us that the shooting was the outcome of your efforts to catch
some man hiding among the trees."

"Of my efforts?"

"He didn't mention you by name. The words he used were 'the police.'
He was taking part in the chase, I suppose."

"Which way did he go?"

Trenholme hesitated. Not only was he not quite conversant with the
locality, but his shrewd wits had reached a certain conclusion, and he
did not wish to be too outspoken before Sylvia. Surely she had borne
sufficient for one day.

Thereupon the girl herself broke in.

"Hilton went toward the cedars. He may be making for the Easton gate.
Have you caught any man?"

"Not yet, Miss Manning," said Winter, assuming control of the
situation with a firm hand. "I advise you to go straight to your
room, and not stir out again tonight. There will be no more
disturbance--I promise you that."

Even the chief of the C. I. D. can err when he prophesies. At that
instant the two lines of trees lost their impenetrable blackness.
Their foliage sprang into red-tinted life as if the witches of the
Brocken had chosen a new meeting-place, and a crackling, tearing sound
rent the air.

"Oh!" screamed Sylvia, who chanced to be facing the mansion. "The
house is on fire!"

They were standing in a group, almost where Police Constable Farrow
had stood at ten minutes past ten the previous morning. Hence they
were aware of this addition to the day's horrors before the house
servants, who, headed by Tomlinson, were gathered on and near the
flight of steps at the entrance. Every female servant in the
establishment was there as well, not outside the door, but quaking in
the hall. MacBain was the first among the men to realize what was
happening. He caught the loud clang of an automatic fire alarm ringing
in his room, and at once called the house fire brigade to run out the
hose while he dashed upstairs into the north corridor, from which a
volume of smoke was pouring.

"Good Heavens!" he cried, on reaching the cross gallery. "It's in Mr.
Fenley's rooms!"

Mr. Fenley's rooms! No need to tell the horrified staff which rooms he
meant. A fire was raging in the private suite of the dead man!

The residence was singularly well equipped with fire-extinguishing
appliances. Mortimer Fenley had seen to that. Hand grenades, producing
carbonic acid gas generated by mixing water with acid and alkali,
were stored in convenient places, and there was a plentiful supply of
water from many hose pipes. T