sure that 'the bootlace
man,' as you call him, has not been admitted to the inner precincts of
the mystery. Nugent, while pretending to trust his agents, never does so
really. He is even capable of wiping them out of existence when they
have served their purpose--or failed in it."

"Then what is your game, sir? I should like to take a hand in it,
whatever it is," said Reggie with the zest of the good sportsman he was.
"To head off Nugent and give a shake up to old Lazarus Lowch too would
afford me the greatest pleasure."

Mr. Mallory took a turn up the room and came back. "The game," he said
slowly, "is to find proof against the actual slayer of Levison before
Nugent's blow, whatever it is, falls. As your leave is up to-morrow
morning I am afraid there will be no time for you to help me in that."

"I hope that your researches won't lead you into danger, sir."

"Oh dear no," rejoined Mr. Mallory carelessly. "They are chiefly
concerned with the movements on the night in question of a French onion
vendor belonging to a lugger lying at Exmouth."

"Why not drop a hint to the sergeant of police?"

But Mr. Mallory made a gesture of dissent. "Because I am far from sure
that I am right," he said. "If the police were to push inquiries in that
direction Nugent would get wind of it and make a counter-move. It isn't
as if the catching of Levison's murderer was the chief desideratum. It
is the cunningly veiled scheme in which that crime was only a detail
that I have set myself to discover and foil. Given positive proof
against the murderer, be he Chermside or any one else, and I would be at
the police station with it inside five minutes. But it must be clear
evidence, justifying an immediate arrest."

CHAPTER XVI

BARBED SHAFTS

Louise Aubin stood behind her young mistress's dressing chair, brushing
the glorious tresses which her deft fingers would presently coil and
coax into the latest fashionable mode. There was to be a small dinner
party at the Manor House that evening. Mr. Vernon Mallory and his
daughter were coming, also Leslie Chermside and Travers Nugent, as well
as a few local people in whom we are not interested. It was the day
following that on which Aunt Sarah had raised hopes for her protegees,
which, so far as one of them was concerned, were so rudely dashed in the
card-room at the club.

The maid glanced furtively at the beautiful face in the mirror opposite,
and took note of the dreamy happiness i