ndly open that door!"

The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who spoke a few
words rapidly in the language she had used before. Then she cried
to Barbara:

"You stay here until you tell me what you have done with the
box!"

Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so that
she did not notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her.
Before she could struggle or cry out, a hand as big as a spade
was clapped over her mouth, she was seized in an iron grip and
half-dragged, half-carried out of the taproom through the small
door opposite the front entrance.

The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself in
darkness. She was pushed round a corner and down a flight of
stairs into some kind of cellar which smelt of damp straw. Here
the grip on her mouth was released for a second but before she
could utter more than a muffled cry the man thrust a handkerchief
into her mouth and effectually gagged her. Then he tied her hands
and feet together with some narrow ropes that cut her wrists
horribly. He seemed to be able to see in the dark for, though the
place was black as pitch, he worked swiftly and skillfully.
Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on a bundle of straw.
In a little she heard the man's heavy foot-step on the stair,
there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of a
bolt. Then Barbara fainted.

CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE

A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from his
cogitations. He hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare on
their shelf and restore all to its former appearance. Then he
went to the door and opened it. Old Martha stood in the hall.

"If you please, sir," she wheezed, "the doctor's come!"

"Oh," said Desmond, rather puzzled, "what doctor?"

"It's not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir," said
the housekeeper, "It's a genel'man from Lunnon!"

Then Desmond remembered Crook's promise to look him up and
guessed it must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in and
bring tea for two.

Desmond's surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook,
looking the very pattern of medical respectability, with Harley
Street written all over him from the crown of his glossy top-hat
to the neat brown spats on his feet. In his hand he carried a
small black bag.

"Well," he said, surveying Desmond, "and how do we find ourselves
to-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear sir!"