cended on
the new arrival under a coverlet of smiles.

"Come along, my dear," he said, "you're a sensible looking girl. Now
where's Mister Barraclough, eh?"

For a second Jane seemed lost in consideration, then shook her head
stupidly and replied in a rich brogue:

"Maister Bar'clough--doan't know 'un--never clapt eyes on 'un. 'Tis
on'y larst week I took sarvice 'ere t'oblige."

"Have you seen anyone strange about the premises today?"

"Noa."

"A man--tall--broad shouldered--wearing a blue suit and cap."

"Oh 'im," said Jane, her face lighting up with a semblance of
intelligence. "I did see some un 'bout 'arf an hour ago, 'twas."

"Yes, yes. Go on."

"Come out of tool shed at garden end and kept low by the 'edge."

"Did he enter the house?"

"Noa. 'E lit off down the road as fast as 'e cud make."

"Damn! We've missed 'im," roared Dirk.

"Which direction?"

"Away from village 'twas."

Dirk was tugging at Harrison Smith's sleeve and dragging him toward the
French windows.

"No, no," cried Smith, "the front way--it's quicker."

The two turned at the exact second Barraclough, entirely oblivious of
their presence, walked into the room. The light flashed dully on the
barrel of Harrison Smith's automatic.

"Put 'em up," he said, "put 'em up"--and as the order was obeyed--"Well
met indeed, Barraclough, well met indeed."

CHAPTER 27.

A KNOTTED KERCHIEF.

The timing and arrangement of the situation was flawless. Barraclough
with his hands upheld, Harrison Smith masking the persuasive automatic
from the view of the two girls and Dirk's fingers travelling caressingly
toward the pocket in which his mascot reposed. It was hugely dramatic.
Flora and Jane, robbed for the moment of the power of speech and action,
clung to one another on the far side of the room, their gaze riveted on
their hero, who, in this moment of crisis, was whistling a bar of ragtime
and accepting defeat with smiling eyes.

Harrison Smith's left hand ran professionally over the contours of
Barraclough's coat to satisfy himself that there was no concealed weapon.

"Most opportune," he remarked, "and we had almost despaired of seeing
you." Then in a lower voice--"All right, but no games."

"Thank you," said Barraclough, and lowering his arms he walked slowly to
the writing table.

"And now you two nice little girls," said Harrison Smith, rubbing his
hands together, "cut along and pick flowers. Much too nice an eveni