rd being
an unnaturalized German, (b) of his arrest.

Desmond's orders, which he reserved to the last were short and to
the point. They consisted of five numbered clauses.

"1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was
withdrawn on your arrival and will not be renewed.

"2. You will not leave the house until further orders.

"3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may be
made to you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature it
is. When you have anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanning
on the telephone and give Bellward's name. You will hand your
report to the first person calling at the house thereafter asking
for the letter for Mr. Elias.

"4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and ask
for Mr. Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutes
after. This expedient must only be used in the last extremity.

"5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leave
the house."

"Handy fellow, Mr. Elias," was Desmond's commentary, as he sprang
out of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he was
ready dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the
beard which he had not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din's
presence in the house. Before he left the bedroom, he paused a
moment at the desk, the documents of the Bellward case in his
hands. He had a singularly retentive memory, and he was loth to
have these compromising papers in the house whilst Nur-el-Din was
there. He took a quick decision and pitched the whole lot into
the fire, retaining only the annotated list of Mr. Bellward's
friends. This he placed in his pocket-book and, after watching
the rest of the papers crumble away into ashes, went downstairs
to lunch.

Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two high
windows which gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming,
churning brook wound its way through the garden, among stunted
bushes and dripping willows, obviously the mill-race from which
the house took its name. The drawing-room was a bare,
inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortable
looking early Victorian armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. A
fire was making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open
grate.

Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray
cloth tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirt
showing a pair of very natty brown boots. By contrast with her
ugly surroundings she