, and
swore softly and whole-heartedly.

"Mario Escobar has vanished."

"But I saw him myself," Hillyard exclaimed. "I saw him in London."

"When?"

"On Monday afternoon."

Graham lifted the mouthpiece to his lips again.

"Wait a bit, A.C. Hillyard saw the man in London on Monday afternoon."

Again A.C. spoke at the other end from an office in Scotland Yard.
Graham put down the instrument with a bang and hung up the receiver.

"He vanished yesterday. Could he have seen you?"

Hillyard shook his head.

"I think not."

"Oh, we'll get him, of course. He can't escape from the country. And we
will get him pretty soon," Graham declared. He looked out of the window
on to the river. "I wonder what in the world alarmed him, since it
wasn't you?" he speculated slowly.

But both Scotland Yard and Commodore Graham were out of their reckoning
for once. Mario Escobar was not alarmed at all. He had packed his bag,
taken the tube to his terminus, bought his ticket and gone off in a
train. Only no one had noticed him go; and that was all there was to
it.

CHAPTER XX

LADY SPLAY'S PREOCCUPATIONS

"It's a good race to leave alone, Miranda," said Dennis Brown. "But if
you want to back something, I should put a trifle on Kinky Jane."

"Thank you, Dennis," Miranda answered absently. She was standing upon
the lawn at Gatwick with her face towards the line of bookmakers upon
the far side of the railings. These men were shouting at the full frenzy
of their voices, in spite of the heat and the dust. The ring was
crowded, and even the enclosure more than usually full.

"But you won't get any price," Harold Jupp continued, and he waved an
indignant arm towards the bookmakers. "I never saw such a crowd of
pinchers in my life."

"Thank you, Harold," Miranda replied politely. She was aware that he was
advising her, but the nature of the advice did not reach her mind. She
was staring steadily in front of her.

Dennis Brown and Harold Jupp looked at one another in alarm. They knew
well that sibylline look on the face of Miranda Brown. She was awaiting
the moment of inspiration. She was all wrapped up in expectation of it.
At times she glanced at her race-card, whilst a thoughtful frown
puckered her pretty forehead, as though the name of the winning filly
might leap out in letters of gold.

Dennis shook his head dolefully. For the one thing sure and certain was
that the fatal moment of inspiration would come to Miranda