a would not come to Beechcroft
that night.

The five men went rapidly and silently up the avenue. As they approached
the lighted library, they could see a servant parleying with the Japanese.

A motion of Brett's hand brought the party into the shade of the sombre
yews.

"You and Holden," he said to Hume, "go round to the main entrance, proceed
at once to the library door, enter the room, and lock the door behind you.
Be ready with your stick, and do not hesitate to lunge hard if Ooma
attacks you. You, Holden, keep the revolver handy. It must only be used to
save life. The moment you appear at the door we will rush to the window,
which is open. Ooma must have entered that way. You both understand?"

They nodded and walked off, clinging to the line of the trees. The others
closed up. Timing their approach with perfect judgment, they crept over
the gravelled road at the bend, and gained the turf in front of the
window.

Ooma's back was towards them. They could hear his voice--a queer,
high-pitched, yet strident voice--whilst he questioned a somewhat scared
footman as to the whereabouts of his mistress.

The man had evidently perceived the remarkable resemblance borne by this
uncanny stranger to the Frazer family. His replies were respectful, but
stuttering. He was alarmed by those fierce eyes, more especially because
his inability to give satisfactory information seemed to anger the
new-comer.

"You are not a child," they heard Ooma say, with menace in his tone. "You
must have heard, from her maid or some other source, where Mrs. Capella
has gone to?"

"N--no, sir," stammered the man. "I really 'aven't I t--t--thought Mrs.
C--Capella was in London. The b--butler says we are all to 'ave a 'oliday
next week."

"Is there no way in which I can find out where your mistress is at this
moment? I must see her. My business is important. It cannot wait. It is of
the utmost importance to her."

Brett, straining without like a hound in the leash, could note a slight
accentuation in the perfect English spoken by Ooma. There was just a
suspicion of the liquid "r" so strongly marked in Jiro's utterance. What
an uncanny thing is heredity! It even alters the shape of the roof of the
mouth. The Japanese of English descent could necessarily pronounce English
better than the pure-born native.

The servant within seemed to rack his brains for a favourable reply.

"You might ask Mr. Capella, sir," he said at length, with some de