s back with a car in which
were Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put
Matthews in charge of the party and sent them off to the Dyke
Inn, though I felt pretty sure we were too late to catch the
trio. That was really the reason I stayed behind; besides, I
wanted to look after you. I got a turn when I saw you spread out
all over the carpet, old man, I can tell you."

Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not
speak for a minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How
he had bungled it all!

"Look here," he said presently in a dazed voice, "you said just
now that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why
should Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she
come down with you?"

Francis looked at him quickly.

"That crack on the head makes you forget things," he said. "Don't
you remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you yesterday
afternoon Matthews thought she had stayed on..."

Desmond shook his head.

"She's not been here," he replied. "I'm quite positive about that!"

Francis sprang to his feet.

"Surely you must be mistaken," he said in tones of concern. "The
Chief sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you.
She reached Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told
Matthews that she asked him the way to the Mill House."

An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond's heart. He held
his throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara
that night in the library but who was it? And what had he said?

Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. "So that's what she wanted with
Nur-el-Din!" he had said.

Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told
Francis of his absence from the Mill House in response to the
summons from Nur-el-Din, of his interview with the dancer and her
story of the Star of Poland, of his hurried return just in time
to meet Mortimer, and of Mortimer's enigmatical reference to the
dancer in the library that night.

Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond
noted it and reproached himself most bitterly with his initial
failure to inform the Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din and
Mortimer to the Mill House. When he had finished speaking, he did
not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the window into
the chilly drizzle of a sad winter's day.

"I don't like the look of it at all, Des," said his brother
shaking his head, "but first we must mak