rembling fingers.

In a second Jack o' Judgment was in the room facing the paralysed trio.

He spoke no word, but suddenly his right arm was raised, some shining
object flew from his hand, and there was a crash of glass and instantly
a vile odour. On the opposite wall where the bottle had broken appeared
a dark and irregular stain.

Then, without so much as a laugh, he stepped back through the door and
raced down the stairs in pursuit of White. It was too late; the man had
disappeared. Jack o' Judgment stood for a moment listening, then he
slipped off the black coat and ripped off the mask. The coat was of the
finest silk, for he rolled it into the space of a pocket-handkerchief
and slipped it in his pocket. The handkerchief went the same way. If
there had been observers, they would have caught a glimpse of a man in
evening dress as he went swiftly down the half-lighted stairway.

He turned and walked in the shadow of the building and passed down a
side street, where a big limousine was awaiting him. He gave a murmured
direction to the driver, and the car sped on its way.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE JUDGMENT OF DEATH

Solomon White had a taxi waiting, and gave his directions. He was
sufficiently loyal to the band to avoid calling especial attention to
the house where the girl was imprisoned, and he told his cab to wait at
the end of Putney Heath. The night was wild and boisterous and very
dark, but he carried an electric torch, and presently he came to
weather-stained gates bearing in letters which had half-faded the name
he sought. He pushed open the gate with some trouble. There was a
curving carriage-drive which led to the front door, which stood at the
head of a flight of steps under a square and ugly portico.

He looked up at the building, but it was in darkness. Apparently it was
empty, but he knew enough of the colonel's methods to know that Boundary
would not advertise the presence of the girl to the outside world.

He stood hesitating, wondering. The whole thing might be a trap, but
Solomon White was not easily scared. He took a revolver from his pocket,
drew back the hammer and walked forward cautiously. There was no sign of
life. The rustling of shrubs and trees was the only mournful sound which
varied the roar of the storm.

He was opposite the door, and one foot was raised to surmount the first
step, when there came a sound like the sharp tap of a drum.

"Rap-rap!"

Solomon White stood for ful