ave already told you, but whilst they distinctly point to some
criminal whose identity is not yet fully established, unfortunately I
cannot say that in a legal sense they clear Coverly."

Isobel, as I had thought at the first moment of our meeting, looked
very tired and had that pathetic expression of appeal in her eyes
which had hurt me so much when first it had appeared there on the
morning after the tragedy. She was palpably ill at ease, and I had
small cause to wonder at this. Although a veiled paragraph (in which I
thought I could detect the hand of Gatton) had appeared in the press
on the previous day, briefly stating that evidence had been
volunteered by Sir Eric Coverly which had led to an entirely new line
of police inquiry, the item of news--which had naturally excited
wide-spread interest--had never been amplified. Amid the alarms and
excursions which had terminated my visit to Upper Crossleys, Gatton I
supposed had forgotten to refer to this matter; but I did not doubt
that the paragraph was an inspired one issued from Scotland Yard.

My friend's object in circulating this statement was not by any means
evident to me, but as I expected to see him later that day I hoped to
be able to obtain from him some explanation of his new tactics.

Many hours had elapsed since, with the flames of the burning Bell
House reddening the night behind me, and throwing into lurid relief
the fir-groves surrounding Dr. Damar Greefe's mysterious stronghold, I
had been borne along the road towards London. That Gatton had hoped
for much from a detailed search of the Eurasian's establishment, I
knew, for I had not forgotten his anger at the appearance of the
flames above the tree tops which had told of the foiling of his plans.

Under cover of the conflagration the cunning Eurasian had escaped.
Every possible means had been taken to intercept him, and whilst
Gatton, inspired by I know not what hopes, had hastened to the burning
Bell House, I had set out in the police car in pursuit of Dr. Damar
Greefe accompanied by Detective-Sergeant Blythe--upon whom,
apparently, the onus of the fiasco rested.

In despite of these measures, the hunted man had made good his
retreat; and Blythe and I had entered the outskirts of London without
once sighting the car in which Dannar Greefe had fled.

No communication reached me on the following morning, and I found
myself, consumed with impatient curiosity, temporarily out of touch
with Gatton. T