pient
of a heavy bribe.

Who had been the guiding spirit in that escape--Mrs. Lexman, or Kara?

It was impossible to connect Kara with the event. The motor car had
been traced to Exeter, where it had been hired by a "foreign-looking
gentleman," but the chauffeur, whoever he was, had made good his
escape. An inspection of Kara's hangars at Wembley showed that his two
monoplanes had not been removed, and T. X. failed entirely to trace
the owner of the machine he had seen flying over Dartmoor on the fatal
morning.

T. X. was somewhat baffled and a little amused by the disinclination
of the authorities to believe that the escape had been effected by
this method at all. All the events of the trial came back to him, as he
watched the landscape spinning past.

He set down the newspaper with a little sigh, put his feet on the
cushions of the opposite seat and gave himself up to reverie. Presently
he returned to his journals and searched them idly for something
to interest him in the final stretch of journey between Newbury and
Paddington.

Presently he found it in a two column article with the uninspiring
title, "The Mineral Wealth of Tierra del Fuego." It was written
brightly with a style which was at once easy and informative. It told of
adventures in the marshes behind St. Sebastian Bay and journeys up the
Guarez Celman river, of nights spent in primeval forests and ended in
a geological survey, wherein the commercial value of syenite, porphyry,
trachite and dialite were severally canvassed.

The article was signed "G. G." It is said of T. X. that his greatest
virtue was his curiosity. He had at the tip of his fingers the names
of all the big explorers and author-travellers, and for some reason he
could not place "G. G." to his satisfaction, in fact he had an absurd
desire to interpret the initials into "George Grossmith." His inability
to identify the writer irritated him, and his first act on reaching his
office was to telephone to one of the literary editors of the Times whom
he knew.

"Not my department," was the chilly reply, "and besides we never give
away the names of our contributors. Speaking as a person outside the
office I should say that 'G. G.' was 'George Gathercole' the explorer
you know, the fellow who had an arm chewed off by a lion or something."

"George Gathercole!" repeated T. X. "What an ass I am."

"Yes," said the voice at the other end the wire, and he had rung off
before T. X. could think