eant Bruce till it has been explained," he said quietly.
"I want you to put a few things in my handbag, please--just absolute
necessaries, such as a change of linen and a tooth brush. You will know
what I am most likely to need. Don't keep us waiting, there's a good
fellow."

The silent-footed servitor bowed and retired, and with an air of
contemptuous resignation Nugent lay back in his chair. As he fingered
his fair moustache his gaze, lazily contemplative, was all for the
observant face of Mr. Mallory, whose attention was directed at the
supple form of the French sailor. Legros himself had no eyes for any one
but the man over whose chair he hovered, expectant and menacing. The
sergeant kept shifting from one foot to another, emphasizing the silence
with deprecatory coughs. He was probably the most uncomfortable man in
the room.

The tableau was not unduly prolonged, for in less than three minutes
Sinnett reappeared, carrying a small leather bag, which he brought to
his master. Nugent placed it on his lap, and, idly fingering the catch,
proceeded to instruct his servant on various household matters. The
gardener was to be careful to attend to the heating of the orchid house;
Nugent was minutely particular about ordering his dinner for the
following night, as he had no doubt that after explaining to the
magistrates at Exmouth he should be at home in good time to enjoy it.
Dixon, the chauffeur, was to have the car at the police court at noon,
so as to be ready to bring him back.

"And now, sergeant, I think I am ready to end this business," he
concluded, looking blandly round. "It really galls me to give you so
much trouble, but you, like my dear friend Mallory, have brought it on
yourself, you see."

As he spoke the fingers which had been toying with the catch of the bag
closed, snapping it open and diving swift as lightning into the
interior. At the same moment Pierre Legros thrust his hand into the
bosom of his blue blouse, and withdrew it just as Nugent lifted a
revolver from the bag. There was a gleam of steel, and a great
sheath-knife shot downwards like a streak of fire into the back of
Nugent's neck ere he could level the weapon. The point of the knife came
out above the collar-stud, and the Frenchman dragged it out with a
vicious wrench as the corpse fell forward on to a magnificent tiger-skin
rug.

"He make to shoot us all," said Legros calmly. "But most he make to
shoot you, Monsieur Mallory, and I glad