missioner's voice and by the
consciousness of a new and a more terrible danger than any that had
confronted him. He rose, realising that the interview was ended.

"I am greatly obliged to you, Sir Stanley," he said clearing his throat.
"It is good of you to warn me, but I'd not like you to think that I am
engaged in any dishonest----"

"We'll let that matter stand over for discussion until another time,"
said the commissioner dryly, as Stafford King came into the room. "You
might show the colonel the way to the street. Otherwise he will be
getting himself entangled in some of our detention rooms. Good morning,
Colonel Boundary. Don't forget."

"I'm not likely to," said the colonel.

He recovered his poise quickly enough and by the time he was in the
street he was back in his old mood. But he had had a shock. That sunny
afternoon was filled with shadows. The booming bells of Big Ben tolled
"Jack o' Judgment," the very wheels of the taxi droned the words. And
Colonel Boundary came back to Albemarle Place for the first time in his
life with his confidence in Colonel Boundary shaken.

There was nobody in save the one manservant he kept by the day, and he
passed into the dining-room overlooking the street. He had work to do
and it had to be done quickly. In one of the walls was set a stout safe,
and this he opened, taking from it a steel box which he carried to the
table. There was a fire laid on the hearth and to this he put a match
though the day was warm enough. Then he proceeded to unlock the box.
Apparently it was empty, but, taking out his scarf-pin, he inserted the
point in a tiny hole, which would have escaped casual observation, and
pressed.

Half the steel bottom of the box leapt up, disclosing a shallow cavity
beneath. The colonel stared. There had been two letters put in there,
letters which he had put away against the moment when it might be
necessary to bring a recalcitrant agent to heel. They had gone. He slid
his fingers beneath the half of the bottom which had not opened and felt
a card. He drew this out and looked at it, licking his lips the while.

For the space of a minute he stared and stared at the Knave of Clubs he
held in his hand. A Knave of Clubs signed with a flourish across its
face: "Jack o' Judgment." Then he flung the card into the fire and,
walking to the sideboard, splashed whisky into a tumbler with a hand
that shook.

CHAPTER XII

BUYING A NURSING HOME

The building in