On arrival back home, Duperre's wife received our visitor. Lola had
gone to Newcastle to visit an old schoolfellow, and Duperre was away
in York so his wife informed me.

Three uneventful days passed, but neither Rayne nor Lola returned. On
the third evening I was called to the telephone, and Rayne spoke to me
from his rooms in London.

"I can't get back just yet, George," he said. "You'll receive a
registered letter from me to-morrow. Act upon it and use your own
discretion."

I promised him I would and then he rang off.

CHAPTER VI

AT THREE-EIGHTEEN A.M.

The letter brought to my bedside next morning contained some curious
instructions, namely, to take the car on the following Saturday to
Flamborough Head, arriving at a spot he named about a quarter of a
mile from the lighthouse, where I would be accosted by a Dutch sailor,
who would ask me if I were Mr. Skelton. I was not to fear treachery,
but to reply in the affirmative and drive him through the night to an
address he gave me in Providence Court, a turning off Dean Street,
Soho.

That address was sufficient for me! I had once before, at Rayne's
orders, driven a stranger to Dean Street and conducted him to that
house. It was no doubt a harbor of refuge for foreign criminals in
London, but was kept by an apparently respectable Italian who carried
on a small grocery shop in Old Compton Street.

As I was ordered, I duly arrived on that wild spot on the Yorkshire
coast. It blew half a gale, the wind howling about the car as I sat
with only the red rearlight on, waiting in patience.

Very soon a short, thick-set man with decidedly evil face and
seafaring aspect, emerged from the shadows and asked in broken English
whether I was Mr. Skelton. I replied that I was and bade him jump in,
and then, switching on the big headlights, turned the car in the
direction of London.

From what I had seen of the stranger I certainly was not prepossessed.
His clothes were rough and half soaked by the rain that had been
falling, while it became apparent as we talked that he had landed
surreptitiously from a Dutch fishing-boat early that morning and had
not dared to show himself. Hence he was half famished. I happened to
have a vacuum flask and some sandwiches, and these I divided with him.

A long silence fell between us as with difficulty in keeping myself
awake I drove over the two hundred odd miles of wet roads which
separated us from London, and just before nin