y descended upon
Overstow. When he had gone Rayne broke out into a furious series of
imprecations and vows of vengeance upon some person whom he did not
name, but whom he suspected of having made a _faux pas_.

Suddenly, however, he bade me good night in his usual manner, as
though nothing had occurred to disturb him. He was a man of abnormal
intellect, defiant, fearless, and with a brain which, had it been put
to proper usage, would undoubtedly have made him a world-famous
Englishman. After all, the brains of great criminals, properly
cultivated and directed, are the same brains as those possessed by our
great leaders, whether political, commercial, or social.

That night I scarcely closed my eyes in sleep. The Damoclean sword had
apparently fallen upon the Squire of Overstow. And I recollected his
daughter's warning.

Next morning, directly after breakfast, which he ate with relish, and
seemed quite his normal self, I drove with him at his orders over to
Heathcote Hall, about five miles away, where lived Sir Johnson
Burnham, one of the old Yorkshire aristocracy, who was also chairman
of quarter sessions.

I waited at the wheel while he called. I knew that the baronet was not
at home, as a week before Lola had told me that he had gone to San
Remo. Nevertheless, Rayne went inside, and was there quite half an
hour. I was puzzled at his absence, but the reason seemed plain when
the butler, bowing him out, exclaimed:

"I am so sorry, Mr. Rayne, but the telephone people are, I fear, very
slack in these days. It takes so long to get a number."

So Rayne had gone to Heathcote in order to telephone to somebody in
great urgency--somebody he dare not speak with from Overstow.

As we drove back again, Rayne said:

"Of course, George, you will never breathe a word of this--well, this
little _contretemps_--or of its result. When I'm up against the wall I
always hit hard. That's the only way. I'm not going to be
blackmailed!"

"The affair does not concern me," I replied. "What I hear in your
presence I never repeat."

"I'm glad you appreciate your position," he answered. "I'm a good
employer to those who trust me, but an infernally bad one to those who
doubt, who blunder, or who betray me, as you have probably learned,"
he said in a hard voice, as we swung into the handsome lodge gates of
Overstow.

Just before luncheon Rayne was called to the telephone. I was in the
room at the time. He apparently recognized the voic