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Seated upon the terrace of the old gray house, I found myself wondering whether the precincts of White Ladies had ever seemed so fair.

The fantastic heat was over, the cool of the day was in, and a flawless sundown was having her gentle way. A flight of rooks freckled the painted sky; oak and elm and chestnut printed their fading effigies on grateful lawns; the air was breathless; sound, catching the magic, stole on the ear. The fragrance of a drenched flower-bed rose from below the balustrade; the five green peacocks, new-washed, sparkled upon the low, yew wall from which they sprang; like some loud-speaker, the stately press of rhododendrons was dispensing a blackbird’s song; and, beyond the sunk fence, a comfortable order of haycocks, redolent of Æsop and Virgil, remembered a golden world.

A slim shape passed between tree-trunks, and an instant later our two-year-old Alsatian, surnamed the Knave, moved gracefully upon the scene. Full in the open he stopped, to stand, like any statue, surveying the rolling meadows that made the park. So for a long moment, the beau-ideal of sentinels, all eyes and nose and ears, discharged his fealty: then the fine head came round and he glanced at the house. Steadily we regarded each other. Presently I lifted a hand.... As though a wand had been waved, the statue leaped into life, flashed to the rhododendrons, plucked a ball from their fringe and cantered towards the terrace, sabre-tail at the carry and good-humoured eyes alight with confidence.

As I rose to meet him, my cousin’s clear voice rang out.

“Boy, where are you? Boy!”

Before I could answer, my cousin sped out of the library on to the flags.

Jill has never grown up. Though she is more than twenty, she has the look and the way of a beautiful child. Her great, gray eyes and her golden hair are those of the fairy-tales. Who runs may read her nature—a lovely document.

Naturally forgetting all else, the Knave went bounding to meet her and touch her hand. She stooped to smile into his eyes. Then she lifted a troubled face.

“Oh, Boy,” she cried, “do come and do what you can. Berry says he won’t go to-morrow.” She caught at my arm. “And he simply must. I mean, it’s all been arranged—we’ve something on every day. And we can’t throw everything up just because it’s turned hot.”

“I’ll come,” said I. “One moment.”

I took her arm and turned again to the lawns and the pride of the spreading boughs and the sparkling yew. Then I pointed to the fabulous haycocks, each with his sugar-loaf shadow, rounding the scene.

“Were you calling me?” I said. “Or were you calling Boy Blue? He’s lying under that big one. ... And the Queen of Hearts has just gone. Lean over the balustrade and you’ll smell her perfume. And a blackbird’s been singing to the peacocks. It’s only a matter of time—one day he’ll sound the note that’ll bring them to life. Some evening like this. And now can you blame Berry for hating to leave all this and go up to town?”

“I know, I know. I hate going. I can’t bear leaving it all. But I do want to go to Ascot, and—and—any way, it’s too late now. Everything’s all arranged.”

“All right, sweetheart,” said I. “I’ll do what I can.”

“I don’t believe you want to go.”

“I don’t,” said I. “I’m a man. I don’t want to have to dress up, and I’m much more comfortable here than I should be at any hotel. But I quite agree with you that it’s too late now. I’ve got to start now, and so has Berry. I don’t suppose he’s serious.”

“He is, Boy, really. I know by the look in his eyes.”

“Come,” said I, turning, “and let me see for myself.”

Followed by the Knave, we passed through the cool of the house, across the drive and on to the lawn beyond.

My sister was sitting upright in an easy chair: finger to beautiful lip, she regarded her husband gravely, as one who is uncertain how to retrieve a position which one false move will make irretrievable. Six feet away, Berry lay flat upon the turf: his eyes were shut, and but for the cigarette between his lips he might have been asleep; by his side was a tankard capable of containing an imperial quart.

As we came up—

“They say,” said Berry, “that the hippopotamus—”

“Thank you,” said his wife. “If it’s anything like what you say they say about the rhinoceros—”

“I mean the rhinoceros,” said Berry. “They say—”

Before the storm of protest the rumour was mercifully withheld.

“Disgusting beast,” said Daphne. “Just because you don’t want to move—”

“My object,” said Berry, “was to divert your attention. Continued concentration upon the unattainable is bad for the brain.”

I put in my oar.

“You can’t back out now,” I said bluntly.

Berry opened his eyes and rolled on to his side.

“ ‘And Satan came also,’ ” he said. “Never mind. Who’s ‘backing out’ of what?”

“No one,” said I. “It’s too late. You know it as well as I.”

My brother-in-law sat up.

“Look here,” he said. “At great personal inconvenience I had arranged to accompany those I love upon a jaunt or junket to the metropolis. I now find that owing to the large anticyclone, unexpectedly stationary over Europe, my health will prove unequal to the projected sacrifice. Except that this discovery has caused me much pain, there’s really no more to be said,” and, with that, he shrugged his shoulders, picked up his tankard and drank deep and mournfully.

I took my seat upon the lawn.

“And what about me?” I said. “D’you think I’m going to enjoy it?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Berry. “I’ve never considered the point.” He glanced at his wrist. “Let’s see. At this hour to-morrow you will have already dined and will be walking sharply in the direction of the carpark.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure you won’t be running—if you’re to be in time for the second act.”

I set my teeth.

“You solemnly undertook to—”

“I know,” said Berry. “I know. But this heat is an Act of God. In view of that, the contract is null and void.”

“Rot,” said I. “Supposing I said the same.”

“If you had any sense, you would—all of you. But perhaps you can do without sleep. Unhappily, I can’t. The last heat-wave in London shortened my life. Why? Because I rose in the mornings more dead than alive. And there’s the rub. But for the nights, I’d do it. But for the nights, I’d strut and fret at Ascot, dine in broad daylight and stagger off to the play. But go without sleep I will not. Damn it, it can’t be done. If you’re to live like that—‘to grunt and sweat under a weary life,’ you—must—have—sleep.”

Here he drank again with great violence and then lay back upon the turf.

There was a little silence—which I employed in wondering how to attack a contention with which I entirely agreed. Then I caught Daphne’s eye and turned again to the breach.

“That’s so much wash,” I said boldly.

“So much what?” said Berry.

“Wash,” said I. “And you know it. I don’t say Town will be pleasant, but that’s not a good enough reason for chucking everything up. Besides, this heat-wave will pass.”

“Certain to,” murmured Berry. “That’s why they call them waves.”

A step on the gravel behind us made me look round.

Then—

“Excuse me, sir,” said the butler, “but the ice-machine has just failed. There’s ice enough for to-night, sir, but I thought I should tell you at once.”

“All right, Falcon,” I said. “I’ll be along ... later on.”

“Very good, sir.”

As I lay back, my brother-in-law sat up.

“What are you waiting for?” he said. “As imitation electrician to this establishment—”

“What does it matter?” I murmured. “We’re going away.”

“And what about me?”

I shrugged my shoulders and stared at the reddening sky.

“I’ve no idea,” said I. “I’ve never considered the point.” My brother-in-law choked. “There is, however, a real electrician at Brooch. It’s too late to telephone now: and to-morrow is Saturday; but he’ll come on Monday all right, if you put in an S O S.”

“On Monday?” screamed Berry. “Monday? Sixty hours of this weather without any ice!”

“If you put the butter—”

“Look here,” said Berry shakily. “If you tell me where to put the butter, I shall suggest an even more appropriate depository for the pineapple chunks.” He looked round wildly. “I suppose the idea is blackmail. ‘Go to London, or stay here without any ice.’ ”

“Well, it serves you right,” said Jill. “If ...”

Berry rose to his feet, clasped his head in his hands and took a short walk. Plainly concerned at his demeanour, the Knave accompanied him.

As the two passed out of earshot—

“We’ve got him,” breathed Daphne, excitedly. “Well done, Boy.”

“Thank Fate and Falcon,” said I. “They played clean into my hands.”

Berry returned from his stroll, picked up his tankard and drank what was left of his beer. Then he turned to his wife.

“Do you subscribe to this treachery?”

“If it’s going to get you to Town.”

“I see. You’ll allow that long-nosed leper to—”

“I will,” said Daphne cheerfully.

With a manifest effort, her husband controlled his voice.

“My love,” he said, “I beg you.” He put out a beseeching hand. “Think of your health.”

“My health?”

“Your blessed health,” said Berry piously. “I had hoped by my withdrawal to dissuade you from putting in peril—”

“You wicked liar,” said Jill.

“Remove that child,” said Berry, excitedly. “Take her away and hear her catechism. Teach her how to spell ‘reverently.’ Just because I venture to hint that only a half-baked baboon who was bent upon self-destruction would choose this moment to—”

The sudden brush of tires upon gravel cut the philippic short and switched our eyes to the drive.

A moment later Jonathan Mansel, Jill’s brother, brought his Rolls to rest twenty paces away.

“Jonah?” cried Jill, and put a hand to her head.

Her surprise was natural. Her brother lived in Town, and was to have dined with us the following day. And now he had come to us, when we should have gone to him.

We watched him leave the car and Carson, his servant, slip into the driver’s seat.

As he reached the lawn, he nodded.

“Wrong way round,” he said shortly.

“What’s the matter?” said Daphne, rising.

“Plague broken out?” said Berry.

Jonah kissed his sister and then sat down on the sward.

“No air in London,” he said. “I’ve had no sleep for two nights.”

There was an electric silence.

Then—

“Choose your drink,” said Berry, brokenly. “Only say the word. I’ll mix it myself—all of them. What about a spot of Moselle? And the glass washed out with curaçao, before it goes in?”

“Shandy-gaff, please,” said Jonah. “About a third to two-thirds. You might bring a jug.”

Shouting for Falcon, Berry ran to the house.

Hitherto speechless with horror, Daphne and Jill let out a wail of dismay.

“But, Jonah ...”

“It’s quite all right,” said Jonah, producing a pipe. “I’ve rooms for us all at Cock Feathers. Used to be Amersham’s place, but it’s now an hotel. Fine old house, twenty minutes from Ascot and just about forty from Town.”

I am prepared to wager that when the sixth Lord Amersham parted with his seat, Cock Feathers, it went to his heart to dispose of so lovely a thing. A sixteenth-century manor, in ‘specimen’ condition within and without, perfectly lighted and warmed and cunningly brought into line with the luxury mansion of to-day is not to be sneezed at: but add that its priceless ceilings have rung with the hearty laughter of Henry the Eighth, that Anne Boleyn has strolled in its formal garden and a baby Queen Elizabeth clambered up to its windows and played with her toys before its hearths—that these things are matters of fact and not of argument, and you will see that, standing in its broad meadows and squired by timber planted when it was built, Cock Feathers has that to offer which is not often for sale.

We had seen its glory by day: and now as we stole up the drive to find it sleeping beneath a peerless moon, I know that I blessed the foresight which Jonathan Mansel had shown. The peace about us was absolute, the air abundant and cool: the noisy pageant of London seemed stuff of another age. Yet thirty-five minutes ago we had been subscribing to the revelry of a stifling night-club.

Berry alighted, to inspire luxuriously. Then he glanced about him, and a hand went up to his head.

“It’s all coming back,” he said visionally. “I knew it would. Directly I saw this place, I knew I’d been here before.” He pointed a shaking finger. “Anne Boleyn was up at that window, laughing like blazes and clapping her pretty hands; and Henry the Eighth was down here, stamping holes in the flags. He’d just hit his head on the lintel, but she hadn’t seen that bit and thought he was going gay. And then he looked up and saw her.... It was an awful moment—I think we all feared the worst. And then Wolsey dropped his orange, and his mule kicked him well and truly while he was picking it up. I still think he did it on purpose. Any way, the situation was saved. They heard the King’s laughter at Windsor—that’s twelve miles off.”

“And what did Wolsey do?” bubbled Jill.

“Rose to the occasion,” said Berry. “I can see him now. He just looked round: then he pointed to the mule, whose name was Spongebag. ‘Non Spongebag, sed Shoelift,’ he said.”

Here the wicket-door was opened, and, Daphne and Jill alighting, Jonah drove off to the coachhouse to berth the Rolls beside his.

One by one, we entered—delicately. It was extremely easy to hit your head.

As I bowed to the presumptuous lintel—

“Captain Pleydell, sir?” said the night-porter.

“That’s right,” said I.

“I’ve a telephone-message for you, sir.” He turned to a pigeon-hole. “Come through about ten o’clock.”

I glanced at the note. Then I called to the others and read the message aloud.

Very much regret to say the Knave cannot be found. Gave him his dinner myself at half past four, but has not been seen since. Respectfully suggest the dog may have gone off to find you.—Falcon.

When I say that the news shocked us, I am speaking no more than the truth. For one thing, we had no doubt that the butler’s surmise was correct, never before had all of us left the Knave. For another, the roads were death-traps: the Knave had never run free upon anything greater than a lane. Finally, we cherished the dog. On the day that he came to White Ladies, an unsteady scrap of a playmate that knew no gospel but that of faith and goodwill, he scrambled into our hearts, and now, after twenty-two months, his understanding and beauty, his devotion and handsome ways had made him as much one of us as a dog could be. He was ‘lovely and pleasant in his life’: and now, though he came direct, that life was to be imperilled for seventy treacherous miles.

After a dreadful silence—

“What do we do?” said Daphne. “My brain’s a blank.”

“We go to meet him,” said I. “Not now, but to-morrow morning, as soon as it’s light.”

“That’s right,” said Berry. “We go to bed early to-night, and at dawn on Monday morning—”

“Monday?” screamed Jill. “You can’t wait till—”

“I meant ‘to-day,’ ” said I. “We’d better tell the porter to call us at five.”

“I see,” said Berry, thoughtfully. “If we don’t clean our teeth, that’ll give us a good two hours.” He laughed wildly. “What did I come here for? To be able to sleep. And now you suggest ... Of course, you must be out of your mind. We shan’t be able to see straight. As for looking about for dogs—why, you’ll have your work cut out to keep the car on the road.”

“We must drive by turns,” I said stoutly. “It’s got to be done. And the one who isn’t driving must keep a look-out.”

My brother-in-law swallowed desperately. Then—

“Someone,” he said, “must stay here—in case the dog comes. I mean, cases have been known.... Exactly. Very well. If we all go out, and he gets here to find us gone—I hardly like to say it, but our faithful, footsore friend will set off again.”

“Oh, I can’t bear it,” said Daphne.

“I know,” said Berry. “I know. Neither can I. And if I stay here in the drive—”

“That’s Daphne’s job,” I said grimly. “Jill must go with Jonah, and you with me.”

“Normally, yes,” said Berry. “Normally, yes. But here we must have the best sight. And my eyes—”

“You can wear your glasses,” said Jill.

“That’s just what I can’t do,” said Berry. “I left them behind.”

“I didn’t,” said his wife. “They’re in my dressing-case.”

Looking ready to burst—

“Splendid,” said Berry, shakily. With starting eyes he regarded the dial of his watch. “And now I think I’ll retire. I’m not tired really—I’ve only been on the job for nineteen hours. But as I’ve paid for the room—Oh, and who’s going to ring up Falcon?”

“What for?” said Jill.

“ ‘What for?’ ” snarled Berry. “Why, to know if the Knave’s come back. I’m not going to get up at five and stagger about half-conscious, looking for a dog that’s sprawling about in his basket, sleeping it off.”

“I wish I could believe it,” wailed Daphne. “I’d cheerfully get up at four, if—”

“All right. You do it,” said Berry. “Ring up Falcon at four. If he says—”

“You can’t do that,” said his wife. “They’ll all be asleep.”

With an unearthly laugh, Berry lay back in his chair and drummed with his heels upon the floor. Then he leapt to his feet and looked round.

“Understand this,” he said. “You can all please yourselves, but before I look for a needle in a bottle of hay I’ve got to be credibly informed that the needle is there. And that’s my last word. If anyone rouses me and, having roused me, is unable to assure me that the Knave was not at White Ladies ten minutes ago, I’ll commit an aggravated assault upon his person. I may do it any way. But without that information whoever does it is doomed.”

With that, he stalked out of the hall just as Jonah came in.

After a hasty discussion, it was arranged that I should ring up Falcon at half past six and that, failing the news we hoped for, I should arouse the others without delay. Then, without more ado, we went heavily to bed.

For anxiety we had just cause. At large in the countryside, a stranger in a strange land, a swift Alsatian was in truth a needle in a bottle of hay. Between our home and Cock Feathers lay a very network of roads. And the Knave was unacquainted with traffic. And the roads on a handsome Sunday were sure to be crammed.

It was eight o’clock of that lovely mid-summer morning before we were on the road.

The order of our going was dreadful. I had not spoken with Falcon: more dead than alive, I had swayed for ten minutes by the switchboard, listening to the night-porter wrangling with the unseen, only to learn that the telephone-line to White Ladies was ‘out of order.’ For all we knew, therefore, the Knave had reappeared and was now asleep in his bed. This conception was distracting enough, but Berry’s insistence upon it can be better imagined than described. ... Between us we had but one map, and our efforts to learn its lessons and then to agree and remember our several casts not only proved explosive but wasted valuable time. Finally it was determined that Jonah and Jill should drive direct to White Ladies by the way by which we had come, whilst Berry and I scoured the district, which, had he set out across country, the Knave might fairly have reached. As for communication, Jonah was to ring up the Granbys at twelve o’clock. The Granbys lived at Dewdrop, perhaps forty miles from Cock Feathers: we knew them well. Over all, the hopelessness of the venture hung like a thunder-cloud. For all that, there was only one Knave. If action was futile, inaction was not to be borne. The reflection that, if he were doomed, we should, at least, have made what efforts we could, spurred even Berry up to the starting-gate.

It was shortly before ten o’clock that the incident occurred.

Some thirty-five miles from Cock Feathers, Berry and I were moving in country we did not know, and proving a web of by-roads that sprawled between two highways. I was driving and watching the road itself, while Berry was up on his feet, looking over the quickset hedges and scanning the woods and meadows on either side.

For the hundredth time—

“The point is this,” said my brother-in-law. “If I knew that the Knave was in trouble and somebody told me where, I’d run five miles in my socks to help him out of his grief. He’s been a good dog to me, and I like his ways. But the game that we’re playing now would make a congenital idiot burst into tears. I mean, be honest. What sort of ...”

I heard the words die on his lips.

As I glanced up—

“My God, there he is,” screamed Berry, pointing a shaking hand. “Stop the car, Boy. Stop. He’s making for—KNAVE!”

As Berry shouted, the horn of some car behind us demanded way. No human voice could compete with so deafening a blast: but, what was worse, because of the bend ahead, whoever was driving continued to hold his horn-button down.

Raving incoherence I could not hear, Berry flung out of the Rolls, tore to a gate we had passed, and hurled himself over into the meadows it kept.

Then the oncoming car went by, like some hag-ridden squall, and I stood up in the Rolls to see Berry running like a madman towards a billowing wood. The Knave was not to be seen. Unable to hear Berry’s voice, because of the horn, he had, no doubt, left the meadows and entered the wood.

For a moment I wondered whether to follow Berry or to drive on past the wood before leaving the car. Then my brother-in-law settled my doubts by frantically waving me forward and making encircling gestures which none could have failed to read.

Trembling with excitement, I took the seat I had left.

The incredible had happened. If Berry was right and it was the Knave he had seen, we had achieved such a feat as no patrol had ever achieved before. With seventy miles of blind country in which to fail, we had actually intercepted....

As I set a foot on the clutch, I heard a car coming behind, and since I was at rest, I waited, to let it go by.

It did so—with squealing brakes.

As it stopped, twenty paces ahead, the police on its running-boards left it, to dash to my side.

The sergeant blared in my ear.

“Follow that car jus’ gone by—with the ’igh-pitched ’orn.”

“Yes, but—”

“Name o’ the Law,” snapped the sergeant, and swung himself on to the step.

Mechanically I let in the clutch....

As the Rolls moved forward, I sought to protest again.

“Why can’t you—”

“Sorry, sir,” said the sergeant. “Step on it, please.” He jerked his head at the car from which he had come. “Can’t do it with that: it’s only a fifteen-’orse.”

There was nothing to be done. Knave or no Knave, the police had to be obeyed. Reflecting rather dismally that the sooner I caught the car, the sooner I should be released, I let the Rolls go ...

As we flashed round the bend ahead—

“What’s he done?” said I.

“Who knows?” said the sergeant, darkly. “As like as not, they’re jool-thieves. A packet o’ jools was taken an hour ago. Any way it’s a stolen car.”

Neither the police nor I will ever forget that drive. The narrow, tortuous ways were forbidding high speed: cross roads gaped upon us with their mouths: blind corners frowned and threatened, and scores of road-signs warned us—to no avail. Flirting with sudden death, we flouted the lot. Hereabouts, as luck would have it, the traffic was slight: such as there was we outraged, cutting in, thrusting and squeezing, as a man that elbows his way. That shouts and yells should pursue us was natural enough. Our withers were unwrung. ‘In the name of the Law’ ...

Clinging to the nearside door, a sad-faced constable presently opened his mouth.

“There’s their ’orn,” he said grimly.

The man was right.

As we flashed up a rise, I heard the ear-splitting note, and as we swooped over the crest, I saw the car we were chasing turn off to the left.

The two police-whistles rang out ...

I had to slow for the corner, but though, by the time we were round, the other was not to be seen, I knew very well she was less than a furlong away. So did the police.

“We’ll have ’em yet,” said the sergeant. “ ’Ow many was there, Dane?”

“I only see one,” said Dane. “But there may ’ave been others there as was bendin’ down.”

“What d’you want me to do?” said I.

“Pass him, sir, an’ then block him. We’ll do the rest.”

My question was premature. Though the Rolls was the swifter car, there were breakers ahead.

I rounded a bend at sixty, to see the car we wanted with another on either side. For an instant the three seemed coherent: then the car on the right left the road and took to the ditch, while its ruthless oppressor went on to make good his escape.

“There you are,” said the sergeant. “Wot did I say? No one don’t drive like that who hasn’t got more in his sleeve than a stolen car. I’ll lay they’ve got the stuff on them. Put her along, sir, please. If he’s on the road much longer, there’ll be bloody murder done.”

I did my best to obey, but the traffic was heavier now, and though I continued to take every sort of risk, I could hardly compel a third party to take such a course as might very well break his neck. Then, again, the sins of the thief were visited on my head, and drivers whom he had jostled declined to be jostled again. Wherever the road was open we went up, hand over fist, but the checks were our undoing and stole our winnings away. Do what I would, the fellow was keeping his distance: when another five minutes had passed, he was still a furlong ahead.

From the dance he led us, I judge that he knew the roads, for, while he turned and doubled like any hare, he never once led us into a village street. As for me, I was utterly lost. I knew neither where I was nor the way I had come, for the pace at which we were moving demanded a concentration which left me aware of nothing but a winding black and brown ribbon, all edged with green.

All of a sudden the luck of the road became ours. The traffic grew sensibly lighter, and gaps which the thief had to force seemed to open for us. And a hill rose up to help us—we took it with the rush of a lift. ... As the Rolls flew over the crest, I saw the stolen car not seventy paces ahead.

“Got ’im now,” breathed the sergeant.

I began to think how I should pass....

We were fifty paces behind when I sighted the furniture-van. This was going our way and was travelling fast. Its breadth of beam was hideous. The mammoth was using three-fourths of the narrow road. Had this been one foot less wide, neither the thief nor I could have made our way past: as it was, if the van gave way, a possible passage would open—a gauntlet for fools to run.

“ ’E’s done,” said the sergeant. “ ’E’s blocked. If ’e tries to go by at that pace—”

“He can do it,” said I. “We’ll both be glad to be through, but it can be done.”

“Gawd ’elp,” said Dane, and tightened his grip on the door.

In the course of the chase we had taken far graver risks; but, while we had taken the others before there was time to think, this risk could be weighed and measured, the chances of success could be pondered and the consequences of failure not so much pictured as perceived. In a word, to be honest, the risk was less grave than it seemed, for the swaying bulk of the van diminished the width of the road.

An instant later the ear-splitting horn rang out....

The van never slackened its speed but it lurched to its left, thereby for the first time disclosing what lay ahead. A fork in the road was coming: in another ten seconds the road was to split into two. And the right-hand prong of the fork—the only one I could see—was no more than a lane.

As the stolen car squeezed by, I sounded my horn: but all the answer I got was an outstretched hand.

As I clapped on my brakes, the van swung across my bows....

And then we were all in the lane—stolen car, van and Rolls ... but the car was in front of the van, while the Rolls was behind.

That the race was as good as over was painfully clear. The lane accepted the van with perhaps six inches to spare. At certain points a bicycle might have gone by: but nothing larger.

The next seven minutes were crowded.

I, of course, could do nothing but follow the van, whose pace had now fallen to ten or twelve miles an hour; Dane tried, without success, to make his way past its bulk to the driver’s cab; and the sergeant described heavy traffic “wot didn’t ought to be on the roads at all” with a compelling savagery of metaphor which did my heart good. As for the van itself, the banks of the lane being high and the gradient steep, the stench of oil and the scream of labouring metal will stay with me till I die.

Then at last the nightmare was over, the van was a thing of the past and we were upon a fair road, smooth and straight and empty—a perfect place for the capture which we had hoped to make.

There was a pregnant silence. Then—

“ ’Eart-breakin’,” said the sergeant. “That’s wot it is.”

“Well, that’s that,” said I, and wiped the sweat from my face. “Have you any idea where we are?”

“No idea,” said the sergeant shortly.

“Well, I must get back,” said I. “I left my brother-in-law where you picked me up. D’you know where that was at all?”

“Well, it was this side of Basing, but ...”

“It mayn’t be now,” said Dane, miserably.

“I must get back,” I said firmly. “And I’d better take you along. Between us we ought to be able to find the way.”

With that, I increased my speed, proposing to turn the car round at the first side-road. A moment later I saw the mouth of a road sixty paces away....

It was as I came abreast of the mouth that the sergeant let out a yell.

“Look there, sir,” he raved. “Look at that.”

Twenty paces from the mouth of the road the car which we had been chasing was leaning against a paling with two of its wheels in the ditch.

What had happened was clear as day. For once the thief had taken a corner too fast.

Dane was the first to get there. From the jerk of his head I knew that our quarry was gone. The sergeant fell upon two cyclists who were standing, saucer-eyed, in the midst of the way.

“What d’yer know?” he barked. “Did yer see the smash?”

I could not hear the answer, but after one or two passes had been exchanged I saw the cyclists point to a pleasant beechwood which rose, as a cliff from deep water, out of the blowing meadows that lapped the road.

A moment later the police had climbed the fence and were lumbering over the grass.

I like to think that they did not expect me to wait. Be that as it may, I had turned the Rolls round and was moving before they had reached the trees....

The burden of the hour that followed was of a kind which I should be glad to forget. My object was, of course, to return by the way I had come: but to recognize something which you have never seen requires, I suppose, an instinct with which I am not endowed. Thanks to the finger-posts, I soon found out where I was, and I knew to within five miles where Berry and I had parted and the Rolls had been commandeered. But I was without a map, and so surely as some road seemed familiar it led me away from the district for which I believed I should make. I was not so much lost as bewildered, and I turned and backed and wandered until I was sick of life. What was worst of all, I knew nothing. It might not have been the Knave that Berry had seen. If it was, I presumed he had caught him. The thought that he had failed where I might well have succeeded was scarcely bearable.

For eighty blazing minutes I sought my brother-in-law. Then at last I threw in my hand and drove all out for Dewdrop, to keep my appointment with Jonah and give him my wretched news. I need hardly say that I ought to have started before: but I know no fascination like that of the hope forlorn. The glaring fact remains that I entered the Granbys’ lodge-gates exactly half an hour late for the call which I was to have taken at twelve o’clock.

As I brought the car to rest in front of the creeper-clad house, a girl I had never set eyes on appeared at the head of the steps. To say she was attractive means nothing. Had her figure been all her fortune, she would have been rich: but the light in her gay, brown eyes and the curve of her small, red mouth were unforgettable.

As I took off my hat, she nodded.

“Good morning,” she said. “Have you any news of the Knave?”

Feeling rather dazed—

“Berry’s got him,” I said.

“He hasn’t!”

“I believe he has,” said I. “The whole thing’s rather mixed up.”

“I should think it was,” said the girl. “You wait till you hear the message I took from your cousin just now. But how on earth did you find him?”

Shortly I told my tale. When I had finished, my lady raised her eyes.

“And they told me England was sleepy. Never mind. Come and see what I know.”

I left the car and followed her into a hall. This was cool and dim, making a blessed contrast to the heat and the glare without.

My companion touched my arm and pointed to a well-furnished tray.

“That’s meant to be used,” she said. “Your cousin said you liked beer.”

As she moved to a writing-table—

“I should like,” I said, “to remember you in my prayers. Of course I can refer to you as Hebe, the darling of the gods. But—”

“Try Perdita Boyte, Captain Pleydell. My mother’s renting this house. And when your cousin rang up, neither of us saw any reason why I shouldn’t bear a hand. I’ve a Sealyham away in Boston that I wouldn’t care to lose.”

“It’s perfectly clear,” said I, “that you are as sweet as you look,” and with that I poured the liquor and drank her very good health.

Miss Perdita Boyte inclined her beautiful head. Then she took up a sheet of paper and held it out.

“This is what your cousin dictated—for you to read. Look it through, Captain Pleydell, and see if you feel the same.”

I took the sheet curiously.

Falcon never sent the message we got last night. It never came from White Ladies. It couldn’t have come, for the telephone wire was cut. All the same, that message was true. The Knave is not here. That message is just the message which Falcon proposed to send last night at eleven o’clock: but when he picked up the receiver he found that the line was dead.

“Make what you can of this. I’m inclined to think that the Knave was decoyed away by the fellow who cut the wire. You know. Prospective burglary. But all is all right at White Ladies, and nobody seems to have tried to get into the house. And why the telephone message?

“Get your wits to work, for I’m fairly beat. Any way I’m seeing the police. Any news to The Fountain at Brooch up to half past one.

“ ‘Why the telephone message?’ ”

I looked up sharply, and things about me took shape.

“Exactly,” said I. “That’s, so to speak, the keyhole. Find the key that fits it, and we shall unlock the truth,” and, with that, I emptied my tankard, sat down upon a sofa that offered, and re-read my cousin’s dispatch with a hand to my head.

When I looked up again, Miss Boyte had taken her seat on the arm of a mighty chair. As my eyes met hers, she shook her head gravely enough.

“It’s not fair, is it?” she said.

“You’re very understanding,” said I. “That’s just how I feel. Things like this can’t happen: so when they do, it upsets you. One’s armed to cope with Life—not with Alice in Wonderland. I mean, messages may go astray; but I never heard of one fetching up which had never been sent.”

Miss Boyte frowned.

“Don’t make it too hard,” she said. “The message must have been sent.”

I fingered my chin.

“That I’ll admit,” said I. “I received the message, so the message must have been sent. But it didn’t come from White Ladies. And only the staff at White Ladies could have known what message to send.”

There was a little silence.

At length—

“You spoke of a keyhole,” said Miss Boyte. She hesitated. Then: “Whilst I’ve been waiting for you, I’ve been trying ... various keys.”

I looked at her very hard. Delicate eyebrows raised, the girl was regarding the palm of an exquisite hand. But that was a pose. Voice and fingers declared the excitement she felt.

At once I caught the infection and got to my feet.

“Go on,” I cried. “Go on. What keys have you tried?”

My lady frowned.

“I may be quite wrong,” she said. “And I don’t want to make things worse by—”

“If I think you’re wrong, I’ll say so. Please say what you think.”

Miss Boyte looked up.

“First, tell me this,” she said. “If thieves broke into White Ladies, what would they get?”

“Silver,” said I. “Nothing else. My sister’s got her jewels with her. And so has Jill.”

“Quite so,” said Perdita Boyte. “Well, here’s the key that I fancy—I may be wrong. The word ‘decoyed’ made me think. Supposing you’ve been decoyed. You and your cousin and Berry—I don’t know his other name. Decoyed away from Cock Feathers, in search of the Knave.”

“Good God,” said I, staring upon her, as well I might.

“Listen,” said the girl. “Assume that a gang is after your sister’s jewels. They know your movements, of course: and they see that your stay at Cock Feathers is going to give them their chance. But they must get you out of the way. That’s ‘why the telephone message,’ saying the dog you worshipped had disappeared. In fact it was true. But how could the thieves know that? So they cut the wire—to prevent your ringing up Falcon and learning that the message was false.”

For a moment my brain zigzagged, and I was aware of nothing but the glowing face before me and the light in the big, brown eyes. The pose I had noticed was gone,—and, with it, the smart young lady, called Perdita Boyte. A child was leaning forward—an eager, beautiful child, natural and sweet as the breath of her parted lips.

“And—and the car I chased?” I stammered.

“I’ll bet that was them,” said the child. “It all fits in.”

I fell on the telephone like a man possessed.

“Cock Feathers,” I cried. “Near Amble. I think it’s Amble 29.”

“Amble 29,” replied a dispassionate voice....

Waiting for the call to come through, I covered my eyes and went over the ground again.

Daphne and Jill had worn their jewels last night: they had returned too late to have them put into the safe: the news of the Knave’s disappearance not only had filled our minds but had brought us all abroad before the office was open and we could deposit the gems—for my sister had risen with us and had proved the gardens and meadows before we had left.... If Perdita Boyte was right and a gang was after those jewels, we had as good as given them into their hands. As for the car I had chased, if the jewels were not at Cock Feathers, it seemed extremely likely that they had been in that car. Time and distance allowed it. The thought that, but for that mammoth blocking my way—

The stammer of the telephone-bell blew my reflections to bits.

Miss Boyte had the spare receiver almost before I could speak.

“Is that Cock Feathers? I want Mrs. Pleydell at once.”

After a maddening delay—

“At last,” wailed my sister’s voice. “Oh, Boy, I’m beside myself. I’ve been trying to get you or Jonah since half past nine. All our jewels have been stolen, and a message has just come through that Berry’s under arrest.”

“Berry under arrest?” I screamed. “But what has he done?”

“I’ve no idea,” wailed Daphne. “I thought you’d know. They say he’s at Basingstoke. And everything’s gone, Boy. Jill’s pearls and my bracelets and all. Have you found the Knave?”

“I think so. At least, I don’t know. I thought Berry had.”

“I don’t understand,” cried Daphne. “If you were with him—”

“I wasn’t. I—I had to go on. When I saw him last he was running after the Knave. At least, he said he was, but he may have been wrong.”

Miss Boyte began to shake with laughter.

“ ‘May have been wrong?’ ” shrieked Daphne. “D’you mean he’s out of his mind?”

“Of course not,” said I. “But I couldn’t see any dog. He simply said ‘There he is,’ and ran off to a wood.”

“Ran after a wood? But you said—Besides, who ever heard—”

“Off to,” I yelled. “Off to. But I tell you, I never saw him. It may have been a goat, or something.”

“A what?” screamed my sister.

“A goat,” I roared. “A thing with horns. G for Godfrey.”

Miss Boyte shut her eyes and clapped a hand to her mouth.

“Well, what about it? Whose goat?”

“Nobody’s goat. I only said—”

“Where’s Jonah?” said Daphne, faintly. “I can’t go on talking to you. And I’m not in the least surprised that Berry is under arrest. But what’s to be done about it? Will you go and bail him out or whatever one does?”

“I will. And you ring up Jonah. You’ll get him at The Fountain at Brooch. Tell him—”

“I’ll tell him all right,” snapped my sister. “Meanwhile that poor, blessed dog—”

“Is at Basingstoke,” said I. “Basingstoke for a monkey. If Berry was right when he—”

My sister rang off....

I addressed myself to Miss Boyte, who was wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Overwrought,” I said shortly. “That’s what’s the matter with her. And of course, I’m not at my best. But you can’t compress a social upheaval into a three-minute call. And when you don’t get the right questions....”

“Yes, I noticed that,” said Miss Boyte. “Never mind.” She picked up a hat. “May I come to Basingstoke with you? I—I’d like to be in at the death.”

As she moved to a looking-glass—

“My dear,” said I, “the idea of going without you had not occurred to me. Twenty minutes ago you were a luxury: now you have become a necessary. Besides, I have a feeling there’s more to come. When Fate puts on her Cap of Coincidence—”

“ ‘Is Saul also among the prophets?’ ”

From the mirror a brown eye mocked mine.

“I beg your pardon,” said I. “There is no goddess but Beauty, and Perdita is her prophetess. I imagine that the prison-gates of Basingstoke will fly open at your approach. And if you’d come on to Cock Feathers, I’m sure you’d make Daphne well. Besides, I want to be seen with you. Anyone would.”

A child had hold of my arm.

“Did you think I meant to rebuke you? I didn’t, indeed. I meant—oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ll love to do all you say.”

I took the pointed fingers and put them up to my lips.

“A little more,” I said, “and I shall go down on my knees.”

An hour and a quarter later we ran into Basingstoke.

As I was handing Perdita out of the Rolls——

“I think,” she said, “there’s somebody trying to catch your eye.”

I turned to see Constable Dane descending the police-station steps.

As a hand went up to his helmet—

“Hullo, Dane,” said I. “Did you get him?”

Dane permitted himself the ghost of a smile.

“Got them both, sir,” he said. “And every bit of the stuff.”

“Not the emerald bracelets?” I cried.

The constable started and stared.

“There was two bracelets,” he said cautiously.

I threw my hat in the air.

“And a diamond necklace,” I said, “and a beautiful rope of pearls.”

Dane put a hand to his head.

“An’ three good rings,” he said. “But—excuse me, sir, but ’ow on earth do you know?”

“It’s easy enough,” said I. “It’s my sister’s stuff. The moment I heard she’d been robbed, I wondered if I’d been helping to chase the thief.”

Dane blinked from Perdita to me.

“Well, there’s a go,” he said slowly. “It’s like one o’ them story-tales. An’ another thing. ’Ow could you ’ave come here to identify stolen jools wot you didn’t know ’ad been found?”

“I haven’t,” said I. “I came here to bail a man out.”

My words might have been a spell.

Open-mouthed, wide-eyed, the constable seemed to recoil. Then—

“B-bail a man out?” he stammered. “Not a—not a man wot’s got an Alsachun an’ ...”

His voice tailed off.

I was doing a double-shuffle and Perdita was laughing to glory and hanging on to my arm.

“The Knave!” I shouted. “He’s got him! Two o’clock of a glorious sunshiny day, and all’s well!”

“Hush,” bubbled Perdita, “hush. You’ll be under arrest yourself if you don’t look out.”

I pulled myself together and turned to the station steps. But these were empty. Constable Dane was gone.

I returned to Perdita.

“Come along, my dear,” I said. “Come along and be in at the death.”

One minute later we entered a sultry charge-room, to find the ‘Inspector on duty’ frowning upon his own writing and wiping the sweat from his face.

As we came in, he looked round. Then he got to his feet.

“Yes, sir?” he said abruptly.

“I’ve come,” I said, “to bail out my brother-in-law. There’s some mistake, of course. I mean—”

“What’s his name, please?”

“Major Pleydell.”

The inspector raised his eyebrows.

“D’you know what he’s charged with?” he said.

“I can’t imagine,” said I. “When I—”

“Felony,” said the inspector. “Having in his possession stolen goods.”

“I shan’t be the same,” said Berry. “No man born of woman could stand what I’ve stood to-day and be the same. I rather think I died more than once. There are, so to speak, hiatus in my recollection. I am unable to recall those circumstances immediately subsequent to the more brutal of the shocks which I received. I submit that on such occasions I was without my ghost. Bludgeoned beyond endurance, the spirit had fled ... I mean, take the opening of the masque. There was the Knave within earshot. He couldn’t have failed to hear me, but for that horn—that vox humana of Hell. I shouldn’t even have had to get out of the car. But a foul and malignant Fate selected that vital moment to drown my voice, and I had the unspeakable anguish of seeing a miracle happen and then the fruits of that miracle run out like a basin of water because I couldn’t shove in the plug. Well, that’s the sort of thing that uproots the soul. I don’t remember leaving the Rolls or how I got into the field. The first thing I do remember was falling down. Blear-eyed with emotion, I failed to perceive, until too late, that the meadow had been recently tenanted by cows which I have every reason to believe not only were magnificent specimens but enjoyed the best of health. The havoc I wrought was too awful. Had I been desired to obliterate all traces of their tenancy, I couldn’t have done so more thoroughly. When I got up you could hardly see where they’d been.

“Well, I passed on into the trees, alternately lamenting the Vandalism and trying to whistle for the Knave. I regret to say that I did more damage, by falling, to what was an excellent grove. Finally I emerged, hoarse and torn and bleeding, plastered with newlaid dung and sweating with a freedom which verged upon the obscene—to see a speck in the distance lope into a second wood ...

“I must have proceeded—somehow. Somehow I must have traversed the largest expanse of meadow I ever saw and somehow I must have savaged that second wood, for the next thing I knew was that twenty-five paces away a brook was flowing through pastures and the Knave was standing knee-deep in one of its pools. Very wisely, no doubt, he had stopped for a wash and brush up. Be that as it may, there he was, not only as large as life, but as fresh as paint. And I didn’t have to call him. I fancy he heard my breathing before I was clear of the trees ...

“Well, you know his idea of a welcome. If you’ve been away half an hour, it’s grievous bodily harm. I’ve a notion I tried to run, but of course I hadn’t a chance. I just went down before him, as corn goes down before the blade. When I came to, he’d damned near licked my face off and was rolling upon my body for all he was worth. Exactly. My condition appealed to him. I was, in his eyes, wearing a wedding-garment.

“When it was all over, I managed to crawl to the brook. There I made the sort of toilet one tries to forget: and then we lay down together to take some rest. He seemed to like the idea, which was just as well: myself, I was past speaking. The wave of reaction alone would have submerged a sage.

“How long I slept I don’t know. I should think for about six minutes—it may have been more. The fact remains that when I awoke and sat up, the Knave was gone.

“You may say what you like, but a brain must be seated in rubber to weather a shock like that. And the physical effects were frightful. Without the slightest warning, the whole of my contents gave way. How far they fell I don’t know, but I rose from that sunlit sward, the shell of a man. My very screams rang hollow. My lights had failed.

“When I couldn’t shout any more, I crossed the stream by wading and stumbled towards a beechwood, a drive and a chip away, reviling myself like a madman for not having tied the dog up. Not that he had a collar—he must have lost that by the way—but mine would have done him nicely, and my tie would have made him a lead. This would have entailed no sacrifice. All that my raiment was fit for was household use. I retained it for decency’s sake, but a tramp would have had to be paid to take it away.

“And then heard the Knave bark—from the midst of the wood ...

“He heard me that time all right—it’s astounding the noise you can make when the hounds of Hell have got you by the nape of the neck—and he bounded out of the wood as I came to the trees. For a moment we mixed it, as usual; and then, before I could get him, he’d gone again.

“I give you my word, I thought the dog was bewitched. And then, as I started to run, the scales of misunderstanding fell from my eyes. I’d forgotten my instructions to Boy—to take the Rolls on and try to encircle the wood. But Boy had carried them out, and now the Knave had found him and was doing liaison between us as best he could. I mean, the thing was too obvious ...

“After that, I took it easy.

“Sure enough the Knave returned, committed a hasty assault and then flicked back out of sight by the way he had come. At my own pace I followed.

“My theory was perfectly sound, except for the basic fact that it was not Boy. Liaison had been maintained with a man I had never set eyes on in all my life. There he was, with his back to a beech, and the Knave was leaping about him, nosing his clothes and pretending to bite his dispatch-case and barking with an abandon that makes you feel that something may snap.

“Well, of course I called the dog off and I said the usual things. I confess I felt my position. As you may have gathered, I wasn’t looking my best, and I hate being made a fool of at any time.

“The stranger went straight to the point.

“Can’t you stop him barking?’ he said.

“ ‘More,’ said I. ‘If I can only get him, I’ll take him away.’

“ ‘That’s all right,’ said the other. ‘You keep him here. I want to get on, I do.’

“Well, I collared the dog somehow, and the fellow went off through the wood by the way I had come. And now believe me or not, but if I hadn’t held him tight the Knave would have run by his side. An utter stranger, mark you. And a tough-looking cove, at that. And there he was whining and trembling as though his dearest friend was walking out of his life.

“I tried not to lose my temper, because that dog’s a good dog; but, considering what it had cost me to get to his side, the sudden fancy he’d taken stuck in my throat. Fancy? Infatuation—for a bounder he’d never dreamed of ten minutes before.

“I got my collar on him and made my tie into a leash, but the moment he started straining I knew it was bound to go. And so it did—before I had time to think. I dived for his tail, of course. I might as well have dived for a passing swift. As for issuing any order, before I could open my mouth he was out of sight.

“Well, at least I knew where he’d gone. There wasn’t much doubt about that. By the time I was clear of the wood, there he was on the farther side of the water, fawning upon his darling, wagging his tail like a mad thing and barking to beat the band. His addresses were furiously rejected. Before my eyes his darling aimed a blow at the dog. But the Knave only thought he was playing and whipped in and out of range and nibbled his heels. Over-ripe for violence, I started off in pursuit ...

“Approaching the idyll, I don’t think I ever felt such a blasted fool.

“As I called the Knave to order—

“ ‘What’s the matter with that dog?’ said the stranger.

“I told him I wished I knew.

“ ‘Well, I’ve got to get on,’ said the fellow. ‘I’m late as it is.’

“ ‘I’m extremely sorry,’ said I. ‘If I can only catch him—’

“ ‘You stop him barking,’ said the other. ‘It’s enough to drive a man mad.’

“Well, for reasons which must be obvious, the Knave wouldn’t come to me: however, he stood quite still, with his ears on the back of his neck, so I started to go to him, mouthing treachery about ‘good dogs’ and that sort of tripe. How he lapped it up, I don’t know: but I was within one foot when that fool of a fellow moved ...

“We passed up the rise together—the Knave like a ram upon the mountains bounding about his beloved, the stranger describing all dogs with a wealth and variety of imagery which no one could have failed to admire, and myself conjuring the Knave in accents which might have been heard five furlongs away.

“As we came to the second wood the stranger looked back.

“ ‘Put a sock in it, can’t you?’ he spat. ‘You’re as bad as the dog.’

“That was, of course, the last straw. The back of my forbearance was broken—yet what could I do? The hellish answer was Nothing. I couldn’t protest: I couldn’t even withdraw. The Knave was pestering the fellow. This, as the dog’s master, it was my duty to stop. But I was unable to stop it, because the dog declined to do as I said. Add to this that I had to stick to the dog ... The desire to lie down and scream was almost irresistible. Rage and mortification possessed my soul. Indeed, but for the fact that my nose began to bleed I believe I should have had a seizure. At least, I like to look at it that way. It makes the remembrance less grievous.

“In hatred, malice and all uncharitableness, we made our way into that wood—the stranger spouting imprecations and seething with wrath, the Knave curvetting about him, a witless Bacchant wooing his surly god, and myself, five paces in rear, chewing the cud of degradation and wiping my nose on the collar which should have been round the Knave’s neck.

“We were in the heart of the wood when the stranger, goaded to frenzy, launched his attack. Using his dispatch-case as a sort of morning star, he went for that dog with a concentrated fury which would have made a jaguar think. But the Knave, like Gallio, cared for none of these things. Avoiding the onslaught with the grace of a toreador, he danced in and out of range in manifest ecstasy, only waiting for the other to fall, as he presently did, before seizing the case in his jaws and doing his best to wrest it out of his hand. With a thousand dogs out of a thousand, that would have been my chance, but either the devil was in him or the Knave was the thousand and first. Still, if I missed him, at least I made him let go: for all that, the honours were his, for he took a scrap of silk with him which there seemed no doubt he had torn from some garment within the case. I suppose it had been protruding, for the case had seen better days. Any way there it was in his jaws, a delicate rose-coloured trophy—believe me, he flaunted the thing, mouthing it in obvious derision a short six paces away.

“The stranger sat up and wiped the sweat from his face.

“ ‘How long,’ he snarled, ‘is this comic cuts going on?’

“ ‘I’m damned if I know,’ said I, and sat down on a rotting stump. ‘Have you far to go?’

“The man made a choking noise.

“ ‘You can see for yourself,’ I continued, ‘it isn’t my fault. I’ve ran three miles across country—’

“ ‘You oughtn’t to have a dog what you can’t control.’

“ ‘Look here,’ said I, ‘it’s no good playing with words. In the ordinary way that dog’s an obedient dog. But he has found something about you he can’t resist. You’ve some fatal attraction for him—I don’t know what.’

“ ‘Attraction be—,’ said the fellow. ‘It’s blasted persecution—that’s what it is. Biting me heels and tearing stuff out of my case. That’s my wife’s night-dress, that is—what he’s got in his mouth.’

“ ‘I’m extremely sorry,’ said I. ‘If you’ll give me your name and address, I’ll have another one sent to—er—Mrs.—er—’

“The stranger leaped to his feet.

“ ‘I don’t want another one sent. I want to get on. Why can’t you lay ’old of the swine and let me go?’

“ ‘I’m sorry,’ said I, ‘but you know the answer to that.’ I rose from my stump. ‘If you want to get on—we’ll go with you. That’s all I can say.’

“The fellow pushed back his hat and threw a hunted look round. Then he squatted down and tried to allure that dog. His first attempt was abortive, for the Knave misconstrued his efforts and thought he was out to play. And when the Knave plays, he barks ... Now no one knows better than I how distracting a dog’s bark can be, but I really thought that that man would go out of his mind. Squinting with emotion and clasping his head in his hands, he writhed like a soul in torment, calling upon me to ‘stop him’ as though the dog was not barking but passing sentence of death. I managed to stop him—of course by shouting him down; but so far from being grateful, the look that that fellow gave me would have poisoned a sewage-farm.

“ ‘You and your dog,’ he hissed. ‘I guess I’ll remember you: but not in my prayers.’

“ ‘I don’t know that I blame you,’ I said, ‘but that’s neither here nor there. If you want to catch that dog, I shouldn’t bend down.’

“The advice, which he took, was sound. In fact his second attempt would have been a success. After some hesitation, the Knave began to approach, mouthing the silk like a plaything which he was disposed to share. He was less than four feet away and still coming on when all of a sudden he stiffened and dropped the silk. He was looking past the stranger and of course I knew in a flash that we were no longer alone. As I turned to follow his gaze, a couple of uniformed police stepped out from behind a couple of burly trees.

“ ‘Good morning, gents,’ said the sergeant. ‘It’s a lovely day to take the dog for a stroll. And now might I see the contents of that dispatch-case? I daresay it’s only sponge-cakes, but I’d like to be sure.’

“Well, here we have another hiatus. All I can tell you is that I realized certain things. I understood why the stranger had been so mad to get on and why he had shown such a violent objection to noise. The Knave’s infatuation had cooked his goose. The dog had delayed and betrayed an escaping thief. And something else I perceived. And that was that I was involved. Already the police had assumed that the stranger and I were colleagues: my presence there was suspicious: I was plainly on terms with the thief: my appearance was dead against me: the truth was too fantastic to be believed, and the Knave was without the collar that bore my name and address: what was a thousand times worse, the dog’s demeanour was insisting that the stranger and I were close friends—we might have been his joint-owners.... And there I met the thief’s eyes—and read my doom. The glare of Vengeance was sliding into a grin. My dog and I had ruined his chance of escape. Here and now was his chance of paying me back.

“ ‘Well, George,’ he said slowly, ‘I guess we’ll be wise to go quiet. And perhaps another time, you’ll do as I say. If we’d stuck to that road....’

“I called him a blasted liar and turned to the police. I can’t remember how I had meant to begin, but I know that the words I had chosen died on my lips. The sergeant had opened the dispatch-case, and out of Jill’s night-dress he was withdrawing Jill’s pearls.

“ ‘Good God,’ I said. ‘They’re my cousin’s.’

“Then three things happened—all together.

“First, the police were shaken. I’d spoken straight from the heart, and I saw the doubt in their eyes. Secondly, I saw that the Knave was a super-dog—that he bore no love to the stranger, but had scented and meant to stick to his mistress’ clothes. You ought to have seen him licking that sergeant’s face. Thirdly, I made a movement—I clapped my hands to my coat ... one to each breast-pocket ... to see if Daphne’s bracelets were safe.

“I’d forgotten all about them. I picked them up this morning, just as I was leaving our room. They were on the dressing-table, and I thought it was madness to leave them for any odd thief to pick up. She was out in the garden then, and I meant to give them to her before I went off in the car.

“Yes, the constable saw my movement, and before I knew where I was he had hold of my wrists. And the sergeant abstracted the bracelets with bulging eyes....

“Well, there you are. I maintain that I died at that moment. I suggest that upon that buffet my ghost withdrew. Life was a shade too pregnant—too big with frightfulness.

“When I rose again, I found myself cuffed to the stranger and staggering over the sward. The sergeant was walking in front and the Knave was trotting beside me, licking my hand. But I was past consolation. What happened then and thereafter is pardonably and mercifully blurred. The one thing that does stand out was the stare of respect and admiration inhabiting the eyes of the thief. You see, I’d left him standing—Greek had met Greek. He’d lain for those bracelets for weeks, and I’d got in before him and whipped them from under his nose.”

Five hours and more had gone by, and Basingstoke and the police were things of the past. Sick, I suppose, of life, ‘the stranger’ had betrayed his accomplice—a footman whom we had engaged some six weeks before: my brother-in-law and the Knave had been borne to and received at Cock Feathers as though they were demigods—a triumph which, to my mind, they most justly deserved; and Perdita and I were strolling the formal garden upon flagstones which had been tapped by Queen Elizabeth’s heels. This, in silence. My companion may or may not have had ears to hear: that she had eyes to see was most apparent: her full appreciation of the manor had been immediate, and her quiet recognition of beauties which I had missed had shown me that I should do better to hold my peace.

“I think that should be the nursery.” A slim hand pointed to a casement which was lighting a corner-room on the second floor. “Do you think we might go up and see?”

“I don’t see why not,” said I. “If somebody’s dressing there, we can always withdraw. But how do you tell a nursery? I mean, how—”

“From the ceiling. If it’s still the original ceiling, we’ll know at once. There’ll be animals there—in plaster. We do the same to-day when we paper a nursery’s walls.”

Feeling extremely humble, I followed her into the mansion and up the lovely staircase which led to the room she sought. Happily, this was empty....

The low-pitched ceiling was squared with a moulding of plaster from wall to wall: in each corner of every square was a plaster beast—elephants, bears and peacocks, to gladden a baby’s eyes.

As soon as I could speak—

“Have you been here before?” said I.

Perdita shook her head.

“All the same, if you look over there, you’ll find my name, on one of the window-panes. My grandmother’s home was Cock Feathers and she used to play in this room. She’s told me all about it so many times. When she was only a scrap, she fell off a chair one day and hurt her head: and just at that moment her father, the fourth Lord Amersham, opened the door. And to stop her crying, he took off a ring he was wearing and with the diamond he cut her name on the pane.”

Together we moved to the casement.

The straggling copper-plate writing was easy enough to read.

Perdita 1844.

After a long look I straightened my back.

“My dear,” I said, “words fail me—and that’s the truth.”

Perdita the Second smiled.

“It only shows that Saul was among the prophets. If you remember, you said there was more to come.”

“The Knave, the diamonds ... and the Queen.”

“ ‘The Lost Lady’—that’s what Perdita means.”

“I picked up a Queen,” I said firmly. “The Knave found the diamonds, and Berry found the Knave; but I found the Queen that was missing for ninety years.”

Her chin on her shoulder, a child looked up to my face. All the sweet of her nature looked out of her glorious eyes.

“Do I seem to belong here, Boy?”

I glanced round the nursery, gay with the precious issue of evening sun.

“Yes, sweetheart,” I said, stooping. “And always will.”