ront of him on the table. And at its sharp sound
the door opened from without, and Burchill fell back at what he
saw--fell back upon Barthorpe, who looked past him, and started in his
turn.

"Great Scot!" said Barthorpe. "Police!"

Davidge came quickly and quietly in--three other men with him. And in
the room from which they emerged Barthorpe saw more men, many more men,
and with them an eager, excited face which he somehow recognized--the
face of the little _Argus_ reporter who had asked him and Selwood for
news on the morning after Jacob Herapath's murder.

But Barthorpe had no time to waste thoughts on Triffitt. He suddenly
became alive to the fact that two exceedingly strong men had seized his
arms; that two others had similarly seized Burchill. The pallor died out
of his face and gave place to a dull glow of anger.

"Now, then?" he growled. "What's all this!"

"The same for both of you, Mr. Herapath," answered Davidge, cheerfully
and in business-like fashion. "I'll charge both you and Mr. Burchill
formally when we've got you to the station. You're both under arrest,
you know. And I may as well warn you----"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "Arrest!--on what charge?"

"Charge will be the same for both," answered Davidge coolly. "The murder
of Jacob Herapath."

A dead silence fell on the room. Then Peggie Wynne cried out, and
Barthorpe suddenly made a spring at Burchill.

"You villain!" he said in a low concentrated voice. "You've done me, you
devil! Let me get my hands on----"

The other men, Triffitt on their heels, came bustling into the room,
obedient to Davidge's lifted finger.

"Put the handcuffs on both of 'em," commanded Davidge. "Can't take any
chances, Mr. Herapath, if you lose your temper--the other gentleman----"

It was at that moment that the other gentleman took his chance. While
Barthorpe Herapath had foolishly allowed himself to become warm and
excited, Burchill had remained cool and watchful and calculating. And now
in the slight diversion made by the entrance of the other detectives, he
suddenly and adroitly threw off the grasp of the men who held him, darted
through the open door on to the stairs, and had vanished before Davidge
could cry out. Davidge darted too, the other police darted, Mr. Halfpenny
smote his bell and shouted to his clerks. But the clerks were downstairs,
out of hearing, and the police were fleshy men, slow of movement, while
Burchill was slippery as an eel and ag