of the house, a miserable, dejected
procession. Holding candles over their heads, they descended two sets of
winding stone steps, passed along a gloomy corridor till they came to a
heavy oak door, which Moreton, the butler, who carried the keys, opened
with some difficulty. It led into a dry cellar which had the appearance of
a prison cell. There was a single bench set against the wall. Quest looked
around quickly.

"This place has been used before now, in the old days, for malefactors,"
the Professor remarked. "He'll be safe there. Craig," he added, his voice
trembling, "Craig--I--I can't speak to you. How could you!"

There was no answer. Craig's face was buried in his hands. They left him
there and turned the key.

2.

Quest stood, frowning, upon the pavement, gazing at the obviously empty
house. He looked once more at the slip of paper which Lenora had given
him. There was no possibility of any mistake:--

"Mrs. Willet,
157 Elsmere Road,
Hampstead."

This was 157 and the house was empty. After a moment's hesitation he rang
the bell at the adjoining door. A woman who had been watching him from the
front room, answered the summons at once.

"Can you tell me," he enquired, "what has become of the lady who used to
live at 157--Mrs. Willet?"

"She's moved," was the uncompromising reply.

"Do you know where to?" Quest asked eagerly.

"West Kensington--Number 17 Princes' Court Road. There was a young lady
here yesterday afternoon enquiring for her."

Quest raised his hat. It was a relief, at any rate, to have news of
Lenora.

"I am very much obliged to you, madam."

"You're welcome!" was the terse reply.

Quest gave the new address to the taxi-driver and was scarcely able to
restrain his impatience during the long drive. They pulled up at last
before a somewhat dingy-looking house. He rang the bell, which was
answered by a trim-looking little maid-servant.

"Is Mrs. Willet in?" he enquired.

The maid-servant stood on one side to let him pass. Almost at the same
moment, the door of the front room opened and a pleasant-looking elderly
lady appeared.

"I am Mrs. Willet," she announced.

"I am Mr. Quest," the criminologist told her quickly. "You may have heard
your niece, Lenora, speak of me."

"Then perhaps you can tell me what has become of her?" Mrs. Willet
observed.

"Isn't she here?"

Mrs. Willet shook her head.

"I had a telegram from her from New York to say that she was co