s are well known," answered the young Italian. "You cannot
be too careful. Woodroffe has been in Russia with you, has he not?"

I replied in the affirmative, whereupon he said:

"I thought so, but was not quite sure."

"And Chater?" I inquired; "where is he?"

"In London."

"And the Leithcourts?"

He shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of ignorance, adding: "The
Signorina Muriel returned to London from Eastbourne this morning."

"Where can I find her?" I inquired eagerly. "It is of the utmost
importance that I should see her."

"She is with a relation, a cousin, I think, at Bassett Road, Notting
Hill. The house is called 'Holmwood.'"

"You have seen her?"

"No. I heard she had returned."

"And her father is still in hiding from Chater?"

"He is still in hiding, but Chater is his best friend."

"That is curious," I remarked, recollecting the hurried departure from
Rannoch. "They've made it up, I suppose?"

"They never quarreled, to my knowledge."

"Then why did Leithcourt leave Scotland so hurriedly on Chater's
arrival? You know all about the affair, of course?"

He nodded, saying with a grim smile, "Yes; I know. The party up there
must have been a very interesting one. If the police could have made a
raid on the place they would have found among the guests certain persons
long 'wanted.' But the arrival of Chater and the flight of Leithcourt
had an ulterior object. Chater had never been Leithcourt's enemy."

"But I can't understand that," I said. "Why should Leithcourt have
attacked Chater, rendered him unconscious, and shut him up in the
cupboard in the library?"

"Was it Leithcourt who did that?" he asked dubiously. "I think not. It
was another of the guests who was Chater's bitterest enemy. But Philip
Leithcourt took advantage of the fracas in order to make believe that he
had fled because of Chater's arrival. Ah!" he added, "you haven't any
idea of their ruses. They are amazing!"

"So it seems," I said, nevertheless only half convinced that the Italian
was telling me the truth. If it was really, as he had said, that the
arrival of Chater and the flight was merely a "blind," then the mystery
was again deepened.

"Then who was the man who attacked Chater?" I asked.

"Only Chater himself knows. It was one of the guests, that is quite
evident."

"And you say that the flight had been prearranged?" I remarked.

"Yes, with a distinct motive," he said; then, after a pause, he added,
with a str