ily. "You know
how I want to get the better of this party who brought him down. She
lured him on--lured him on--oh, my God!" He buried his face in his hands
and swayed from side to side.

Mr. Milburgh looked round in some apprehension. No one was in sight.

Odette would be the principal witness against him and this man hated her.
He had small cause for loving her. She was the one witness that the Crown
could produce, now that he had destroyed the documentary evidence of his
crime. What case would they have against him if they stood him in the
dock at the Old Bailey, if Odette Rider were not forthcoming to testify
against him?

He thought the matter over cold-bloodedly, as a merchant might consider
some commercial proposition which is put before him. He had learnt that
Odette Rider was in London in a nursing home, as the result of a set of
curious circumstances.

He had called up Lyne's Store that morning on the telephone to discover
whether there had been any inquiries for him and had heard from his chief
assistant that a number of articles of clothing had been ordered to be
sent to this address for Miss Rider's use. He had wondered what had
caused her collapse, and concluded that it was the result of the strain
to which the girl had been subjected in that remarkable interview which
she and he had had with Tarling at Hertford on the night before.

"Suppose you met Miss Rider?" he said. "What could you do?"

Sam Stay showed his teeth in a grin.

"Well, anyway, you're not likely to meet her for some time. She is
in a nursing home," said Milburgh, "and the nursing home," he went
on deliberately, "is at 304, Cavendish Place."

"304, Cavendish Place," repeated Sam. "That's near Regent Street, isn't
it?"

"I don't know where it is," said Mr. Milburgh. "She is at 304, Cavendish
Place, so that it is very unlikely that you will meet her for some time."

He rose to his feet, and he saw the man was shaking from head to foot
like a man in the grip of ague.

"304, Cavendish Place," he repeated, and without another word turned his
back on Mr. Milburgh and slunk away.

That worthy gentleman looked after him and shook his head, and then
rising, turned and walked in the other direction. It was just as easy to
take a ticket for the Continent at Waterloo station as it was at Charing
Cross. In many ways it was safer.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE DIARY OF THORNTON LYNE

Tarling should have been sleeping. Every bone and sin