the Mill
House finishing an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee
which old Martha had prepared for them.

Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill's greasy jacket and
moleskins, but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable
wig, consisting of a bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had
gone far to restore him to the semblance of his former self.

Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the
full force of the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with
the butt of his pistol. He had instinctively put up his arm to
defend his face and the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward's
jacket had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had avoided a
fractured skull at the price of an appalling bruise on the right
forearm and a nasty laceration of the scalp.

Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events
of the night until both had breakfasted. After despatching the
corporal of military police to hurry the housekeeper on with the
breakfast, Francis had taken his brother straight to the
dining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions which thronged
his brain until they had eaten and drunk. Only when all the ham
and eggs had disappeared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr.
Bellward's cigars, consent to satisfy his brother's curiosity.

"It was only yesterday morning," he said, "that I landed at
Folkstone from the Continent. How I got the Chief's message
recalling me and how I made my escape through the Turkish lines
to Allenby's headquarters is a long story which will keep. The
Chief had a car waiting for me at Folkstone and I reached London
in time to lunch with him. We had a long talk and he gave me
carte blanche to jump into this business now, when and where I
thought I could best help you."

Desmond smiled bitterly.

"The Chief couldn't trust me to make good on my own, I suppose,"
he said.

"The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people
you had to deal with, Des.," retorted Francis, "and he was a
trifle apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to
complications, supposing the gang were to see through your
impersonation. He's a wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead
right--as he always is."

"But how?" asked Desmond. "Did the crowd spot me?"

"No," answered the other; "but it was your disguise which was
responsible for the escape of Strangwise--"

"What?" cried Desmond. "He's escaped after all!"

Francis nodded.

"Yes," he