murder, and had been shocked, and, in his way, grieved.

It was not to save Odette Rider that he sent his note to Scotland Yard,
but rather to avenge himself upon the man who had killed the only woman
in the world who had touched his warped nature. Nor had he any intention
of committing suicide. He had the passports which he had secured a year
before in readiness for such a step (he had kept that clerical uniform of
his by him all that time) and was ready at a moment's notice to leave the
country.

His tickets were in his pocket, and when he despatched the district
messenger to Scotland Yard he was on his way to Waterloo station to catch
the Havre boat train. The police, he knew, would be watching the station,
but he had no fear that they would discover beneath the benign exterior
of a country clergyman, the wanted manager of Lyne's Store, even
supposing that there was a warrant out for his arrest.

He was standing at a bookstall, purchasing literature to while away the
hours of the journey, when he felt a hand laid on his arm and experienced
a curious sinking sensation. He turned to look into a brown mask of a
face he had seen before.

"Well, my man," he asked with a smile, "what can I do for you?"

He had asked the question in identical terms of Sam Stay--his brain told
him that much, mechanically.

"You will come with me, Mr. Milburgh," said Ling Chu. "It will be better
for you if you do not make any trouble."

"You are making a mistake."

"If I am making a mistake," said Ling Chu calmly, "you have only to tell
that policeman that I have mistaken you for Milburgh, who is wanted by
the police on a charge of murder, and I shall get into very serious
trouble."

Milburgh's lips were quivering with fear and his face was a pasty grey.

"I will come," he said.

Ling Chu walked by his side, and they passed out of Waterloo station. The
journey to Bond Street remained in Milburgh's memory like a horrible
dream. He was not used to travelling on omnibuses, being something of
a sybarite who spared nothing to ensure his own comfort. Ling Chu on the
contrary had a penchant for buses and seemed to enjoy them.

No word was spoken until they reached the sitting-room of Tarling's flat.
Milburgh expected to see the detective. He had already arrived at the
conclusion that Ling Chu was but a messenger who had been sent by the man
from Shanghai to bring him to his presence. But there was no sign of
Tarling.

"Now, my frien