ict van Heerden," said
the superintendent when his chief had gone, "you see, in the English
courts, motive must be proved to convict before a jury, and there seems
no motive except revenge. A jury would take a lot of convincing that a
man spent thousands of pounds to avenge a wrong done to his country."

Beale had no answer to this. At the back of his mind he had a dim idea
of the sheer money value of the scheme, but he needed other evidence
than he possessed. The commissioner returned soon after.

"I have been on the 'phone to the Under-Secretary, and we will take
action against van Heerden on the evidence the factory offers. I'll put
you in charge of the case, McNorton, you have the search-warrant
already? Good!"

He shook hands with Beale.

"You will make a European name over this, Mr. Beale," he said.

"I hope Europe will have nothing more to talk about," said Beale.

They passed back to McNorton's office.

"I'll come right along," said the superintendent. He was taking his hat
from a peg when he saw a closed envelope lying on his desk.

"From the local police station," he said. "How long has this been here?"

His clerk shook his head.

"I can't tell you, sir--it has been there since I came in."

"H'm--I must have overlooked it. Perhaps it is news from your factory."

He tore it open, scanned the contents and swore.

"There goes your evidence, Beale," he said.

"What is it?" asked Beale quickly.

"The factory was burned to the ground in the early hours of the
morning," he said. "The fire started in the old wine vault and the whole
building has collapsed."

The detective stared out of the window.

"Can we arrest van Heerden on the evidence of Professor Heyler?"

For answer McNorton handed him the letter. It ran:

"From Inspector-in-charge, S. Paddington, to Supt. McNorton.
Factory in Playbury St. under P.O. (Police Observation) completely
destroyed by fire, which broke out in basement at 5.20 this
morning. One body found, believed to be a man named Heyler."

CHAPTER XXVII

A SCHEME TO STARVE THE WORLD

There is a menace about Monday morning which few have escaped. It is a
menace which in one guise or another clouds hundreds of millions of
pillows, gives to the golden sunlight which filters through a billion
panes the very hues and character of jaundice. It is the menace of
factory and workshop, harsh prisons which shut men and women from the
green fields and th