Mrs. Naylor led the way to the lower regions, unconscious that not
three but seven men were following her, the last four with rubber-soled
boots.

She had scarcely taken a step along the passage at the foot of the
basement stairs, when her arms were gripped from behind and a pad held
over her mouth. She struggled against the sweet-smelling sickly fumes;
then the relaxing of her limbs told that she had temporarily left for
realms where Mr. Naylor was not.

The basement was composed of a kitchen, immediately on the right of the
stairs, and a breakfast-room, the entrance to which lay a few paces
along the passage. At the end of the passage was a door leading into
the area.

Without a sound the men divided themselves, one went to the area door,
two remained by the kitchen door, where Susan could be heard clattering
crockery, whilst the other four stood outside the door leading to the
breakfast-room. One of them gently turned the handle; it was locked.
He made a signal to the two men at the kitchen door. One quietly
entered.

A moment later Susan looked up with a start to find herself gazing down
the barrel of an automatic pistol, whilst before her eyes was presented
a card on which was printed, "Come and make the signal to get the door
of the breakfast-room open, otherwise you will be shot."

For a fraction of a second she hesitated, then a strange light flashed
into her eyes, suggestive half of cunning, half of relief, and with an
understanding nod she walked to the breakfast-room door. One of the
men placed her in such a position that she would not be in the way of
the entrance of the others when the door was opened.

Very deliberately she knocked and paused--knock--knock--knock, pause,
knock--knock.

They waited breathlessly. The sound of a key being cautiously turned
was presently heard. A moment after a line of white appeared beside
the green paint of the door, as it was slowly and cautiously opened.

Then a score of things seemed to happen at once. The waiting men threw
themselves into the room, the man at the end of the passage dashed out
into the area, he who had been left at the kitchen-door rushed into the
back-yard and whistled.

The breakfast-room was in total darkness; but for the brilliant
electric torches carried by the assailants. For a moment there was
wild confusion, a shot was fired and then all was quiet.

"Got him, Thompson?" It was Malcolm Sage who spoke; but from a
physical sub