ested. Certainly his very
name was sufficient to secure an acquittal.

The journey from Pall Mall to Clifton had been a long and rather
tiring one, and as I sat in the swift two-seater half-way across the
high suspension bridge, I smoked reflectively as I gazed away along
the river where deep below shone a few twinkling lights. Across at
Clifton I could see the row of street lamps, while above the stars
were shining in the sharp frosty air, and in the distance I could hear
the roar of an express train.

The bell of Clifton parish church struck the half-hour, but nobody was
in sight, and there were no sounds of footsteps in the frosty air.
Though so near the busy city of Bristol, yet high up on that long
bridge, that triumph of engineering of our yesterday, all was quiet
with scarce a sound save the shrill cry of a night-bird.

If it were not that I loved Lola I would gladly have resigned the
position which had already become hateful to me. Somehow I felt
vaguely that perhaps I might one day render her a service. I might
even extricate her from the dangerous circumstances in which she was
living in all innocence of the actual conspiracies in which her father
was engaged. Who could know?

As far as I could gather, Lola was much puzzled at certain secret
meetings held at Overstow. Her father's friends of both sexes were
shrouded in mystery, and she was, I knew, seeking to penetrate it and
learn the truth.

I had already satisfied myself that the gang was a most dangerous and
unscrupulous one, and that Rayne and his friends would hesitate at
nothing so long as they carried out the plans which they laid with
such innate cunning in order to effect great and astounding
_coups_--the clever thefts and swindles that from time to time had
held the world aghast.

I suppose I must have waited nearly half an hour when suddenly there
fell upon my ear uneven footsteps hurrying along towards the car, and
in the light of the street lamp I distinguished, hurrying towards me,
a short, elderly man, somewhat deformed, with a distinct hump on his
back.

"You're Mr. Hargreave, aren't you?" he inquired breathlessly, with a
distinct Scottish accent. "I'm Tarrant! I'm so sorry I'm late, but
Rudolph will understand. I'll explain it to him."

And he was about to mount into the seat beside me.

I put out my arm, and peering into the man's face, asked:

"Is there nothing else, eh?"

"Nothing," he replied. "Why? You are here to meet me.