him at
Thirsk station.

"We go up to Edinburgh to-morrow. I shall want you to drive me," he
said as he sat at my side in the Rolls. "Lola will go also."

His last words delighted me, and next day at noon we all three set
forth on our journey north. It rained all day and the run was the
reverse of pleasant, nevertheless, we arrived at the Caledonian Hotel
quite safely, and were soon installed in one of the cosy private
suites.

Father and daughter breakfasted in their sitting-room, while I had my
meal alone in the coffee-room.

When later I went up for orders Rayne dismissed me abruptly, saying
that he would not require me till after lunch.

Half an hour afterwards, while idling along Princes Street, I came
across Lola, who was looking in one of the shop windows.

"Father has sent me out as he wants to talk business with Mr. Hugh
Martyn, a rich American we met at the Grand, in Rome, last year.
Father has come up here specially to meet him."

What fresh crooked business could there be in progress? That Rayne had
paid flying visits to Copenhagen and Edinburgh in such a short space
of time was in itself highly suspicious.

After luncheon, on entering Rayne's sitting-room, I found him busily
fashioning from a sheet of thin cardboard a small square box which he
was fitting over a large glass paper-weight, a cube about four inches
square which was wrapped in tissue-paper, the corner of which happened
to be torn and so revealed the glass.

"I'm sending this away as a present," he explained. "I bought it over
in Princes Street this morning." And he continued with his scissors to
make the box to fit it. "I shall not want you any more to-day
Hargreave," he went on. "We'll get back home to-morrow, starting at
ten."

And, as was his habit, he dismissed me abruptly.

Four days later I was summoned to the library, where in breeches and
gaiters he was standing astride upon the hearthrug.

"Look here, Hargreave," he said, "I want you to take the next train up
to London and carry that little leather bag with you," and he
indicated a small bag standing upon the writing-table. "On arrival go
at once down to Maldon and call at half-past nine o'clock to-morrow
night at that house to which you took old Mr. Tarrant. You recollect
it--The Limes, on the Witham road. Morley will be expecting you."

"Very well," I replied. "Is there any message?"

"None. Just deliver it to him. But to nobody else, remember," he
ordered.

So a