g of----"

"Go on, do!" growled Fenley, drowning the man's voice. "I'm in a vile
hurry."

That was his last real hairbreadth escape--for that night, at any
rate, though other thrills were in store. The chauffeur was greatly
surprised when bidden to go on from St. Albans to London, and take the
High Barnet road to the City; but Fenley produced a five-pound note at
the right moment, and the man reflected that his master would not
hesitate to oblige a wealthy client, who evidently meant to make good
the wear and tear on the car.

In about an hour Fenley alighted on the pavement opposite the firm's
premises in Bishopsgate Street. If a policeman had chanced to be
standing there the fugitive would have known that the game was up, but
the only wayfarers in that part of the thoroughfare were some street
cleaners.

Now that he saw a glimmer of light where hitherto all was darkness, he
was absolutely clear-brained and cool in manner.

"Wait five minutes," he said. "I sha'n't detain you longer."

He let himself in with a master key, taken from his dead father's
pockets earlier by Tomlinson. Going to the banker's private office,
he ransacked a safe and a cabinet with hasty method. He secured a hat,
an overcoat, an umbrella and a packed suitcase, left there for
emergency journeys in connection with the business, and was back in
the street again within less than the specified time.

His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth when he found a policeman
chatting with the chauffeur, but the man saluted him with a civil
"Good morning!"

In the City of London, which is deserted as a cemetery from ten
o'clock at night till six in the morning, the police keep a sharp eye
on waiting cabs and automobiles between these hours, and invariably
inquire their business.

This constable was quite satisfied that all was well when he saw Mr.
Hilton Fenley, whom he knew by sight. In any event, the flying
murderer was safer than he dared hope in that place and at that time.
The Roxton telephonic system was temporarily useless in so far as it
affected his movements; for a fire had broken out at The Towers, and
the flames of the burning roof had been as a beacon for miles around
during the whole of the time consumed by the run to London.

CHAPTER XVI

THE CLOSE OF A TRAGEDY

Winter was in the Quarry Wood and feeling his way but trusting to
hands and feet when he heard, and soon saw, Furneaux and the two
constables coming toward him.