ened, hideous thumb with the pink parody of a nail upon it.

"Thanks, very much," he said, crisply. "Keep straight on."

He half turned as the stranger swung round. The latter darted at Bell,
but he came too late. Bell's fist shot out and caught him fairly on the
forehead. Then the stick in Bell's left hand came down with crushing
force on the prostrate man's skull. So utterly dazed and surprised was he
that he lay on the ground for a moment, panting heavily.

"You murderous ruffian," Bell gasped. "You escaped convict in an honest
man's clothes. Get up! So you are the fellow--"

He paused suddenly, undesirous of letting the rascal see that he knew too
much. The other man rolled over suddenly like a cat and made a dash for a
gap in the hedge. He was gone like a flash. Pursuit would be useless, for
pace was not Bell's strong point. And he was not fearful of being
attacked again.

"Henson seems to be pretty well served," he muttered, grimly.

Meanwhile, the man with the thumb was flying over the fields in the
direction of Littimer. He made his way across country to the cliffs with
the assured air of one who knows every inch of the ground. He had failed
in the first part of his instructions, and there was no time to be lost
if he was to carry out the second part successfully.

He struck the cliffs at length a mile or so away, and proceeded to
scramble along them till he lay hidden just under the terraces at
Littimer Castle. He knew that he was in time for this part of the
programme, despite the fact that his head ached considerably from the
force and vigour of Bell's assault. He lay there, panting and breathing
heavily, waiting for the signal to come.

Meanwhile, Bell was jogging along placidly and with no fear in his heart
at all. He did not need anybody to tell him what was the object of his
late antagonist's attack. He knew perfectly well that if the ruffian had
got the better of him he would never have seen the Rembrandt again.
Henson's hounds were on the track; but it would go hard if they pulled
the quarry down just as the sanctuary was in sight. Presently Bell could
see the lights of the castle.

By the lodge-gates stood a dog-cart; in the flare of the lamps Bell
recognised the features of the driver, a very old servant of Littimer's.
Bell took in the situation at a glance.

"Is this the way you come for me, Lund?" he asked.

"I'm very sorry, sir," Lund replied. "But a clergyman near the station
said you