u, Miss Russell!" he exclaimed, "but why? Surely there is no need
for us to ask you to witness such a painful scene as this, of course,
must be."

"I am Carol's friend, Sir Arthur," said Dora, "and I think it only right
to do all that I can do to prove that her story is true. I have got the
photographs, and I know the marks by which Sir Reginald can be
identified. If we are not too late, such a man will, of course, answer
you with a flat denial, but if I am there I don't think he can."

"Very well," said Sir Arthur. "It is very kind of you, and, of course,
you can help us a great deal if you will."

"And, of course, I will," she said.

CHAPTER XXV.

Koda Bux, dressed in half-European costume, had taken the 5.40 newspaper
train from Paddington to Kidderminster. He had been several times at
Garthorne Abbey in attendance on Sir Arthur, and so he decided to carry
out his purpose in the boldest, and therefore, possibly, the easiest and
the safest way. He was, of course, well known to the servants as the
devoted and confidential henchman of his master, and so he would not
have the slightest difficulty in obtaining access to Sir Reginald. He
walked boldly up the drive, intending to say that he had a letter of
great importance which his master had ordered him to place in Sir
Reginald's hand. Sir Reginald would see him alone in one of the rooms,
and then a cast of the roomal over his head, a pull and a wrench--and
justice would be done.

Koda Bux knew quite enough of English law to be well aware that it had
no adequate punishment for the terrible crime that Sir Reginald had
committed--a crime made a thousand times worse by deception of half a
lifetime.

According to his simple Pathan code of religion and morals there was
only one proper penalty for the betrayal of a friend's honour and his,
Koda Bux's, was even more jealous of his master's honour than he was of
his own, for he had eaten his salt and had sheltered under his roof for
many a long year, and if the law would not punish his enemy, he would.
For his own life he cared nothing in comparison with the honour of his
master's house, and so how could he serve him better than by giving it
for that of his master's enemy?

It was after lunch-time when he reached the Abbey. Sir Reginald had, in
fact, just finished lunch and had gone into the library to write some
letters for the afternoon post, when the footman came to tell him that
Sir Arthur Maxwell's servant