ain consulting his watch. "The five minutes
are up. I must be off."

"Not until I have spoken to Scotland Yard, sir."

"You wish to speak to Scotland Yard?"

"I do," said Stokes, grimly.

Nicol Brinn strode to the telephone, which stood upon a small table
almost immediately in front of the bookcase. The masked door remained
ajar.

"You are quite fixed upon detaining me?"

"Quite," said Stokes, watching him closely.

In one long stride Brinn was through the doorway, telephone in hand!
Before Stokes had time to move, the door closed violently, in order, no
doubt, to make it shut over the telephone cable which lay under it!

Detective Sergeant Stokes fell back, gazed wildly at the false books for
a moment, and then, turning, leaped to the outer door. It was locked!

In the meanwhile, Nicol Brinn, having secured the door which
communicated with the study, walked out into the lobby where Hoskins was
seated. Hoskins stood up.

"The lady went, Hoskins?"

"She did, sir."

Nicol Brinn withdrew the key from the door of the room in which
Detective Sergeant Stokes was confined. Stokes began banging wildly upon
the panels from within.

"That row will continue," Nicol Brinn said, coldly; "perhaps he will
shout murder from one of the windows. You have only to say you had no
key. I am going out now. The light coat, Hoskins."

Hoskins unemotionally handed coat, hat, and cane to his master and,
opening the front door, stood aside. The sound of a window being raised
became audible from within the locked room.

"Probably," added Nicol Brinn, "you will be arrested."

"Very good, sir," said Hoskins. "Good-night, sir..."

CHAPTER XVII. WHAT HAPPENED TO HARLEY

Some two hours after Paul Harley's examination of Jones, the
ex-parlourmaid, a shabby street hawker appeared in the Strand, bearing a
tray containing copies of "Old Moore's Almanac." He was an ugly-looking
fellow with a split lip, and appeared to have neglected to shave for at
least a week. Nobody appeared to be particularly interested, and during
his slow progression from Wellington Street to the Savoy Hotel he smoked
cigarettes almost continuously. Trade was far from brisk, and the vendor
of prophecies filled in his spare time by opening car doors, for which
menial service he collected one three-penny bit and several sixpences.

This commercial optimist was still haunting the courtyard of the hotel
at a time when a very handsome limousine pulled up beside t