had gone another way, so I turned back. And when I got here I
couldn't make top nor tail of the story. Blest if I wasn't a bit nervous
that it might have been some plant to rob you. And I was going to drive
slowly along to the station again when you turned up."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong," said Bell, cheerfully. "And I don't look as
if I'd come to any harm. Anybody staying at the castle, Lund?"

"Only Mr. Reginald Henson, sir," Lund said, disparagingly.

Bell started, but his emotion was lost in the darkness. It came as a
great surprise to him to find that the enemy was actually in the field.
And how apprehensive of danger he must be to come so far with his health
in so shattered a condition. Bell smiled to himself as he pictured
Henson's face on seeing him once more under that roof.

"How long has Mr. Henson been here?" he asked.

"Only came yesterday, sir. Shall I drive you up to the house? And if you
wouldn't mind saying nothing to his lordship about my mistake, sir--"

"Make your mind easy on that score," Bell said, drily. "His lordship
shall know nothing whatever about it. On the whole, I had better drive up
to the house. How familiar it all looks, to be sure."

A minute later and Bell stood within the walls of the castle.

CHAPTER XXXII

HOW THE SCHEME WORKED OUT

Chris crossed the corridor like one who walks in a dream. She had not
enough energy left to be astonished even. Her mind travelled quickly over
the events of the past hour, and she began to see the way clear. But how
had somebody or other managed to remove the picture? Chris examined the
spot on the wall where the Rembrandt had been with the eye of a
detective.

That part of the mystery was explained in a moment. A sharp cutting
instrument, probably a pair of steel pliers with a lever attachment, had
been applied to the head of the four stays, and the flat heads had been
pinched off as clean as if they had been string. After that it was merely
necessary to remove the frame, and a child could have done the rest.

"How clever I am," Chris told herself, bitterly. "I'm like the astute
people who put Chubb locks on Russia leather jewel-cases that anybody
could rip open with a sixpenny penknife. And in my conceit I deemed the
Rembrandt to be absolutely safe. Now what--what is the game?"

It was much easier to ask the question than to answer it. But there were
some facts sufficiently obvious to Chris. In the first place she knew
that Regi