, sir, that you sent for him just when you did!"
announced Antoine, nearly bursting with importance. "The boys had heard
queer sounds in the night, but could find nothing wrong. The prisoner
had taken up the flooring at the back of the tool-house, and was
scooping up the dirt. He'd got a place pretty near big enough to let him
through. I suppose we ought to have noticed it, sir."

"You managed the whole thing perfectly, Antoine--you and all of you."

It was just as Raynor and Montani were leaving the house with the
prisoner that we heard a commotion in the direction of the gates. I had
sent word that no one was to be admitted to the grounds, but as I ran
out the front door a machine was speeding madly toward the house. A
dozen of the guards were yelling their protests at the invasion, and a
spurt of fire preluded the booming of Zimmerman's shotgun.

"Get your man into the car and beat it," I shouted to Raynor, thinking
an attempt was about to be made to rescue the prisoner.

The touring-car left just as a Barton taxi flashed into the driveway.
The driver was swearing loudly at one of the Tyringham veterans who had
wedged himself into the door of the machine. With some difficulty I
extricated Scotty from his hazardous position.

Searles jumped out (I had forgotten that he might arrive that night),
but before I could greet him he swung round and assisted a lady to
alight--a short, stout lady in a travelling cap, wrapped in a coat that
fell to her heels. She began immediately to deliver orders in an
authoritative tone as to the rescue of her belongings. Searles dived
into the taxi and began dragging out a vast amount of small luggage, but
my attention was diverted for a moment by Alice, who jumped down the
steps and clasped her arms about the neck of the stout lady.

"Aunt Alice!" I heard her saying. "Why didn't you tell us to meet you?"

"Why didn't I tell you?" demanded the stout lady. "The moment you left
me I knew I'd made a mistake in letting you come over here on one of
your absurd larks! And from the row I had getting into the premises I
judge that you're at your old tricks. Fired upon! Treated as though I
were an outlaw! You shall never go out of my sight again!"

"Oh, please don't scold me!" Alice pleaded and turning to me: "This is
Bob Singleton, your nephew."

Mrs. Bashford--and I made no question that Searles's companion was
indubitably my uncle's widow--gave me her hand and smiled in a way that
showed