ozen white faces and the dull gleam of metal from the
firearms which his companions were carrying. Hunterleys stepped out. An
escort of two men was at once formed on either side of him.

"Tell us what it's all about, anyhow?" he asked coolly.

"Nothing serious," the same guttural voice answered,--"a little affair
which will be settled in a few minutes. As for you, monsieur," the man
continued, turning to Lane, "you will drive your car slowly to the next
turn, and leave it there. Afterwards you will return with me."

Richard set his teeth and leaned over his wheel. Then it suddenly
flashed into his mind that Mr. Grex and his daughter were already
amongst the captured. He quickly abandoned his first instinct.

"With pleasure, monsieur," he assented. "Tell me when to stop."

He drove the car a few yards round the corner, past a line of others.
Their lights were all extinguished and the chauffeurs absent.

"This is a pleasant sort of picnic!" he grumbled, as he brought his car
to a standstill. "Now what do I do, monsieur?"

"You return with me, if you please," was the reply.

Richard stood, for a moment, irresolute. The idea of giving in without a
struggle was most distasteful to this self-reliant young American. Then
he realised that not only was his captor armed but that there were men
behind him and one on either side.

"Lead the way," he decided tersely.

They marched him up the hill, a little way across some short turf and
round the back of a rock to a long building which he remembered to have
noticed on his way up. His guide threw open the door and Richard looked
in upon a curious scene. Ranged up against the further wall were about a
dozen of the guests who had preceded him in his departure from the
Club-house. One man only had his hands tied behind him. The others,
apparently, were considered harmless. Mr. Grex was the one man, and
there was a little blood dripping from his right hand. The girl stood by
his side. She was no paler than usual--she showed, indeed, no signs of
terror at all--but her eyes were bright with indignation. One man was
busy stripping the jewels from the women and throwing them into a bag.
In the far corner the little group of chauffeurs was being watched by
two more men, also carrying firearms. Lane looked down the line of
faces. Lady Hunterleys was there, and by her side Draconmeyer.
Hunterleys was a little apart from the others. Freddy Montressor, who
was leaning against the wall,