outs as he skirted
swiftly round the house and reached the road.

Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed
again. The dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath
his feet, gave him a sense of security that he had missed as long
as he was in the atmosphere of that lonely, sinister place. He
struck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one thing,
namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround the
Dyke Inn and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether a
spy or no (and Desmond believed her story), was the only person
who could throw any light on the mysterious circumstances
surrounding old Mackwayte's murder. Besides, her arrest would
safeguard her against further machinations on the part of
Mortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he
had secured the jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As for
Strangwise, it would be for him to explain as best he could his
continued association with a woman for whose arrest a warrant had
been issued.

Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned
and was laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were
drawn and a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room looked
very snug and cosy by contrast with the raw weather outside.

Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone
at the desk. "Ring up 700 Stanning"--he repeated his instructions
to himself "and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance'll be with you
within fifteen minutes afterwards."

By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid
arrived promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by a
quarter past seven.

The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked
the receiver hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not
fail, he told himself. Before he went to bed that night
Nur-el-Din, her maid, Rass, and if needs be, Strangwise (who
needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody.

Still no reply.

"Hullo! Hullo!" cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly.
"Hullo, Exchange!"

But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was
dead: his ear detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in
the telephone when one is waiting to get a number.

He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then
abandoned the endeavor in disgust.

"I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning," he
said to himself, "how I shall fin