roach, rubbed his wet hands
delightedly. Without the peculiar coat that majestic walk was
sufficient.

"It is he!" he muttered. "The Severac!"

With a key which he must have held ready in his hand, the new-comer
opened the door and entered the cottage. Acting upon a pre-arranged
plan, the watchers closed in upon the four sides of the building, and
Sheffield told himself triumphantly that he had shown sound generalship.
With a grim nod of recognition to Alden, who appeared from the laurel
thicket, he walked up to the door and rang smartly.

This had one notable result. A door banged inside.

Again he rang--and again.

Nothing stirred within. Only the steady drone of the falling rain broke
the chilling silence.

Sheffield whistled shrilly.

At that signal M. Duquesne immediately broke the window which he was
guarding, and stripping off his coat, he laid it over the jagged points
of glass along the sashes and through the thickness of the cloth forced
back the catch. Throwing up the glassless frame, he stepped into the
dark room beyond.

To the crash which he had made, an answering crash had told him that
Detective-sergeant Harborne had effected an entrance by the east window.

Cautiously he stepped forward in the darkness, a revolver in one hand;
with the other he fumbled for the electric lamp in his breast pocket.

As his fingers closed upon it a slight noise behind him brought him
right-about in a flash.

The figure of a man who was climbing in over the low ledge was
silhouetted vaguely in the frame of the broken window.

"_Ah!_" hissed Duquesne. "Quick! speak! Who is that?"

"Ssh! my Duquesne!" came a thick voice. "Do you think, then, I can leave
so beautiful a case to anyone?"

Duquesne turned the beam of the lantern on the speaker.

It was Victor Lemage.

Duquesne bowed, lantern in hand.

"Waste no moment," snapped Lemage. "Try that door!" pointing to the only
one in the room.

As the other stepped forward to obey, the famous investigator made a
comprehensive survey of the little kitchen, for such it was. Save for
its few and simple appointments, it was quite empty.

"The door is locked."

"Ah, yes. I thought so."

"Hullo!" came Sheffield's voice through the window, "who's there,
Duquesne?"

"It is M. Lemage. M'sieur, allow me to make known the great Scotland
Yard Inspector Sheffield."

With a queer parody of politeness, Duquesne turned the light of his
lantern alternately upon the face