her anxiety and again tearing her skirt. Her hands and face were sticky with mud but she had no time yet to worry about her appearance.

The stairs led down into a dimly lit yard. A servant girl was cleaning poultry; two white-aproned boys were emptying a large pail into the drain. Through an open door, she could see into a vast kitchen. This must be the yard of one of the elegant restaurants along the Quay. She made for the door of the building.

The police sirens were still wailing behind her but she thought that if she could only get through the restaurant she would leave the danger zone and reach the safety of the Quay.

One of the boys approached and began to look at her curiously. Her sense of danger renewed, she stepped boldly indoors, and walked straight through the kitchen without glancing at the dumbfounded kitchen boys; she opened another door - and found herself under the brilliant lights of an elegant restaurant. The diners sitting at the tables nearest to her raised their eyebrows in amazement for by now her clothes were in rags, her hair hanging over her shoulders and her face quite black with grime. She walked resolutely forward, intent on reaching the front door which, she could already see, gave onto the freedom of the Quay.

All eyes were turned upon her, but she had almost gained the exit when there was an exclamation close at hand:

"Why, it is Lady Bannister! Good heavens, what have you been doing to yourself?"

It was the Mayor of Paris.

Seated next to the mayor was P. J. Holler, while at the head of the table Lord Bannister, in full evening dress, was presiding over what appeared to be a banquet attended by a very great number of very distinguished gentlemen.

6.

Lot's wife, when she felt herself being transformed into a pillar of salt, could not have assumed a more vacant expression than that which appeared on his lordship's countenance when Evelyn made her astonishing appearance at the banquet held in his honour. For a moment, the silence was absolute. During that moment, Evelyn's brain was racing: she realised that Lord Bannister's reputation was at stake. The next moment, she saw in a flash the only possible way in which she could save the situation. She gave a little, embarrassed laugh and said, guessing wildly at the scientist's Christian name,

"Oh, Henry, I know I'm an awful nuisance, but I'm afraid I must ask you to take me back to the hotel immediately. Some clumsy cyclist has just knocked me down, here by the kerb. Look what's happened to my dress."

She knew on the instant that she had brought off her little coup.

The fresh tears and mud patches made what she said sound fairly plausible. The guests expressed their sympathy and spoke comfortingly to 'Lady Bannister.' One after the other, members of the Academy, university professors and generals introduced themselves, and 'her ladyship' said she was truly sorry she could not possibly stay with them in this state, and finally took Lord Bannister's arm and led him away.

As soon as they had settled themselves in Lord Bannister's car, Evelyn cautiously peered out to see if she had been recognised by her pursuers. She felt sure that so long as she had that envelope she could expect to be hard pressed by not a few desperate men. She could see no one. Lord Bannister waited patiently for her to turn round, then he said:

"Will you please shut the door and tell me where you would like me to take you?"

He was too indignant to say more. Indeed, he was too scandalised to be angry. It was true, and there was no use denying it, that several times in the last few days his thoughts had strayed in her direction and he had thought it would be nice to see her again. Nevertheless, he found the circumstances under which he now actually saw her, quite unnerving. He had to restrain an impulse to throw her out of the car. What on earth could this girl be doing? Why was she always to be seen in torn and muddy clothes? And what could she be up to that she had to prowl about the streets at night by herself?

It was just like her to appear in this unexpected fashion, rushing madly towards him, her blonde hair glinting like lightning; for the second time she had descended on him like a hurricane.

"Oh, please drive as fast as you can and take me out of Paris, to some place quite out of the city where I can take a train or hire a car," she entreated him breathlessly.

"But... I can't do that in evening dress..."

"I'm being followed!"

"I seem to have heard you say that before. Now, my dear Miss Weston, I am fully aware of a gentleman's duty towards the fair sex; still, I must call your attention to the fact that, unfortunately, I am only a scientist, not a knight errant. I find it puzzling that, when we have such a well-qualified, efficient police force at our disposal, you should persistently seek my assistance. I have a great respect for you, Miss Weston, but perhaps you will allow me to repeat myself and point out that you have no right to walk in and out of my life as if I were a pub."

"You are right... I will get out at once," she said. But the next moment, she leaned against the windscreen and began to weep. She was afraid that every railway station in Paris would be watched-perhaps the garages, too. She knew that her life was in peril. Possibly they were already on her track and her only chance was to hire a car at some distant place outside Paris. She suddenly felt very lonely.

"Now please tell me where you want to be taken," said Lord Bannister resolutely, for he found it impossible to speak as curtly as he would have wished. "And kindly stop crying. I'll drive you out of Paris. I'll take you anywhere you want."

"To Marseilles," she said, her face brightening.

"What!" snorted Lord Bannister, for he had a strict regard for the conventions. "To Marseilles, in evening dress?"

"Oh, of course you mustn't do that. Just drive me a long way out of the city... to the nearest village where I can hire a car."

Angrily he trod on the accelerator, and the powerful Alfa-Romeo started noiselessly along the road to Lyons.

7.

Meantime, on the rooftop the two men were still trying to conceal themselves, each one behind a separate chimney stack. Gradually the commotion in the street had subsided, and it would now have been risky to fire any more shots.

"I say, stranger!" Gordon called out. "Do you seriously insist on our tracking each other down? We're bound to be caught if we do." As the other made no reply, he added: "Much better to join forces. What d'you say?"

Adams made no reply.

"If we work together, we might find that girl with the document. I happen to have some information without which you can't hope to succeed. What I say is, let's team up."

"Who are you?"

"An Englishman. Of an allied trade."

"What use would I have for you?"

"You promise me equal shares in the deal with Clayton's map and I'll do the same for you in the deal with the statuette."

"What deal is that?"

"It's for a statuette worth one million pounds sterling."

"I suspected there was something fishy about that Buddha. Unfortunately, just now I've no time for anything except that orange-coloured envelope."

"Then we both want the same thing," Gordon replied. "We can get hold of the statuette and the envelope once we find Evelyn Weston. Well? Let's go halves. We could form a syndicate if you like. Or we could turn our backs to each other and get down from this roof separately. You, I suppose, don't want to grow a beard up here, any more than I do?"

There was a pause.

"All right," Adams said at last. "At the moment neither of us dare move from behind our chimneys. At least, I don't trust you. The best idea would be to meet at the King of Beans Tavern in half an hour. It's near the Château Rouge."

"All right. See you later."

Each man then retreated carefully from his respective chimney, covering himself as he did so.

As soon as he got down into the street, Gordon phoned Rainer.

"I want you and Beefy to come along to the King of Beans Tavern."

"Is the cooking good? I haven't had dinner yet."

"You damn fool! This is a matter of life and death. We may become millionaires if we can find Evelyn Weston."

"That's what you say! Beefy was on the phone just now saying that he saw her riding in Lord Bannister's car. They'd tanked up under his very nose on the road to Lyons. He's following them and will leave messages for us at every filling-station. I say, how far is that King of Beans place?"

8.

Adams and his two men had been at the bistro some time when Rainer and Gordon arrived. The gentlemen introduced themselves, also their respective accomplices.

Yoko was one of Adam's confederates, a bearded fellow in a striped jersey who never stopped chewing tobacco and spitting. He had once been a contortionist in a circus, but had changed his profession after causing the death of more than one of his colleagues.

The other man with Adams was a Dr. Cournier, a hulking great fellow with a pale face, tired eyes and white hair who was a drug addict. He would make slow gestures with his bloated, freckled hands as he talked; he had a deep, reverberating voice and the kindly manner of a wise old man.

"Gentlemen," Gordon began, "we're pressed for time. There is in fact no necessity for me to collaborate with you; but if I don't, we are bound to clash at some point. And the cake is big enough to feed us all."

"To the point!" said the man with the beard, and he began to clean his nails with the tip of an incredibly long knife.

"Absolutely," declared Rainer. "It is high time we came to the point." He hailed a waiter: "Bring me fried veal, with plenty of chips, half a litre of claret, and two hard-boiled eggs."

"Well, then, gentlemen," Gordon went on. "I know where I can find the girl with the envelope. Also, I know how to get hold of the ceramic statuette worth one million pounds sterling."

"Now I know about that, too," said Adams. "That man Münster's got it. Still, if you tell us where the girl is, we'll agree to team up with you."

"We'll go fifty-fifty."

"It's a deal."

Gordon then supplied them with the bare facts of the case, beginning with the story of Dartmoor and Jimmy Hogan's will and ending up with Beefy's telephone message.

"It was lucky for us that Beefy lost track of the girl and so I was able to send him to tail Lord Bannister, in whose company Evelyn Weston had made the crossing posing as his wife. I thought she was bound to turn up again in his company. And sure enough, they met again, immediately after all that happened in Rue Mazarin."

Adams jumped to his feet.

"Then we'll run them down!" he cried turning to Rainer. "When did you talk to your mate on the phone?"

"Less than an hour ago. The lousy service they have at this place! I've been waiting for the mustard for half an hour. No point in eating hard-boiled eggs without mustard."

The bearded man stopped trimming his nails and pointed the tip of his knife at Rainer's chest in a threatening way.

"Right. Get going, everybody!" Adams snapped.

Soon they were racing madly along the road to Lyons. At Armentieres, they overtook Beefy in his taxi.

"They've outstripped me by a long way," he informed his friends when he had settled down in the Packard. "That scientist has a gem of a car. But he hasn't the faintest idea that we're hot on their heels."

The car raced along at breakneck speed.

Reminiscences about a lighthouse and the Morse code. A fresh scheme founders four storeys up. The author of Wilhelm Tell takes possession of a gold-watch and has it valued at Högraben's. The fire-brigade is called out. Eddy Rancing quotes Shakespeare and Lübli the pipeman interprets. Eddy sends a telegram.

1.

Eddy wiped away his tears, untied a boat from its moorings and rowed back across the lake. He landed and made straight for his temporary home at Mügli am See, where the populace was still restive after the excitement of the early morning chase. Eddy waved from afar.

"I had him in my hands!" he shouted breathlessly as he approached the crowd. "As I was grappling with him we fell into the lake, and I'm afraid he was a stronger swimmer than me."

They gazed at the brave young Londoner with a mixture of respect and admiration.

"You are a hero," said Grete, giving him one of her eight-inch smiles. "I wasn't the least bit alarmed when I remembered that you were with us."

"I see you have sustained some outward signs of injury," said the coroner, joining them and taking a close look at Eddy's cracked lips. "Lips in that condition are usually excised for histological examination before the public hearing."

"Mr. Rancing," said the police inspector in the cool voice of authority. "Could you give us a description of the miscreant?"

"Certainly. A tall man with a small moustache. There were warts all over his face and a scar on his right arm-pit."

"Any unusual identifying mark?"

"His breath had a strong smell of liquor."

"Nothing unusual about that in these parts, I am afraid," said the inspector, lighting a pipe. He hated pipe-smoking but felt that it was de rigeur for a detective.

"Any other particulars? Initials on shirt? Size of shoes? Strong physique, or weak?"

"I have seldom seen a more muscular burglar," Eddy said. "I can assure you, the man is a Hercules."

"Good. We should be able to track the fellow down with the help of the Aliens Registration Office," declared the inspector confidently.

Eddy said he had no doubt they would. He hastened back to his room, where for the next twenty-five hours he remained in bed. He sneezed continuously and when, towards evening, Frau Victoria, Head Gardener Krüttikofer's wife, brought him a cup of herb-tea, he began to feel very ill indeed.

Eddy was not averse to an adventure, but he had really met with rather more obstacles than he had bargained for in this ghastly hole: it was enough to make even an Arsene Lupin long for a quiet, settled life. Less than two years previously he had courted the daughter of the Dover lighthouse-keeper and had only been able to meet her on stormy nights when the duties of his office kept her father busy. Harrington, the hefty lighthouse-keeper, was a stern and forbidding parent, so that Eddy found himself obliged to learn to interpret the girl's signals in Morse. Between eight and nine o'clock every evening, the light in the small window of the lighthouse parlour would be switched on and off at regular, varied intervals. And on the shore Eddy, as efficient as any Sparks thanks to his sweetheart's coaching, would read the signals: "Dad... on eight-hour duty... Come... Gin running out... You dear..."

Thus had Eddy learned, for love, the art of telegraphy and of climbing lightning conductors. Such experiences had had a romantic flavour all their own. This Swiss adventure was something quite different: here, floor polish was hurled into his face by kitchen boys with pimply noses, people locked him into lumber-rooms, slapped his face and hustled him into cold lakes.

And yet he would have to do something about that Buddha. He lay in bed, convalescing, and plotting another line of attack. At last he conceived a truly brilliant idea; his own genius quite amazed him. In the afternoon, he went to see the local physician, Dr. Rüdiger.

"Glad to meet you, sir," the doctor said. "How do you do. And what brings you to see me?"

"I can get no sleep."

"I'm not surprised. Your host's cats ought to be exterminated!"

"I don't mean that. I suffer from insomnia."

"Ah. H'm. And what are the - er - symptoms?"

Eddy swallowed his annoyance at this display of inanity and said politely that the chief symptom was that he was usually awake when he wanted to be asleep.

"That's rather serious," said the doctor. "You probably suffer from anaemia - hence your nervousness, your hallucination and defective memory."

"I am hoping that you will prescribe some sleeping-pills."

"A very happy idea."

The doctor handed over the prescription, and Eddy paid his fee and departed.

On the way back to the house he went into a confectioner's and bought some cream cakes, knowing that the gluttonous girl was fond of sweets more than anything else. At the appropriate moment, after dinner, when no one else was in the room, he offered her the cakes. As usual, she pretended not to be interested in them and said she would take the rest up to her room and give them to her cats.

Eddy was certain that she would polish them all off while still walking up the stairs. Nor did he guess wrong. He had mixed into the cream some of the crushed sleeping-pills and within one hour, Grete was snoring so loudly that her cats ruffled their hair and arched their backs and huddled together in a corner of her bedroom.

2.

It was a pitch-dark night with dirty weather blowing up.

The decisive hour had come, when he would suffer disappointments no longer. He took with him a roll of paper which he had smeared with pitch. His idea was to use his diamond ring to cut a square out of the window-pane in Grete's window then stick the soft tar-paper over the cut glass so as to lift it put noiselessly. Otherwise he would have had to push the glass in, making far too much disturbance. A long stout rope completed his equipment.

The weather could not have been more favourable for his undertaking. The deadly Föhn was blowing from the Alps, bringing with it heavy squalls of rain; thick clouds drew a pall of mourning above the countryside. Eddy climbed the winding staircase which led up to the projecting, ornamental tower room. This room had a sky-light, which opened easily, and through this it was quite simple to get out on to the roof.

Once there he felt like shouting a Tally-ho to the pursuing wind, so boldly adventurous was his mood.

With his hair tossed by the wind, a rope over his arm and the tarry paper in his hand, he looked like an insane cowboy galloping across the prairie with his lasso and a scroll of lyric poetry.

A strong iron hook projected from under the lead guttering above the girl's window. He had observed this hook from the garden. Immediately below it was a round dummy window, and still further below, the girl's balcony.

It was a pleasant thought for the prospective burglar that his victim was locked in drugged slumber.

He attached one end of the rope to the hook in a sailor's sling, and allowed the other end to swing to and fro in the wind; it hung far below the level of Grete's balcony. He then tucked the tarry paper under his arm and climbed down.

But he felt the strip of blackened paper beginning to wind itself round his arm and as he tried to remove it the wind pressed the whole thing to his face. He now looked like a member of the Ku-Klux-Klan. Luckily he had reached the dummy window and could therefore perch himself on the narrow window ledge. He let go of the rope for a moment so that he could pull the tarry paper from his face. Grete's balcony was still two floors below him.

Only a short distance away he could see the swaying boughs of a giant pine, and as he sat precariously on the narrow window ledge he wondered why anyone should have thought of building this folly of a dummy window. He was, however, rudely awakened from these musings by the sudden realisation that the dangling rope had disappeared. The wind had caught it as it swung to and fro and it was now entangled in the branches of the pine.

True, it might become disentangled and come swinging back to him at any moment; still, what with being stranded on a narrow ledge with his back to the wall, four storeys up, and with nothing but a roll of tarry paper to hold on to, Eddy realised that so long as his rope remained in the pine-tree he was himself, so to speak, up a gum-tree.

He had only to stretch out his arm to seize the rope, but in his position he dared not make any movement at all.

He began to feel giddy and thought he would surely tumble to the ground.

There was nothing for it - he would have to wait for the next gust of wind to swing the rope back to him. It was not a night when one had to wait long for gusts of wind. One of them was coming along already, wild and roaring.

The rope jerked, become airborne - and was lashed securely between two branches. Now nothing less than a tornado would set it swinging again.

3.

Eddy's situation was desperate. Compared with this, his lumber-room vigil ending in the early morning cross-country race plus a swim had been almost fun and games.

He screwed himself into a ball to wedge himself against the dummy-window. He was numb with cold, soaked to the skin and it was still hours till dawn.

And when morning came, as it inevitably would - what then? How would he explain his curious position?

The gravel crunched. Somebody was coming! A broad-rimmed hat appeared.

It was Herr Maxl! The poet who had written Wilhelm Tell! What was he doing here?

Eddy remembered seeing the man strolling beside the fence with Frau Victoria, Head Gardener Krüttikofer's wife the other night. Aha! So that was the explanation! The Head Gardener had been called away to Erlenbach and was no doubt spending the night there. There was hope for Eddy now. He cleared his throat and called down from his eyrie.

"Good evening, Herr Maxl."

The poet looked up. It took him a moment to locate the owner of the voice, then he raised his hat.

"Good evening, Mr. Rancing. Rotten weather we're having tonight."

"Comes from the Alps. Must be a thaw," Eddy shouted, smiling wanly in his niche.

"Would it be impertinent to ask what you're doing up there?"

"Well... er... I couldn't tell..."

"Ah, in that case I mustn't disturb you," Herr Maxl said, raising his hat, and moving away.

"Herr Maxl... er... I wonder, can you see your way to help me?"

"I regret very much, Mr. Rancing, but I haven't a bean. However, Herr Hüggeli, the manager of the savings bank..."

"I don't mean financially. I should like to get down from here."

"Aren't you all right up there?... What's your idea? Trying to add a bit of statuary to the stonework, or something?"

"I can't get down."

"That doesn't tell me why you're up there..."

"The wind has blown the rope away and it's caught in that pine over there. You might help me to get down from here, Herr Maxl."

"That depends altogether on me. I am willing to facilitate your descent, but first you absolutely must drop some trifling thing for me. For instance, you have a very fine watch and chain."

Eddy was shocked.

"This is blackmail!"

"You can leave that to my conscience. Well? Will you or won't you?"

Herr Maxl had always rather fancied Mr. Rancing's watch with its thick, short chain. He wasn't at all sure, however, that it was real gold. Once, in Zurich, he had bought a silver-headed cane and later he found that it was made of tin. He was more suspicious these days. He made as if to go.

"Wait!"

With silent contempt, Eddy flung his pocket-watch to the ground where it fell with a muffled thud in a flower-bed, among seedlings wrapped in paper.

"For shame!" he cried. "Fancy a poet being so materialistically minded!"

"There you're wrong. As a poet I'm not materialistically minded at all. I've never been paid a penny yet for my works. Now where is that bally watch?"

For now he couldn't find the thing. The wind howled, it was pouring with rain and Eddy was sure he'd catch pneumonia. At last the watch was found.

"Now get me down from here," Eddy urged.

"Look. I have been deceived once before. So if you don't mind, I will just go off to have it valued before we do anything."

Eddy very nearly fell headlong from his perch at that.

"But I say! Dash it, I may fall down any minute!"

"You must shut your eyes and pray. I'll just step round to Högraben's: he lives less than fifteen minutes from here. Excellent watchmaker. One of the best. Learned the trade at Schaffhausen. His younger sister is married to a painter. I'll ask him to take a look at this watch, and if he says it's gold, I'll come straight back to help you."

"Herr Maxl! You're a..."

"Don't thank me. I'll be as quick as I can. He gives twice who gives quickly."

Eddy wished he could give the poet something twice and give it quickly, but at last the poet set out.

Eddy had to cling on with all his might, resisting the force of the wind which now began to drive frozen sleet into his face, and his clothes looked like candied peel.

Herr Högraben's shop must have been a long way away or he must have been fast asleep; for it was quite forty-five minutes before the poet returned.

"It's all right," Herr Maxl reassured Eddy. "He says it's real gold. Now you'll be all right soon. Have no fear."

"A ladder... Get me a ladder," Eddy gasped.

"Don't need it. The fire-brigade will bring their own."

A siren sounded in the distance.

"You skunk! Have you gone and called out the firemen?"

"Why, the gas company can't get you down."

"You'll find a ladder over there... I beseech you... Before they arrive..."

"Oh, yes. And get myself fined for raising a false alarm. No fear, I say, how many jewels are there in this watch?"

4.

Meantime the fire-brigade had turned out, headed by Unteroffizier Zobelmann. The fire-engine, complete with pump and ladder, came along with all the furious speed of the 3.5 h.p. provided by three horses and a mule.

Zobelmann's first action on receiving the call had been to sound the siren so as to give the people time to get to the scene of the disaster while the firemen were still making their preparations. Quickly he changed into his blue-and-white gala uniform. He would have to put his best foot forward today! This was a rare occasion! They hardly ever had a decent fire in this foul hole of a village.

"Ready? Then let her go!"

And the fire-engine raced along to the sound of horses' hooves and a ringing bugle.

By this time a large crowd had collected outside Wollishoff Hall. Curious eyes were directed towards the pitiful figure sitting in the dummy-window, his trousers, like secondary water-pipes, spouting rain.

Now, with a great clatter, the fire-engine rolled to a halt. There followed some brief manoeuvering with the ladder. First they shoved it forward, then they shoved it back. At last, one of the men climbed up and lashed his right hand and leg to the topmost rung. He held up his other hand to the crowd; as a stunt, it was phenomenal and the chap got a big hand.

"Up we go!" Zobelmann bellowed.

Presently the ladder knocked against the wall, and Herr Lübli, the foreman, began to ascend.

By now the gaping crowd had swollen to comprise the total population of Mügli am See; every man, woman and child was present.

It was the merest chance that the firemen were not beaten to the start in the rescue operations by Herr Wollishoff. The old gentleman had been sleeping the sleep of the just when his daughter woke him up at about one o'clock in the morning. Grete had been awakened by an attack of nausea, otherwise known as the tummy rumbles, as a result of the large dose of sodium bicarbonate the doctor had prescribed for Eddy. Doctor Rüdiger had had second thoughts about his diagnosis and had persuaded himself that Eddy's insomnia was imaginary, and that he was really suffering from anaemia; he had therefore rung up the chemist and told him to hand out sodium bicarbonate on the prescription for veronal. And so Grete had awakened, seen the crowds and heard the arrival of the fire-brigade; alarmed, she had rushed to awaken her father.

Herr Wollishoff tumbled into his dressing-gown and rushed out into the garden. He watched the men manoeuvering their ladders, saw their objective and rushed back into the house; when he came out again he was clutching an air-gun, which he proceeded to aim at the human bird perched above Grete's balcony.

He would have saved everyone a lot of trouble, to be sure, had he actually picked off his guest from the ledge of the dummy-window; and Eddy himself was past caring by now. However, at the last moment, Zobelmann halted the old man with a gesture.

"You should put something on!" he bellowed into Herr Wollishoff's ear. "You may catch a cold!"

'Til shoot the feller!"

"Not before we've got him down! What do you think we've turned out for? Now, two men restrain Herr Wollishoff!" he commanded.

The rescue operations were resumed and less than half an hour later, amid much cheering and waving of hats, the strange foreigner touched down. In hoarse, screeching tones not unlike the wailing of a siren, Eddy explained to the old man, who was still pinioned by two of the rescue team, that he was desperately in love with his daughter and had been meaning to propose to her.

"I meant to confess my love to her in a romantic balcony scene."

"What scene?" Herr Wollishoff roared.

"Young lover turns up at night under balcony to confess his love! It's a nice way of saying it! Been written by a great poet!"

"It was me," Herr Maxl muttered. "It happens to Wilhelm Tell."

"I love your daughter," Eddy screeched. "Want to marry her."

"What does he say?" the host asked Foreman Lübli, who stood next to him, hose in hand.

"He loves your daughter," bellowed Lübli in a voice that rattled the window-panes like a medium force gale.

"He loves your daughter!" roared the crowd with one voice.

"Water?... Water?" stammered the old man, astounded, and turned to stare in the direction of the lake.

But Grete, who had been standing in the background, moved forward and threw herself on Eddy's chest. Now, at last, the old man had no difficulty in understanding the situation, and he turned and went indoors again.

In the morning light, the peaks of the Alps emerged from a sea of clouds that looked like tufts of wool and puffs of steam.

Later that morning, Eddy Rancing sent a telegram to his uncle:

Engaged to Buddha. Come immediately.

Lord Bannister creates a sensation in a freshly laundered dressing-gown. He survives the loss of his dress suit. Evelyn gives a brilliant performance at the wheel of an Alfa-Romeo. They meet three cows. His lordship relaxes somewhat but his agitation returns when he discovers the loss of his toilet case. Reappearance of the three cows. Lord Bannister and Evelyn don folk costumes in Lyons, take leave of each other, then continue their journey together. Newspaper headlines have a disastrous effect on Lord Bannister.

1.

They drove past a number of small villages. Lord Bannister forgot to worry about his dress clothes except when his flesh was pierced by a stud whenever he leaned forward.

Evelyn broke the silence.

"Ha-have you any idea," she said timidly, "where we can find the nearest garage where I could hire a car?"

For a few seconds, he wondered if he should answer her question at all. At last he decided that it was his duty to give at least a curt reply.

"There is one, so far as I know, at La Roselle. It's quite a big place. I hope I'll also find some appropriate accommodation there till tomorrow."

Again they relapsed into silence. Trees painted with white bands were racing past them like an army of legless soldiers. The ancient beauty of the countryside had been spoiled by this ungainly belt of whitewash for the sake of motorists.

Lord Bannister continued to mutter to himself, since the thought of accommodation now reminded him of the possibility of another calamity he had luckily avoided.

"It's a mercy I always keep my toilet case in the car," he mumbled.

The small patent leather case lay on the seat beside him.

"Why a mercy?" inquired Evelyn, somewhat nervously.

"Otherwise I shouldn't be able to shave at La Roselle tomorrow morning. And I hate going about with a stubbly chin."

"What a prig!" she thought; and when she inspected her own condition - bruised and scratched all over, her clothes torn and spattered with mud, chased by thugs in the middle of the Continent - she very nearly burst into tears. And this stuffed shirt was worried about his shaving-kit!

But perhaps her anxious effort to scorn Lord Bannister sprang from an involuntary desire to allay the suspicion that she was developing a more tender regard for the man.

She was still clutching her handbag, also of black leather, conscious that it contained the important orange-coloured envelope which was to pay for the Dreaming Buddha!

And also that unfortunate Commander Brandon's honour. What was the alias under which he was serving in the Legion?

Münster... Münster... Münster...

She repeated the name as if to memorise a lesson.

At last, they reached La Roselle.

Lord Bannister pulled up outside the only inn in the village, and when he emerged in all the splendour of white tie-and-tails he caused quite a sensation among the locals who happened to be sipping their wine there. Lord Bannister blushed to the roots of his hair when a short, red-headed, bandy-legged fellow walked all round him, eyeing him up and down as if he was a dashed advertisement kiosk. One vine dresser suggested in an audible whisper to the innkeeper that perhaps they'd better send for the district health officer while some of the boys were about.

Lord Bannister's trousers were patterned with oil stains. His shirt-collar, drenched and screwed up like a concertina, had chafed his neck and the crouched, driving position in which he had been sitting had caused his collar-stud to leave a deep imprint on his throat.

"Could you direct me to a garage, please?" Evelyn asked the patron.

"You'll find one next-door, madame. Some ten yards from this place. This way. You'll see a large barrel outside the entrance."

"Thank you... Could you please have a parcel of cold meat and fruit made up for me? I'll come back for it when I have hired a car."

"Very good, madame."

"I would like to book a room," Lord Bannister said.

The night patrol peered through the window of the bar and crossed himself.

"I can give you a quiet room on the first floor overlooking the garden," the innkeeper said. "Er," he added, somewhat hesitantly, "have you no attendant with you, sir?"

"I've had to drive the lady here urgently. Hadn't time to change... Will you please tell these people here to stop gaping at me. Or at least to stop feeling me."

As he snorted fiercely after the last word, the peasants scampered away from him in alarm, and listened uneasily to the vine-dresser's account of how the double-bass player of the Corbeille players' company had gone mad and walked about the village at night, wearing a silver crown on his head and pretending to be a widowed queen.

"Will you be taking dinner?"

"No! I want to sleep!" he said firmly as if everyone was opposed to the idea.

Now at last Evelyn ventured to hold out her hand to him.

"God bless you for what you've done for me."

"That's all right."

They shook hands briefly.

Long after the door had shut behind her he continued to gaze after the girl. How sadly, how hesitantly she had walked away!

He swallowed, trying to reject the feeling of bitterness with which their encounter had left him. He felt sorry for the girl.

At least that is how he accounted for the vague uneasiness which made him want to say a few soothing words to her and to go with her part of the way.

He went up to his room. The innkeeper offered him one of his freshly laundered dressing-gowns.

After the exhausting journey, Lord Bannister ached in every limb. He found that he had left his toilet case in the car but was too weary to fetch it; he need not shave until morning. For the moment, his only concern was to go to bed. To bed! To bed! The innkeeper's freshly laundered dressing-gown had a musty smell, but he could scarcely care about that; he wanted only to sleep... to sleep.

This vexatious adventure had quite exhausted him. He had found all that excitement very trying; he loathed unclear, awkward and embarrassing situations.

He flung himself down full length on the bed and stretched his limbs contentedly.

He switched the light off, happy in the knowledge that the incident was safely in the past, and before long he was sleeping soundly and deeply.

But he had slept soundly and deeply for only ten minutes when he was shaken out of his sleep.

Evelyn was standing by his bed, whispering into his ear:

"Hurry! You must climb through the window immediately! I've propped a ladder against the window-sill."

2.

Evelyn had arranged to hire a car from the owner of the garage, and then hurried back to the inn. She was only a few yards away when there was a flash of headlights and the sound of a car braking to a sudden halt. Six men jumped out of the car, and she had just time to conceal herself behind a nearby tree to avoid being seen. She immediately recognised Adams and Gordon; that gaudily dressed, monocled man was with them too. Evidently the men had been in hot pursuit all the way from Paris but their car had been outstripped. They held a brief discussion. Concealed behind her tree, Evelyn could hear every word.

"It seems they've been fools enough to put up at this inn," said Adams. "We got to dispatch 'em. Both of 'em."

"Wait a minute," Gordon said, after peering through the window. "There are three blokes in there. Better wait till they've gone. Our two little birds can't get away from here anyway. So we might as well go in quietly and sit down. We've got them in our hands."

Meanwhile it had begun to rain. The six sinister-looking men went into the bar. Evelyn had stopped trembling; custom can make one calm even before the threat of death. She was now more alarmed by the news that these thugs proposed to kill that splendid personality, the kind-hearted Lord Bannister, the man for whom, in spite of his moroseness, she had come to feel such a warm regard. She peered through the window of the bar. The men were sitting in one corner, watching the door. Quickly, she walked back to the huge red car in which her pursuers had arrived.

She knew something about cars. When her father had been alive they had owned a large Ford which Evelyn had sometimes driven. Now her experience stood her in good stead. She screwed off the caps from all four tyres and loosened the valves until the air came rushing out. She opened the bonnet, snapped the cable leading to the magneto and allowed the water and oil to escape. Then she hurried to the rear of the building. As there was only one room overlooking the garden, she could not go wrong. Lord Bannister was sleeping behind the open window of the first-floor room. Luckily, she found a ladder leaning against the door of the loft; she had to use all her strength to manoeuvre this to the window-sill, then, with trembling knees, she began to climb. It was the first time she had ever climbed a ladder.

3.

Lord Bannister sat up in bed; an oath rose to his lips, but when he looked at the girl, the words stuck in his throat.

"For heaven's sake... I beseech you!" she said. "Please don't ask any questions. Come with me at once or you'll be killed. There is a gang of murderers down in the bar. They may come here any moment! Please, please, don't lose a second! They think you're in it too. I overheard them say that they'd shoot you!"

A cold shiver ran down Lord Bannister's spine. He knew that she was speaking the truth. He slipped into his shoes.

"No! Don't dress! A single moment may cost us our lives. You can buy clothes anywhere on the way. Come on! Please!"

Lord Bannister picked up his wallet, wrapped a towel round his neck, then, wearing only his patent-leather shoes and the innkeeper's freshly laundered dressing-gown, followed the girl down the ladder. It was pouring with rain.

They reached the Alfa-Romeo in safety. Seconds went by before the engine began to purr, seconds that seemed hours.

Then they were away.

On the instant, warned by the roar of the accelerating engine, the gangsters came tumbling out of the inn.

But the car was already racing towards the main road, raising fountains of mud on either side. The gangsters could pursue them only with bullets, one of which went straight through the rear window and out through the wind-screen between Evelyn and Lord Bannister. Both heard the brief, swift whizz past their ears; and Lord Bannister was compelled to admit later that in describing their situation Evelyn's account of their perilous plight was no more than sober truth.

They were putting distance between them and dangerous La Roselle at 70 m.p.h. and it was a happy thought for Evelyn that the gangsters must be stamping their feet in impotent rage around their unroadworthy car. Of course they might try to hire the village grocer's Mercedes-Benz, but it was a museum piece and its chances of overtaking their Alfa-Romeo were about equal to those of a cow attempting to chase a golden eagle.

Frankly, the appearance of Lord Bannister, clad in a sodden dressing-gown, with a towel round his tousled hair, was a sight rarely seen on the road to Lyons at night. At this moment, he would have been happy to put on even his tails.

Evelyn's dress, too, was soiled, crumpled and torn.

"Don't you think, Miss Weston, that you're going a bit far in honouring me with your confidence by calling in my aid to this extent?" he said in a whisper, for his throat felt strained and sore. "Furthermore, if it isn't impertinent to ask: What is the cause for which you are risking my life?"

"I am carrying a man's honour in my handbag."

"Is it possible that the family jewel has undergone such a metamorphosis? On the channel boat, when you first upset my night's repose - I do not say this to reproach you, for I have become accustomed to these invasions - you said you wanted me to help you to recover some family jewel. Yet now I find myself, in my dressing-gown, tearing along at 70 m.p.h. like a madman, making for Lyons, to save the honour of a gentleman I do not know. I hope I am not a coward, Miss Weston, but I consider I am acting within my rights if I object to your attempt to foist upon me the combined duties of a film star and an officer of the fire-brigade. To say nothing of being obliged to risk my paltry life..."

Without warning, Evelyn threw herself on his shoulder and again broke into bitter sobs. Lord Bannister muttered a smothered imprecation, then subsided into silence. Through villages and townships they sped without once slackening speed. He was resolved not to slow down until he found a shop at which he could buy himself a suit. Day was beginning to break.

"There are many things about which I must not speak," Evelyn sobbed. "But, believe me, I am an honest girl. I apologise for exposing you to so much danger, but I couldn't help it."

"I wish I could at least have a shave," he muttered. His untidy state gave him an almost physical pain. He felt somewhat embarrassed, too, for she had stopped crying and there was no longer any reason why she should rest her head on his shoulder. 'It would be quite ridiculous,' he found himself thinking, 'if I were to kiss her after what I've just said.' He couldn't imagine how he had come to harbour such an extraordinary idea.

For her part, Evelyn was hoping that her seemingly absent-minded posture would not strike him as peculiar; she found it most agreeable. She was so grateful for the agreeable sensation that she relaxed and closed her eyes; the next minute she was actually sleeping on Lord Bannister's shoulder. Every now and then as they raced along, he would steal a sideways glance at her, and mutter incomprehensibly.

'She's most peculiar,' he thought; 'I've only seen her in three conditions so far: running away, crying, and sleeping.'

4.

In the bleak light of day, the situation became decidedly awkward. The occupants of oncoming cars nearly ditched their vehicles in surprise as they saw at the wheel of the approaching Alfa-Romeo a man who looked like a mad athlete, supporting on his shoulder some poor beggar-woman. As the traffic increased they attracted more and more attention. He thought with exasperation of the scandal that was bound to ensue once he was recognised as the English nobleman whose scientific lecture had been prominently reported in the morning papers.

"Look," said Evelyn, who had been thinking along similar lines; "I know how to drive a car. Suppose you let me take the wheel?"

"And what about me?" he said, suspiciously.

"Well... You might... perhaps... get behind the front seat... and huddle up on the floor... You'd escape detection that way..."

"Do you insist on this new stunt? I can't tell you how deplorably the instruction of acrobatics is neglected in the medical faculties of the universities. Still, if you insist - I give in."

"Oh dear. Why do you scoff at me? I am concerned for your reputation."

"I too have an idea that this is not how my admirers imagine me to look... Oh no! Don't do that. I can't stand the sight of tears... Very well, I'll go and double myself in two and tie myself in a knot. I only hope I won't have to do a trapeze stunt."

He relinquished his seat at the wheel, clambered into the back of the car and, groaning miserably, crouched on the floor, hugging his knees. In the meantime, they had stopped to fill up with petrol.

From now on, she would be in charge. Unfortunately the youth at the filling-station noticed that an elderly lady with short hair was hiding on the floor of the car, and he called out his mother and sister, three younger brothers and a grandfather. The clan gathered round the car and stared at Lord Bannister through the windows as if he was a shark in a fish-tank. One of the children ran off to the village to tell his friends. As soon as the tank was full, they drove quickly on.

Lord Bannister had ceased his reproaches. He said nothing. He sat on the floor, hugging his knees and contemplating his muddy ankles which showed above his patent-leather shoes, and smoked listlessly like one who despairs of any improvement in his lot.

Later, like some tamed beast of prey, he endured his captivity with melancholy stoicism while Evelyn brought tea and sandwiches from a pub, fed them to him, waited patiently till he finished his tea, and returned the dishes. During this repast, the village priest happened to pass by; he stopped by the car, peered inside and suggested that Evelyn should hire a strong peasant lad from the village to accompany her for the rest of the journey so that she would have someone to help her to attend to the patient. Lord Bannister was shocked to hear her thank the priest for his advice and declare that she needed no assistance, since her unfortunate brother was behaving calmly.

In describing his behaviour as calm, Evelyn was speaking the truth. Lord Bannister was behaving calmly for a man who had achieved remarkable results in curing sleeping-sickness and was a hopeful candidate for this year's Nobel Prize. For a man of his reputation and standing, and considering that he was constrained to sit cowering on the floor of his car, rigged out in a freshly laundered dressing-gown belonging to the innkeeper of La Roselle, with a towel wrapped round his neck, his hair dishevelled and his legs spattered with mud, it was no exaggeration to say that Lord Bannister was behaving calmly.

And as it was the Blonde Hurricane who was now at the steering-wheel, the Alfa-Romeo began to reveal that she was not unaffected by the change.

The front mudguards became dented, and the fender was twisted slightly in a minor brush with a level-crossing gate. Soon afterwards, the near-side door accidentally swung open as they were passing under a viaduct, and as she applied the brakes, a projecting buttress on the wall buckled the door so much that it was left looking like a concertina. This operation was accompanied by ear-splitting sounds of strained brakes and collapsing metal.

"I've still got to get my hand in," she said apologetically, over her shoulder.

"Oh, you have, have you," Lord Bannister responded ruefully, removing some splinters of glass from his hair. At this moment, the car received a frightful jolt from the rear, and an eloquent Gallic oath issued from the car behind them. Evelyn drove on.

"Could you remember to draw in the indicator?" he pleaded. "You always leave it sticking out and the people behind think you are turning right; that's why they try to overtake you on the left, and one of them will certainly crash into us. The best idea is to retract the indicator immediately after use."

"But it won't retract!" she cried, turning a switch in despair.

"Not if you turn the switch for the wind-screen wipers. It's the one next to that. No! No! That's the tail-lamp!... Oh... At last."

She stifled a sob.

"Don't," he said in a hoarse whisper, gently imploring. "No crying, please. I can't bear that sort of thing. Much rather have you sleeping or running away. No crying. I don't even mind if, in the end, there are only the three of us left: you, the steering-wheel and me... Ugh!... It's nothing. Only my head... May I ask you to be more careful when you change gear... Don't cry. You'll get your hand in. Oh, can you give me the iodine?"

In her anxiety to be able to give him the iodine promptly, Evelyn applied the hand-brake so vigorously that Lord Bannister was jerked against the door like a battering ram. He thought his head must be split open and to complete the illusion, there was at that precise moment a loud bang as the left rear tyre exploded. The vehicle shuddered, lurched and skidded, fortunately at a diminishing speed, towards a tree, where it came to rest, the radiator quite staved in, a melancholy sight indeed.

5.

They set about changing the wheel.

While they were thus employed, a little boy came by leading three cows, and all four watched, wide-eyed with amazement, as the insane gentleman-driver crawled about in the dust under the vehicle. It seemed that Evelyn had still not got her hand in properly, for she had unfortunately dislodged the jack, and the car had fallen with such a thud that the dilapidated door had broken off and was now lying in the middle of the road; the jack was submerged beneath the chassis, and Lord Bannister had no alternative but to creep between the wheels to try and extricate it.

That was how matters stood at 11 a.m.

By 12.30, it seemed that the car might possibly be roadworthy again.

"Off we go!" said Evelyn.

"Let her rip!" exclaimed Lord Bannister and he resumed his position on the floor.

With the assistance of the young cowherd, they had wedged the door behind the driving seat, and as it was not fixed to anything, it fell, from time to time, on Lord Bannister's head; but such trifles were as nothing to him now.

Evelyn prepared to back the car away from the battered tree-trunk and the young cowherd made a hasty retreat with his cows to watch from a safe distance. The engine emitted a singing whine like the last notes of a dying tenor and stopped immediately. Evelyn tried again. This time she managed to put the engine into gear, and she accelerated: the engine roared for a second and then stopped again. Lord Bannister peered above the door he was now holding in his arms.

"Try to reverse," he suggested. "We haven't a ghost of a chance of felling that big tree and going over it, you know!"

Poor Evelyn realised that she had engaged in bottom gear; now, after a few unsuccessful attempts, she managed to adjust the gear lever.

Slowly the car slid back from the tree. Something fell to the ground with a clatter - the bumper this time. They made a place for it next to the door; Lord Bannister was by now travelling in the company of a number of spare parts.

However, in spite of these minor losses, they found they were able to race along at a good speed.

"You asked for the iodine," she said.

Lord Bannister, anticipating another application of the brakes, sought desperately to secure his position.

"Do you think I should risk it?"

"Here. Take your toilet case." She handed over the small leather case.

He opened it, but all he could see in it was an enormous orange-coloured envelope.

"Sorry, that's mine," she stammered, and quickly shut the case.

"First of all I want to have a shave; the iodine can wait," he declared resolutely.

She was exasperated.

"We are being followed! Think! If they haven't got a good car..."

"Miss Weston! On several occasions, you have managed to win me over to your somewhat peculiar views. This time you have absolutely no hope of doing so. No arguments, please. It's possible that we're being followed. It is also possible that we shall be killed. All the same, I intend to have a shave - and that's final! After that, let me fall if fall I must: I'll be a victim in the name of hygiene."

There was a touch of malicious pleasure in her voice as she now exclaimed, "Why, we've lost your toilet case somewhere!"

For the first time during the trip, he showed genuine alarm.

"Look carefully! It's impossible! My soap! My gargle! My shaving kit!"

"Oh!" At that moment she felt like killing him. Thinking of his shaving set and gargle at a time like this! What a cissie! This was a matter of life and death, and he felt worried about the loss of his shaving kit!

"We must turn back at once!"

"But..."

"Miss Weston! You're wasting your breath."

"We would be driving into the jaws of deadly peril!"

"Our trip hasn't been child's play so far. We have only survived because Providence is guiding our car in spite of our own activities. That should be a source of hope for us. Miss Weston! We must now turn back and find my toilet case!"

She saw that it would be useless to protest further.

In that moment, she conceived a violent hatred for that toilet case. She hated it fiercely and whole-heartedly, because she loved its owner, and the toilet case was in danger of spoiling their relationship.

Thus she ruminated as she turned the car about. First she went into reverse again so as to adjust the steering-wheel, and she backed straight into a tree. She turned round to see the cause of their sudden halt, inadvertently put her foot on the accelerator and shot the car into a lamp-post. Lord Bannister said nothing. Supporting his chin in his cupped palms, he crouched sadly on the floor of his car, the very image of Marius meditating on the ruins of Carthage.

But the car, it seemed, was indestructible, and at last they started back along the road. Luckily, only a couple of miles back, they came upon the cowherd and his three cows once again, and saw that the boy was holding Lord Bannister's case. A few coins changed hands and the case was restored to its owner. It was an even luckier day for the boy who had also found a brand-new motor horn on the road, but he had not cared to mention this to this down-at-the-heel gentleman-driver.

"Let's hurry now!" she said agitatedly, pulling the first lever that came to hand, and causing yet another warning groan to issue from the engine. She drowned the noise with a blast on the klaxon, switched on the lights once or twice and, for no known reason, the sinister noise was silenced. By this time Lord Bannister had come to respect her quite individual style at the wheel. She always put her hand on the wrong switch, and yet the car was running.

"We will stop here," he said firmly. "I will now have a shave and comb my hair. Will you please pass me my toilet case."

"Here you are!" She flung the case back over her shoulder with such vehemence that it struck hard against the lamp lying on the back seat.

Angrily, she turned her back. Lord Bannister was a tidy soul, and he now placed the mudguard carefully on the seat so as to have some support for his mirror and shaving-dish, and then he started to shave.

While Lord Bannister was busy with his toilet, Evelyn walked impatiently up and down a little way off, on the highway.

Yet she would have done well to have shown more interest in Lord Bannister's mania of cleanliness.

Had she done so she would have seen Lord Bannister take from his toilet case a small enamelled box on the top of which there was a little ceramic statuette with a bowed head representing the Buddha, and she would have seen that in this box the noble lord kept his shaving kit.

Yes, Lord Bannister kept his shaving kit in the box surmounted with the Dreaming Buddha, and he had not the faintest idea that he owned the world's most valuable toilet box, worth one million pounds sterling.

6.

It was drizzling quietly and they travelled on to the regular swishing sound of the windscreen wipers. There was nothing on the road except a few barrows laden with fruit and firewood coming from the opposite direction.

As they neared Lyons the oncoming traffic became heavier and Evelyn sounded her klaxon continuously to forge a way ahead for her zigzagging vehicle. Sometimes, by way of a more urgent signal, she would use in turn the klaxon, the sliding ash-tray, and the tail-lamp switch. Miraculously they met with no greater disaster than to overturn a barrow piled high with firewood, but they calmed the owner with a few francs. During the rest of the trip, the car consumed three chickens, one sheep-dog and two bicycles.

"There is less and less of this car," he remarked despondently. Doggedly she drove on.

Now they were in Lyons and she began to look forward to the prospect of buying a new dress and having a wash. There was so much traffic, she had to sound the klaxon every second. She would not have to do that in the centre of the city for fear of attracting attention. Suddenly she realised that the water in the radiator was boiling.

There followed an excruciating ten minutes in the middle of a crowd of onlookers. When they were able to go on again they found that they had left the radiator cap on the pavement. But they could not worry about that, so great was their relief that they had arrived safely in Lyons. They were not likely to run into any serious trouble now, they thought.

They were wrong.

They slowed down, looking for a dress shop at which they could make an unobtrusive halt. But the next time she sounded the klaxon she could not release the knob, and as she jabbed desperately at every button in sight, they lurched forward to the continuous piercing screech of the klaxon. Lord Bannister leaned over to give what assistance he could with his one available hand, for the other was wedged fast behind the mudguard. They were then overtaken by a lorry which brushed past them with only inches to spare and Evelyn, relaxing with relief, next overturned a barrow of fruit into the gutter.

So they made their noisy entry into Lyons, advertising their arrival like an emergency ambulance. Terrified citizens looked out of their windows; pedestrians stopped to stare and one butcher said knowingly to his customers:

"There has been a fire every day lately."

Evelyn let go of the steering-wheel with both hands and clapped her hands over her ears.

"Cut the wire!" Lord Bannister cried in exasperation.

She snipped wildly: immediately the wind-screen wipers ceased to function.

"Stop! No more!" he entreated quickly.

He leaned forward and cut through the lead himself. It was fortunate that they were in a quiet side-street while engaged in these desperate activities for Evelyn in her excitement ran the car onto the pavement and had to make a detour round a telegraph-pole before getting back into the road.

"Of course," she panted triumphantly, "when I do something well, as I did just now, you don't bother to praise me."

At last she spotted the long-desired dress shop.

"I can't go and buy you a suit until I have found something to wear myself," she said. "So don't think I am being selfish."

"You are a skilful and selfless person," he replied dryly. He was nervous because so many people stopped to gape at his car. Yet it was certainly worth a second glance. It looked like one of the old tractors one used to see with small travelling circus companies but now discarded for scrap; it was nothing more than a collection of parts hardly holding together. When Evelyn crashed the hand-brake to bring this pitiful wreck to a halt in front of the shop there was a clatter like that of a falling box full of pebbles.

She went into the shop and quickly made her purchases so that she would be presentable enough to shop for Lord Bannister. She even washed her face and hands in the shop, claiming that she had had an accident. When she reappeared she was wearing an off-the-peg suit in which she looked like the wife of an assistant concierge dressed for a Sunday afternoon family visit.

When she came out of the shop, she had to push her way through the crowd which had collected round the car.

Evelyn then plunged into an arcade where she selected various items of clothing for Lord Bannister without too much regard for sartorial effect. Then she drove round and round the city while the noble lord performed the most agile feat he had yet attempted, for he managed to clothe himself in his new wardrobe while crouched in the back seat of the wrecked car. He was not unduly perturbed to find that she had chosen a Tyrolese hat with an outsize feather. A more painful choice was the checked plus-fours which should rather have been called minus, and a sea-green velvet jacket which flapped round his knees. In such garments he could hardly expect not to attract a crowd but he could at least travel in the normal way by sharing the front seat with the girl. When they drew up outside a hotel, the porter knew at a glance that he was opening the door for an eccentric corn-chandler and his wife who came from across the border.

"Lord Bannister," she murmured as soon as they were standing in the lobby, "the time has come when I need inconvenience you no longer."

"Miss Weston, from now on you should never say that. We are all in God's hands, more or less. I would only ask you this: when you next need me, don't wait till I have gone to sleep. In return, I promise you that from this day on I'll do some exercises every day." Once again he saw her eyes fill with tears. "Don't you think you had better be frank with me and make a clean breast of it? You may yet need the assistance of a man."

"I can't. I should only drag you into danger. I am very grateful for what you have done for me. In this case I am carrying the honour of a very unhappy gentleman; an honour with which my own happiness is not unconnected. I have inherited a vast fortune, but I must find it for myself and I am now on the right trail. I must go to Morocco. That is all I can disclose. You have every right to curse the day you ran into me."

"I think that's something of an exaggeration, don't you know. You might say that now and then while in your company, I have not always found the comfort and luxury to which I am accustomed but that's all. By the way, if you're bound for Morocco you might make the trip together with me tomorrow. I won't be going back to Paris now; I'll have my luggage sent after me."

"God forbid! You have exposed yourself to danger enough on my account, and I am happy to think that you've come through unscathed. Thank you... and good-bye."

He heard her ask the reception clerk at what time there was a flight for Morocco, and he heard the reply that a plane was due to take off in twenty-five minutes. Then she turned and left the hotel.

As on two previous occasions, Lord Bannister was left gazing after her with mixed feelings.

He seemed disturbed and unhappy whereas he should surely have felt relief at having rid himself of Evelyn Weston's inconvenient company.

What was this 'honour' she was talking about? No doubt, after all they had been through together, a more courageous man would continue to hover about this helpless and persecuted girl. She must think him a coward. He had been intent on saving his own skin, while Evelyn Weston continued her flight to Morocco.

She would go on running away, crying and sleeping.

She was at her sweetest when asleep, he decided.

He went up to his room looking forward to a nice long sleep himself.

He flung himself into an arm-chair, exhausted by the nightmarish car trips; then he rang for the porter and asked him to fetch his toilet case from the car. He was looking forward to a hot bath and was already imagining its soothing effect on every bone.

Through the window he could see his quondam car, from which the porter had no difficulty in extracting the toilet case: there wasn't even a door left for him to open.

The door, the mudguards, the bumpers and one reflector were stacked in the back seat and a crowd had gathered to wonder at the small heap of battered scrap iron which not so long before had been his elegant Alfa-Romeo.

The hot water gurgled into the bath and he was ready now for towel, soap, sponge. He opened the black case - and found in it a large orange-coloured envelope with five seals.

7.

They had each taken the other's case, and Evelyn was on her way to Morocco carrying with her not the unknown gentleman's honour but Lord Bannister's razor and gargle!

Where now was his duty? This girl had risked death to gain possession of the envelope which he was now holding in his hand. There was no doubt as to his next step. He must follow her. He must go now, in the wake of the hurricane, all thought of his own comfort dismissed in the face of such devotion.

He saw to his horror that it was already four o'clock and feared that he would miss the plane. It was all one with him now: he would arrange for his luggage to be sent on to Morocco when it arrived in Lyons from Paris.

And he would tell them to have the wreck of his car towed away and stored somewhere.

He cast a parting glance at the gurgling hot water... the turned-down bed... and was away.

He tipped the driver so generously that it could only be due to a watchful Providence that there were no fatal accidents on the road to the airport. As he leaped from the taxi he could see that the propeller was already revolving. There was just time for him to scramble through the door before the gangway was rolled away, and the plane began to move down the runway.

A cordial voice spoke by his side:

"Good afternoon, Lord Bannister. Lady Ann must have been worried that you were going to miss the plane. I say, where on earth did you get that marvellous hat?"

It was editor Holler, who had left Paris by this very plane. It had taken him some seconds to recognise Lord Bannister under his Tyrolean folk costume; the learned gentleman appeared to have unconventional tastes in travelling costume.

8.

When Evelyn noticed Lord Bannister, the sad expression on her face disappeared immediately and she glowed with hope and beauty.

"We have taken the wrong cases," he said as he lowered himself, panting, into the seat next to her. "I couldn't have kept with me the honour of an unknown gentleman."

Evelyn had not yet noticed the exchange. In dismay, she snatched at the case he handed to her, and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw that it still contained the envelope.

"I shall never be able to repay you for this," she breathed, handing over his toilet case which until then she had been jealously guarding.

"Be careful. You must call me Henry. That awful editor is on the plane and he's going to Morocco too. Look, he is coming now."

So he was. He was bringing coffee in a thermos-flask and several picnic cups.

"You must have come at a formidable speed from Paris to have got to Lyons so soon," began Holler, as he poured out coffee.

"Yes. We had quite a good run."

They drank coffee.

"You look a bit tired, Lord Bannister," Holler said, eyeing that gentleman. "Yet I should imagine your car is pretty comfortable."

"Not always," said Lord Bannister ruefully. "What's the news in Paris?" he continued, trying to change the conversation from this painful subject.

"There's always something happening. You should always read the morning papers. The whole nation's in a ferment. Someone has quite by accident exposed a major espionage ring. True, their activities were directed against Britain, but as you know, that means that they were also opposed to France. Two killed, five seriously wounded, eighty arrests, and one hundred thousand francs reward for anyone giving information that could lead to the arrest of the ringleader. By the way, the master spy seems to be a compatriot of ours - a Miss Evelyn Weston. Hullo!... that went down the wrong way! Here, take this paper napkin."

Lord Bannister coughed helplessly and the obliging Holler sponged his lapel.

Evelyn sat as if frozen to her seat.

Lord Bannister had gone very pale, and he spoke in a hoarse whisper.

"How remarkable. Do you happen to have a morning paper with you?"

"Here you are."

Holler handed him the paper.

On the front page, in the boldest type ever used Lord Bannister read the headline:

100,000 FRANCS REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE ARREST OF EVELYN WESTON

There followed, in somewhat more modest type, a number of sensational sub-headings about police raids, assassinations, espionage, larceny and burglary; and all these activities were, without exception, closely associated with the name of the spy, Evelyn Weston. She was described as Enemy Number One of both France and England, a woman who had stopped at nothing to possess herself of some vital military secret and who was suspect Number One to the detectives who were looking for the murderer. The public were warned that she was armed and would be a dangerous adversary.

Next came two closely printed pages summarizing all the major crimes that had been committed in recent decades and commenting on them with reference to Evelyn Weston's possible complicity. The Paris police had for some months been observing the activities of a number of suspects. They had made no arrests, hoping to give the spies a false sense of security in which they might inadvertently reveal the whereabouts of a valuable document which had fallen into their hands. For some weeks past, a certain house had been under police observation. It would not have been in the public interest to disclose further details while the investigation was still in progress. The one item of information they now wished to make widely known was the name of the spy - Evelyn Weston. The entire district surrounding the key building was the headquarters of various international intelligence agents. The moment had come when it appeared that the man who had stolen the document wanted to sell it, and the police saw their chance to arrest a number of dangerous individuals. There was a large-scale police raid in which many persons were wounded. The raid had centred round the flat of a man who was said to be a company manager and this flat had been virtually besieged by the police. Two individuals named Fleury and Donald were shot dead on the stairs. It was possible that here too the first shot had been fired by Evelyn Weston. The company manager was found mortally wounded inside the flat and some time later made a death-bed confession. It seemed that he had been shot by a fellow-spy with whom he had been bargaining. Two other men had escaped from the flat, one unidentified, the other a notorious intelligence agent called Adams. The dying man had also revealed that a woman had been present in the apartment, and that he had seen this woman snatch the precious document from the writing-desk, and run away with it. At that moment he had been hit by a bullet and could remember nothing more. He had, however, recognized the woman as the person who had visited him earlier that day to inquire about a ceramic statuette, when she had given her name as Evelyn Weston. It had been ascertained that Evelyn Weston had crossed the Channel on board the S.S. Kingsbay. A charwoman at the flat had given evidence that during the afternoon, Evelyn Weston had gamed admittance to the apartment by posing as an employee from a delicatessen shop; it was possible that she had concealed herself in the apartment on that occasion.

Evelyn Weston was remarkably pretty, of medium height, blonde, etc.