shining. His feelings had undergone a
sharp reaction. He now felt that Tuppence was all that was noble and
disinterested. Had she not refused Julius without hesitation? True, the
note betokened signs of weakening, but he could excuse that. It read
almost like a bribe to Julius to spur him on in his efforts to find
Tommy, but he supposed she had not really meant it that way. Darling
Tuppence, there was not a girl in the world to touch her! When he saw
her----His thoughts were brought up with a sudden jerk.

"As you say," he remarked, pulling himself together, "there's not a hint
here as to what she's up to. Hi--Henry!"

The small boy came obediently. Tommy produced five shillings.

"One thing more. Do you remember what the young lady did with the
telegram?"

Henry gasped and spoke.

"She crumpled it up into a ball and threw it into the grate, and made a
sort of noise like 'Whoop!' sir."

"Very graphic, Henry," said Tommy. "Here's your five shillings. Come on,
Julius. We must find that telegram."

They hurried upstairs. Tuppence had left the key in her door. The room
was as she had left it. In the fireplace was a crumpled ball of orange
and white. Tommy disentangled it and smoothed out the telegram.

"Come at once, Moat House, Ebury, Yorkshire, great developments--TOMMY."

They looked at each other in stupefaction. Julius spoke first:

"You didn't send it?"

"Of course not. What does it mean?"

"I guess it means the worst," said Julius quietly. "They've got her."

"WHAT?"

"Sure thing! They signed your name, and she fell into the trap like a
lamb."

"My God! What shall we do?"

"Get busy, and go after her! Right now! There's no time to waste. It's
almighty luck that she didn't take the wire with her. If she had we'd
probably never have traced her. But we've got to hustle. Where's that
Bradshaw?"

The energy of Julius was infectious. Left to himself, Tommy would
probably have sat down to think things out for a good half-hour before
he decided on a plan of action. But with Julius Hersheimmer about,
hustling was inevitable.

After a few muttered imprecations he handed the Bradshaw to Tommy as
being more conversant with its mysteries. Tommy abandoned it in favour
of an A.B.C.

"Here we are. Ebury, Yorks. From King's Cross. Or St. Pancras. (Boy must
have made a mistake. It was King's Cross, not CHARING Cross.) 12.50,
that's the train she went by. 2.10, that's gone. 3.20 is the next--and a
damned slow