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It was the next morning, when I was walking down St. James’s Street on my way to the Bank, that I stopped to glance at the maps which were spread in a shop-window. I had done so many times before, for I often went by that way and, though I am no geographer, a map or a plan has for me some attraction to which I invariably yield. I had taken my look and was just about to pass on when I suddenly observed before me a map of Southern Austria, drawn to a large scale.

I was naturally most interested and at once began to look for Wagensburg, for so large was the scale that the property might well have been marked: but, though I soon saw Villach, most of the names were not at all easy to read, for the country was plainly very mountainous and the lettering was often lost against the heavy shading of the heights. For all that, if I could have gone closer I think I might soon have found the name I was seeking, but the map was some way from the glass, and I could not even stand fairly in front of it, because of another idler, who was standing before the window, regarding its wares. I waited a moment or two, expecting that he would pass on, but he did not, so I approached my face as close to the pane as I could without flattening my nose, in one last endeavour to locate the castle before I gave up the attempt. At this, the other seemed to notice my presence and turned to look at me, and, when instinctively I glanced at him, I saw that it was Ellis himself.

I do not know which of us was the more taken aback, but Ellis was the first to recover and turn away. For myself, I stood gaping and staring after him, as he walked rather jerkily away towards Piccadilly.

My first impulse was to follow him, though what good that would have done I do not know: and indeed I started uncertainly to hasten up the street in his wake; but what design I had was soon frustrated, for he entered a cab which was crawling close to the kerb and was instantly driven away.

I have often wondered what would have been his feelings if he had known of the statement which lay in my breast-pocket, while we were shoulder to shoulder before the window, and whether he would not have made some desperate attempt to possess himself of the document there and then: and, all things considered, I verily believe he would have tried, for, because of that paper, he had already put his neck in a noose, and, as the saying is, a man may ‘as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.’

The disappearance of Ellis must have restored my wits, for I realized in a flash that the first thing which I must do was to inform Mansel. I, therefore, ran down the street to Cleveland Row and happily found him in the act of leaving his flat.

Directly he saw me, he turned, and I followed him through his hall and into the dining-room.

“Yes?” he said shortly.

I told my tale, and he frowned.

“I don’t know whether this is good luck or bad luck,” he said. “But I think it’s bad luck. Any way we must take no chances.” He thought for a moment there. Then he went on: “Ellis now knows for certain that Wagensburg interests you. If your excitement was apparent, he may even suspect that you hold the secret itself. That you made no attempt to detain him wouldn’t weigh much with me, because a good many people would hesitate to seize a man in the West End for a murder which nobody knows has been committed in France; but he would probably ascribe your failure to reluctance to court inquiry. So I’m glad you followed him.”

“He didn’t see me,” I said.

“I expect the cab had a back window,” said Mansel. “Any way, Ellis will act. He may even try to watch.” He took out his case and lighted a cigarette. “I’d like you and Hanbury to take the boat-train to-morrow. And I’ll go over to-night.”

Then he gave me careful directions, told me on no account to return to Cleveland Row and not to walk alone after dark.

“You see,” he said, “you’ve lost Ellis, but you mustn’t make sure that Ellis has lost you. I rather expect he’s thinking of other things, but you never can tell. And those cabs can turn on sixpence.”

As I walked down Pall Mall, I felt as though every step I took was marked by a hundred eyes.

I lodged the envelope at the Bank, and then drove off to find Hanbury and tell him of the change in our plans. Then we went out together and bought two tickets to Paris for the following day.

I do not suppose two men ever used their eyes as we did from then until we saw Mansel again; and that, I imagine, was just what Mansel wanted, for, although I do not think he thought it likely that I should be followed, he would have been very glad to know what Ellis was doing and whether the man was alone or going to work with a gang. But Hanbury and I proved broken reeds, and, when we rejoined him, we had nothing at all to report: and this shows of how much use we were, for it afterwards appeared that Ellis had turned at the top of St. James’s Street and had driven back to see me turn into Cleveland Row, that I had been followed to the Bank, to Hanbury’s father’s house and to Cook’s office, and that it was only at Boulogne that touch with me had been lost. And for that relief we had Mansel’s prevision to thank.

At four that afternoon the commissionaire attached to my Club brought me my passport and took away all my luggage, both light and heavy; and, when I left Town the next morning, the suit-case I took with me held nothing but worn-out clothes, for which I had no use. Of Hanbury the same can be said. We left by the morning train, and came to Boulogne about noon of a beautiful day. We were soon off the boat and, since we had reserved no seats in the Paris train, we made a fuss of securing the ones we wanted as well as a table for the first luncheon to be served. When our luggage was up on the rack and the porters had been dismissed, we strolled up and down the platform, like everyone else, but, after a little, we wandered on to the quay and presently out of sight.

We made our way to a tavern in the heart of the town, and there found Mansel’s Rolls-Royce, and, within, Mansel himself, smoking and drinking beer, and arguing with the host about the Battle of the Somme. He had come that day from Dieppe.

He seemed very pleased to see us, and ordered luncheon at once, “for,” said he, “I want to be in Strasbourg by dawn, and lie up there for the day. I was watched out of London last night, and, though they’ve lost me now, they’ll probably make a fresh cast.”

“But what could they do,” said Hanbury, “if they did pick you up on the road?”

“Why, what they have done,” said Mansel, “not very far from Chartres. Don’t forget,” he added, “that we three hold the secret which that man held. And I think Ellis thinks we do.”

And there, I think, for the first time, it came to me how great was the power of those two leather bags which lay in the chamber of the great well, and I seemed to see them as impassive, relentless twin gods, bringing this man to death and holding that man for the gallows and sending another four or five pelting across a continent, like so many thieves in the night, to God knows what fortune, while, as for the hatred and malice and uncharitableness which they were inspiring, even the compilers of the Litany cannot have contemplated so poisonous a flow of soul. But, though it seemed very shocking, I felt very cheerful to think I was one of the ‘thieves,’ and the thought of stealing a march upon men so bold and determined as Ellis and his friends, was like a glass of champagne.

Whilst we were lunching, a basket was stocked with provisions against our journey and then tied up in two cloths because of the dust. Indeed, great attention was paid us by the people of the inn, who manifestly knew Mansel and thought the world of him.

We all ate very well, while Mansel spoke of the car. Of this he was plainly proud, and I was surprised that he thought it wise to leave her alone in the street. I said so presently, when he laughed and asked me to fetch him a map which he had left on its seat. I went to do so and found the car guarded better than I had dreamed. As I leaned over the side, a small, white dog rose from the driver’s place, and, had I been the devil himself, I could not have been accorded a more hostile reception. The whole street rang with a storm of barking, and, if I had taken the map, I should certainly have paid in blood for my capture. At this, Mansel appeared and, after making much of the terrier, a pure-bred Sealyham, picked him up out of the car and put him into my arms. I stroked and spoke to him, and presently he licked my face.

“And now,” said Mansel, “he knows that you are my friend and will let you come and go and do as you please.”

Then he called Hanbury and made him free of the dog’s confidence in the same way. After that, he asked me, if I had done eating, to stay with the car, because he wanted to give the Sealyham his lunch; for he set great store by the terrier, as was very proper, for I never saw a more attractive or intelligent dog. His name was Tester, and I believe, so fine was his instinct, that he understood every word that was said to him and many that were not: and I know that from that time on I was his most obedient servant, and he my very good friend: but more than that he never was, for Mansel was his master, and he knew no other.

The car was a new model, and the coachwork had been carefully done. It was, as Mansel said, a true ‘touring’ body, for, though it was slim to look at, it had a great capacity and was so constructed that two could sleep in it with ease and comfort, and, when it appeared to be empty, its hidden lockers concealed all manner of stuff not usually carried in cars, but invaluable to a pioneer. There were brandy and ‘first field-dressings,’ a medicine-chest and bandages, lint and splints: but most important in my eyes was a little armoury of weapons and ammunition and handcuffs, “of which,” said Mansel, “I hope we shall have no need; but I like to think that they’re there.” Then he showed us that in the driver’s pocket he carried a heavy pistol, ready for use; and that, I think, completed my conviction that Ellis was trying to play a losing game and would very soon curse Wagensburg and the day he first heard its name.

It was half past two when we left Boulogne for Strasbourg, and a wonderful journey it was. I sat with Mansel and Tester, and Hanbury sat behind. It had been raining a little, but was now very fine; the country through which we passed was agreeably fresh and blowing; and the car had the way of a swallow in the air. Mansel drove very fast, without seeming to do so, and maintained an average of forty-five miles to the hour with an astonishing precision. He neither hurried through towns nor showed any inconsideration to men or beasts upon the road, but such time as he lost on this account he won when the road was open, without any fuss, for the car was willing, and he was a remarkable judge of pace and distance, and, while he was yet a great way from some predicament, could tell to a hair what was within his power: and that is more than most men can do.

When evening came and we began to see cows being driven home, we turned down a lane and stopped. Then Mansel and Hanbury alighted and took Tester for a stroll, whilst I stayed with the car and prepared our supper. This we ate easily, for we were to stay there an hour. Except to take in petrol, we did not stop again till we came to Strasbourg: and that was at one o’clock. There was a fine moon, and I remember looking up sleepily to see how the old cathedral was lacking one of its spires. We chose a small hotel in an unimportant street, and only two rooms were taken, for Mansel slept in the car in a garden at the back of the inn.

We had reached Strasbourg sooner than Mansel had expected, and, though he had intended to stay in that city till dusk, the thought of wasting the whole of a valuable day was more than he could endure, and by nine o’clock of that morning we were again upon the road.

Our way now lay through The Black Forest and was at times most solitary. Mansel drove with his ears pricked, and if ever I spoke, begged me to hold my tongue; but I could not share his vigilance and, when we stopped for a moment by the side of the way, asked him how Ellis could have had time to contrive our pursuit or attack.

His reply was unanswerable.

“I could have done it,” he said, “with luck and money and friends, and, though the first can’t be bought, the other two can. Ellis had a secret to sell. Be sure he’s sold it, for he couldn’t fight us alone. Therefore, he has money and friends. And, since the Castle of Wagensburg is plainly everyone’s way, not to look out for us would be the act of a fool. They know that we’re going direct, because we’ve no time to spare. That suggests Strasbourg. So somebody flies to Paris and gets to Strasbourg some hours ahead of us. They can’t watch a city, but they can watch the frontier posts. And, don’t forget, buried treasure is the very deuce of a goad.”

As he spoke, a very faint sound came to our ears.

It was the high-pitched note of a powerful electric horn, as yet some distance away and between us and Strasbourg.

Mansel had the Rolls moving before I was well in my seat, and we were very soon doing some sixty odd miles to the hour, but the next time I heard the horn it sounded much closer, and, after a moment, Mansel slackened his speed and let a closed car go by. He was very careful, however, to keep this in sight, and when, two or three miles on, we saw it slow down and stop in the midst of the road, he asked me to fasten Tester to a short chain which was attached to the coachwork close to my feet.

As we approached, a man who had alighted from the car spread out his arms as a signal to us to stop, not in a peremptory manner, but rather as does a man who is in need of assistance. Mansel waved in reply and applied his brakes, but he overran the closed car by nearly a hundred yards, before bringing the Rolls to rest on the crown of the road.

Then we turned round in our seats and waited for the stranger to move.

For a while he seemed to be expecting that we should come back, but, when it was quite evident that we were not going to move, he spoke for a moment with someone within the car and then began to walk in our direction.

“Hanbury,” said Mansel quietly, “watch that car. The moment it moves, ask Chandos to give you a match.”

The stranger was wearing dark glasses, which he did not remove; his hair was fair and his complexion ruddy. He was not very tall, and his hands were coarse and rough. He walked jauntily and wore his hat on one side.

As he came up, he gave us “Good day” in French, and then very haltingly inquired if any one of us could speak English.

“We are English,” said Mansel.

“Why, that’s fine,” said the other. Then very calmly he asked us to come back and look at his car, “for,” said he, “she seems to be nearly red-hot, and none of us knows enough to change a wheel.”

“If she’s so hot,” said Mansel, “no one can help you at all for half an hour. I should open both sides of the bonnet and push her into the shade. I’ll send you help from the very next garage I pass.”

“Now be a sport,” said the stranger, laying a hand on the Rolls and casually lifting his hat. “Come an’ ’ave a look at the swine.”

“Bill,” said Hanbury to me, “give me a match.”

“Shall I send you help?” said Mansel, as the Rolls began to move.

The stranger’s answer was to try to apply the hand-brake, but, as he was feeling for the lever, I hit him under the jaw, and he fell back into the road.

Then the Rolls shot forward, and, as I was unready, I fell myself upon Mansel, who was laughing like a child at a circus, while Tester was barking uproariously and trying to burst his chain, and Hanbury was kneeling on the back seat, shouting “Gone away” and making derisive gestures with both hands.

Before I had got my balance, the closed car was out of sight, but Hanbury told us, with tears, that its occupants’ haste to alight, before it had stopped, had done as much damage as I, for that, as a man was descending from the front of the car, someone behind him flung open the second door and that this hit the one in the back and knocked him down and then returned upon the other, who was himself half way out. So it seemed that we had had very much the best of the brush and that Ellis and his friends had gained nothing but a couple of heavy falls: but Mansel, when he had done laughing, began to frown, “because,” said he, “though I’d sooner be before than behind them, I’d very much sooner not be on their road at all. Too many ‘circumstances over which one has no control’ on the road to-day.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth, when we rounded a bend to see a level-crossing ahead. And the barriers were down.

When we were very near, Mansel stopped and Hanbury and I leaped out. At once, as there was no keeper, we endeavoured to raise the poles, but these had been lowered by machinery, controlled, I suppose, by some distant signalman, and were fast locked into place.

“Never mind,” said Mansel quietly, stepping out of the driver’s seat. “Chandos, you take my place, and, Hanbury, sit by his side.”

With that, he climbed into the back and lighted a cigarette.

We did as he said, and, the engine running, I sat with my hand on the lever and my foot on the clutch wondering what was to happen and reflecting rather dismally that we had laughed too soon.

It was a quiet place, and the sunshine was very hot. Except for the murmur of the engine, there was no sound at all.

So we sat, waiting for the train or the closed car.

Two minutes must have gone by before the latter appeared, rounding the bend like fury and raising a storm of dust.

“Don’t start till I say so,” said Mansel, and slewed himself round on the seat.

The road was none too wide, and we were full on the crown.

With my eyes on the driving mirror, I saw the car approach.

It was in the driver’s mind to thrust alongside, but, if he had done so, he could not have crossed the metals, for the gate was less wide than the road; so he brought his car to rest behind us and a little to the right.

“If anyone moves,” said Mansel, “I’m going to fire.” The windows of the car were open, so they heard what he said. “You’ve tried to stop me by force and you’ve pursued me; and at the first town I come to I’m going to prefer a charge. My papers are all in order; I’ve a licence to carry a pistol; and my luggage is in the car. Perhaps you can say the same. If you can’t, you’ll be detained—pending inquiries.”

“Bluff,” said someone.

“Then call it,” said Mansel.

“You’ve assaulted us,” said another. “I asked you a civil question, an’ you slogged me under the jaw. An’ you talk about the police.”

“Yes,” said Mansel, “I do. Because my record’s clean. Then again, I speak German quite well; and that’s a great help.”

“Bluff,” said the first speaker. “You know as well as I do that you won’t go to the police. You can’t afford to.”

“If you mean,” said Mansel, “that I don’t want to waste my time, that’s perfectly true.”

“I don’t,” said the other. “I mean that, much as you like ’em, the last thing you want just now is to catch the eye of the police.”

Mansel raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not going to argue,” he said, “but I can’t help thinking that you’re mistaking me for somebody else. Excuse me,” and, with that, he fired.

The silence which succeeded the explosion was that of the grave. I had, of course, jumped violently and now sat still in my seat, as if under a spell, though my heart was pounding like a labouring pump and I was expecting every instant the shock of battle. But this did not come. So far as I could see by the mirror, those in the closed car were sitting as still as I, and, after a moment or two, Mansel spoke again.

“The next time anyone moves, I shall try to hit him,” he said. “And I think perhaps it would be better if you all four folded your arms. Thank you.”

“To-day to you,” said the man who had spoken last.

“Indubitably,” said Mansel.

Then we were left to our thoughts, and to wonder if ever the train was coming by.

I was disquieted.

Mansel had spoken boldly, but you cannot make bricks without straw, and the man who had taken him up was not even shaken, very much less deceived. For the moment we had them in check, but the changes and chances of the road were manifold, and, unless we could run right away, as like as not we should be cornered again. And the next time they would be more careful.

It was while I was thinking of these things that I happened to lower my eyes to the mat at my feet, and there, beneath me, I saw an adjustable spanner. Mansel had used it that morning to tighten a bolt, and, in his haste, had omitted to put it away.

Shakespeare has said somewhere that ‘the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done.’ So it was with the spanner. For directly I saw it, I thought that here was the means to spoil the petrol-tank of the closed car and so put the enemy out of action.

I picked up the spanner, slid this into my pocket and turned to Hanbury.

“Take my place,” I said quietly. “I’m going to disable their car.”

Hanbury blinked once or twice and gulped as though he would protest, so soon as he found his tongue; but I opened my door and stepped out without more ado.

I sauntered up to the barrier and glanced up and down the rails. Then I turned round and looked at the two cars.

Hanbury was in my place and Mansel did not seem to have moved. He was sitting easily sideways, covering the car with his pistol and supporting his right wrist with his left arm. The four men, of whom Ellis was not one, were wearing blue glasses and sitting like images, with folded arms.

I stepped to the radiator of the Rolls, unscrewed the cap and peered within. Then I frowned and, spanner plainly in hand, stooped as though to tighten the plug. After appearing and disappearing once or twice, I replaced the cap, still frowning, and disappeared again. A moment later I was beneath the car. It was a tight fit, but the pulse of the closed car’s engine covered the noise I made. I worked along on my back as best I could, until my head was level with the Rolls’ hind wheels. To pass from beneath the Rolls to beneath the closed car meant crossing about six feet of open road, but there was not more than a yard between the two cars’ wings, and, though, from where I lay, I could see the hat of the man beside the driver, I judged that, unless he moved, the strip of road I must pass was just out of his sight. So, since to see where I was going was now essential, I turned very gently upon my face and took a deep breath. Inch by inch I covered those six feet of open road, and I must admit that I did it with my heart in my mouth, for I could by no means be sure that I was not in some view, and, though I hoped for the best, once one of the enemy knew that I was beneath their car, pistol or no, it was most unlikely that they would make no attempt to learn my business.

At last, however, it was over, and I was well out of sight and under the closed car.

I turned again upon my back, and there I lay for a moment to get my breath, for the strain of moving so flat upon my face had been exhausting, and the heat and noise of the engine at such close quarters had been unpleasant. I was, too, half choked and blinded with the dust, which hereabouts lay very thick.

As I was taking my rest, I became suddenly aware of a great noise, which was not that of the engine, but seemed to be coming upon me at a terrible speed. For an instant I lay paralysed, unable to think what it was. Then, in a flash, I knew it was the sound of the train for which we had waited so long.

What would happen when it had gone by and the barriers rose, I did not stay to think. Indeed, I do not remember how I got to the tank, but I know that I was fumbling with the spanner and that the dust was falling thick into my mouth and eyes as the train roared on its way.

The bottom of the tank was all encrusted with dirt, but I had this off in a twinkling and fitted the spanner to the plug. Twice I tried to move it, and twice it refused to budge, for I do not think it had ever been undone since the car was built, but had been painted over, so that its shape was half gone and it might not have been a plug at all, but only a knob.

I had just reset the spanner, licked my hands and taken another hold, when a sudden, unmistakable clatter announced that the barriers were up.

At once I heard Mansel’s voice.

“Stand by, William,” he said, using my Christian name. And then: “I’m going now,” he continued, “to prefer my charge. From what you say I gather you’re going to follow, so we shall meet again.”

He said more, but that was as much as I heard, for his words showed me something I had not dreamed of, namely, that he did not know that I was not still in the Rolls, but thought he was free to proceed, and—what was perhaps more serious—that upon this important point the four in the closed car were better informed than he.

With these thoughts in my mind, I put forth all my strength, and I think any screw must have yielded to the frantic effort I made. The drain-plug gave way with a crack, and, after one or two turns, I felt the petrol running over my hands. I continued to work desperately, and, a moment later the plug fell out of its hole, and, with a soft gush, the spirit began to pour out into the dust.

I thrust the drain-plug into my pocket, because, without that, a hogshead of petrol would not avail the closed car, but she would have to be towed until she came to some place which boasted a lathe and a man sufficiently skilled to fashion a substitute. Then, regardless of the downpour of petrol, I scrambled clear of the car. As I did so, I heard Mansel raise his voice.

“William,” he cried, “don’t look for it any more: we must have dropped it farther back.”

I knew at once that Hanbury must have told him my errand, and that now he was giving me my cue: so, wondering how the inmates of the closed car would take my entrance, I stepped to the middle of the road, and then, waving the spanner, jogged cheerfully into view.

As I came alongside:

“Let her go,” said Mansel.

Hanbury had set the door open, and the car was moving when I flung myself in. As the Rolls swept over the metals, I heard a shout of surprise, and this was immediately followed by a veritable bellow of rage, which I like to think showed that the occupants of the closed car accredited me with some malicious attempt upon its efficiency. And I think that in that I am right, for, instead of pursuing, they all flung out of the car, and, when we sailed round a bend, they were behind their vehicle, which was standing apparently deserted, with all four doors open, to the side of the dusty road.

Then Mansel took over the wheel, and I showed him and Hanbury the drain-plug and told my tale. Presently we ran through a village, where there was not so much as a forge, and a few miles further on we came to a smooth-flowing stream. Here Mansel gave me five minutes to strip and bathe, and, while I did so, Hanbury unpacked clean clothes for me to put on. When I came back to the car, they had opened three bottles of beer and drank my health in the most handsome fashion. But I think it is clear that, though anyone, who was not too fat, could have crawled underneath the two cars, only a great personality could have held four such villains at bay for nearly ten minutes and so brought us safe and sound out of so perilous a pass.

We came to Salzburg that night, to find the three servants arrived and our rooms waiting: and here Mansel slept in a bed for the first time since he had left London, while Carson, his servant, lay in the car in his stead.

The next day we breakfasted together in Hanbury’s room, and there, after we had eaten, a council was held.

It was most probable that, if Wagensburg was in the market, some one of the agents in Salzburg had the castle upon his books: and, since Ellis had taken the field, at once to set about the purchase seemed plainly the best thing to do. Yet, to seek to buy a property of such consequence without having so much as seen it, was out of the question, for not only should we be unable to judge the price we were asked, but such an astonishing action would be certain to arouse comment: and that was the last thing we desired.

We, therefore, determined to devote the next day to a reconnaissance, in the course of which we should explore the country round Wagensburg, and, if it was vacant, the property itself. We should then, at least, be qualified to play the part of people so much attracted by a domain as to desire to own it, and, though an agent might think that we had more money than brains, it was unlikely that he would look for any deeper explanation of our eagerness.

Another thing we decided was to purchase a second car. Sooner or later we must have one, for the Rolls would not hold six as well as baggage, and it might well prove worse than inconvenient to break our party in two. And, since to carry out the reconnaissance in some car less distinctive than the Rolls might be to our advantage, we determined to make our purchase before we did anything else.

Then Mansel requested Hanbury to stay in Salzburg, while he and I and Carson went out alone. It was a big thing to ask, but Hanbury immediately agreed in the most handsome way, insisting that he would be better employed in caring for the Rolls after her long run than in making a fourth in what was “a three-men job.” But Mansel made him promise not to go out alone, but always to take with him one of the other servants, when he left the hotel.

By mid-day we had a car. It was not new, but had been carefully used, and had only come to be sold the day before. It bore a well-known name, was swift and very well found, and, after putting it to several tests, Mansel drove to a Bank and paid the price we were asked without more ado.

Then we ate a short luncheon, bade Hanbury good-bye, and, taking Carson and Tester, left for Carinthia soon after one o’clock.

It was a notable run. The country was mountainous, and the scenery superb: the further South we went the more picturesque became the way, and the villages grew less frequent and more and more unspoiled.

Everywhere there were woods and forests, high and low, and, among them, streams and pastures and an occasional farm, with a saucer on every ridge-pole to keep the witches away.

About sundown we came to a village that Mansel knew.

There was but one inn, and that did not look as if it had much to offer, although, to judge by its size and style, it must once have been a house of some importance and have served people of quality. But, as it turned out, I was never better lodged in my life; for I slept in a great four-poster amid furniture which must have been of great value; my huge room was spotless: the linen was unusually fine and smelt very sweet of some herbs, with which it had been laid away; and the attendance was such as, I imagine, travellers used to hope for a hundred years ago. The fare, too, was excellent—trout, and an omelet and most delicious bread, with plenty of fresh fruit and cream: and, since there was no garage or coach-house, they opened the great doors that belonged to the house itself, and Mansel drove the car into a vast, flagged hall, to the great entertainment of the regular customers of the inn, who were there gathered drinking, before they went to their beds.

We were on the road the next morning by six o’clock, and before it was seven we had sighted Wagensburg.

We had stopped for a moment by the way to study the map, and I was trying to determine exactly which road we were using, when Mansel gave a light laugh and touched me upon the arm.

I followed his gaze.

He was looking up over his shoulder at a range of high woods which fell sharply to a river. At one point a bend of the river bit into the line of the woods, and above the bend rose a cliff, some hundred and fifty feet high. And on the edge of the cliff stood a castle wall.

Neither of us said anything; but, after a little, Mansel started the engine and I put away the map.

Three miles farther on we came to the village of Lerai, where was a bridge. We stopped at the inn there and ordered breakfast, and, while this was being prepared, Mansel talked with the host.

All that we wanted to know, the latter told him. Wagensburg was to be sold: the village postmaster held the keys of the house: no one had viewed the property since it had been for sale. And, when Mansel said he should like to see the castle, the innkeeper called for his hat and set out to find the postmaster and ask for the keys.

When Mansel told me all this—for I cannot speak German, and had understood next to nothing of what had been said—I could have thrown up my hat; and even he was very plainly elated to think that, except for Ellis, our way was so easy and clear. The breakfast was served, but I could hardly swallow for sheer excitement, so that Mansel advised me to think upon fishing and trout-streams, “because,” said he, gravely, “such contemplation is not only very restful, but very much in point, for, remember, it is trout that has brought us to these parts, and, if we like Wagensburg, we do so because it will make an agreeable fishing-lodge.”

Since Mansel never spoke without reason, I strove to do as he said, but I fear my reflections upon angling were incoherent and of no value, for fish are not found in wells, nor do ropes and lanterns form part of an angler’s kit. Before, however, the landlord was back with the keys, Mansel had me in hand, and when the former reappeared, I was listening to such a discourse upon flies as must, I think, have interested the most unlikely fisherman that ever was born. To round the picture, the host was brought into the session and made free of Mansel’s words, to which, since he was something of an angler, he responded so warmly that I began to think that we should never start, or that, at any rate, Ellis or one of his confederates would first appear.

However, at last we left, with the landlord sitting with Carson in the back of the car.

We crossed the bridge, and, almost immediately leaving the main road, turned to the right up a narrower, rougher way, which, it presently appeared, led only to Wagensburg. For a while the road ran by the river: then it climbed up gradually into the woods and finally lay like a shelf cut out of the side of the forest above the water and tilted up like a ramp to the castle itself. To this there was no gateway, but the road ran right on to the terrace, the wall of which we had seen from the other side. The house was long and low, and stood upon two sides of a pleasant courtyard, to which, upon its third side, the terrace made an apron, with a row of sweet-smelling limes standing between the two. Upon the fourth side stood the stables and the chapel, with a mighty gateway between: through this gateway the road we had used went on, leading, so far as I could see, to woods and hanging pastures, and made, undoubtedly, to serve the estate. There were trees in the courtyard, and, a little to one side, by the house, an old parapeted well.

The sun was shining full on the terrace, and Mansel drove into the courtyard and stopped in the shade.

Then we alighted, and the landlord took us over the house.

This was agreeable, and full of fine, big rooms; but there was no running water, and a lot would have had to be done to turn the mansion into a comfortable home.

Mansel, however, seemed well pleased with all that he saw and took good stock of everything, counting up the bedrooms, stepping the salons, and snuffing the air for damp, as though he seriously contemplated taking up residence there for good and all.

At last he turned to the landlord.

“And now about water,” he said. “That’s so often the stumbling-block with these castles up in the hills.”

At once the landlord insisted that the supply was superb. No castle in all Carinthia, he declared, was better furnished with water.

“Good,” said Mansel, “I’m glad to hear it, because, as a rule, with a well so close to a cliff——”

Here the host interrupted to say that the well in the courtyard was little worth. That, he explained, was the original well: but, as Mansel had surmised, it was dug too close to the cliff, and its gift was meagre and uncertain. Years ago another well had been dug in the meadows beyond the gateway, a well of great size and depth, the springs of which had never been known to fail, which was so much of a wonder that it was more famous than the castle itself, and was still known thereabouts as The Great Well of Wagensburg.

“Well, that’s all right,” said Mansel. “I suppose the water’s good.”

“The water is excellent, sir, and clear as crystal.”

“When was it last cleaned out?”

The landlord threw up his hands.

“Clean out The Great Well of Wagensburg! Why, sir, it is bottomless. I do not suppose it could be done. But the water is perfect: that I will guarantee.”

Mansel frowned and put his head on one side.

“All wells should be cleaned from time to time. Never mind. Where does it lie?”

We followed the landlord out of the courtyard, past the chapel and stables and into a wood. Two minutes later we turned into a fair meadow that sloped gently to another wood upon the opposite side. And in the midst of the meadow lay the great well.

When we came near, it was clear that it merited its name.

Twelve feet across it was, with a broad stone parapet about it and a turret-shaped roof above.

Four pillars were supporting the roof, and two of these held the windlass, which was a massive business, laden with a quantity of chain. Bucket there was none, but an empty hook was dangling over the depths.

When he saw there was no bucket, the landlord’s face fell; but, after a moment, he said that no doubt it had been put in the stables against being carried off, and, begging us to await his return, started back the way we had come.

While he was gone we walked to the farther wood and gradually round the meadow, which we found was something of a plateau, for the ground fell away on three sides and only rose on one, that is to say on the side of the farther wood: here it soon rose very sharply into a peak, which commanded a view of the castle and some of the path we had come, as well as for some distance the two approaches to the meadow on which there was no wood.

Whilst we were looking about us, we perceived the landlord returning, bucket in hand, and, when we got back to the well, he and Carson were lowering it into the depths.

The water came up clear and clean and cold, to the great glee of the landlord, who seemed by that circumstance to consider his protests proved, although there was nothing to show how much there was in the well, or whether the water itself was fit to drink. Mansel, however, appeared satisfied, and, after some further discussion, we made our way back to the castle by the path through the wood.

Thence we drove back to Lerai; and presently, having rewarded the innkeeper and declared that, if we bought Wagensburg, he should be our agent for obtaining supplies, left, as was only to be expected, amid a perfect flurry of ‘nods and becks and wreathed smiles.’

As we drove out of the village:

“The art of life,” said Mansel, “is to make valuable friends.”

For the next three hours we proved the country round about, identifying castles and villages and, thanks to the power of the car, covering a great deal of ground. Then at last we turned North and ran into Salzburg that night at eleven o’clock.

Hanbury was glad to see us, and was naturally agog to hear our tale, but he had no news beyond that he had found the offices of the principal house-agents and thought he had seen Ellis at the door of our hotel.

Herein he was right.

When Mansel visited a house-agent on the following day and, after inquiries, announced that he was disposed to purchase Wagensburg, the agent opened his eyes.

“Sir,” he said, “you are a few hours too late. Wagensburg is not sold, but it is not for sale. By a curious coincidence I granted an option to purchase this very property yesterday afternoon.”