he attacked and who struck the blow--in self-defence! Remember
that--it was in self-defence! I've done it! I've done my share! I hope
to God I'll forget it some day. Andrew, you know your task. Be a man,
and get to work!"

Dickinson rose to his feet unsteadily. "Yes!" he said. "What was it? I
have forgotten, for the moment, but I am ready."

"You must get his betting book from his pocket," Sir Richard directed.
"Then you must help Merries downstairs with him, and into the car.
Merries is--to get rid of him."

Merries shivered. His hand, too, went out for the brandy.

"To get rid of him," he muttered. "It sounds easy!"

"It is easy," Sir Richard declared. "You have only to keep your nerve,
and the thing is done. No one will see him inside the car, in that
motoring coat and glasses. You can drive somewhere out into the country
and leave him."

"Leave him!" Merries repeated, trembling. "Leave him--yes!"

Neither of the two men moved.

"I must do more than my share, I suppose," Sir Richard declared
contemptuously. "Come!"

They dragged the man's body on to a chair, wrapped a huge coat around
him, tied a motoring cap under his chin, fixed goggles over his eyes.
Sir Richard strolled into the hall and opened the front door. He stood
there for a moment, looking up and down the street. When he gave
the signal they dragged him out, supported between them, across the
pavement, into the car. Ugh! His attitude was so natural as to be
absolutely ghastly. Merries started the car and sprang into the driver's
seat. There were people in the Square now, but the figure reclining in
the dark, cushioned interior looked perfectly natural.

"So long, Jimmy," Sir Richard called out. "See you this evening."

"Right O!" Merries replied, with a brave effort.

Peter Ruff, summoned by telephone from his sitting room, slipped down
the stairs like a cat--noiseless, swift. The voice which had
summoned him had been the voice of his secretary--a voice almost
unrecognisable--a voice shaken with fear. Fear? No, it had been terror!

On the landing below, exactly underneath the room from which he had
descended, there was a door upon which his name was written upon a small
brass plate--Mr. Peter Ruff. He opened and closed it behind him with
a swift movement which he had practised in his idle moments. He found
himself looking in upon a curious scene.

Miss Brown, with the radiance of her hair effectually concealed, in
plain black skirt and