de passage
running through to the Garage, and on the left a big, wide marble
staircase with windows of stained glass and statues of dancing girls of
the art nouveau.

Fremy, leaving his assistants below with the man-servant, and crying to
Edwards to look out for anybody trying to escape, sprang up the marble
steps three at a time, followed by the narrow-eyed Peruvian, while
Phrida, clinging to my arm, held her breath in quick apprehension. She
was full of fear and amazement.

I had had much difficulty in persuading her to accompany us, for she
seemed in terror of denunciation. Indeed, not until I told her that
Edwards had demanded her presence, had she consented.

On the first landing, a big, thick-carpeted place with a number of long,
white doors leading into various apartments, Fremy halted and raised his
finger in silence to us.

He stood glancing from door to door, wondering which to enter.

Then suddenly he stood and gave a yell as though of fearful pain.

In an instant there was a quick movement in a room on the right, the door
opened and the woman Petre came forth in alarm.

Next second, however, finding herself face to face with me, she halted
upon the threshold and fell back against the lintel of the door while we
rushed in to encounter the man I had known as Digby, standing defiant,
with arms folded and brows knit.

"Well," he demanded of me angrily. "What do you want here?"

"I've brought a friend of yours to see you, Mr. Cane," I said quietly,
and Edwards stepped aside from the door to admit the Peruvian Senos.

The effect was instant and indeed dramatic. His face fell, his eyes
glared, his teeth set, and his nails dug themselves into his palms.

"Mee-ster Cane," laughed the dark-faced native, in triumph. "You no like
see Senos--eh? No, no. He know too much--eh? He watch you always after he
see you with laidee in Marseilles--he see you in London--ha! ha! Senos
know every-ting. You kill my master, and you----"

"It's a lie!" cried the man accused. "This fellow made the same statement
at Huacho, and it was disproved."

"Then you admit you are not Sir Digby Kemsley?" exclaimed Edwards
quickly. "You are Herbert Cane, and I have a warrant for your arrest for
murder."

"Ah!" he laughed with an air of forced gaiety. "That is amusing!"

"I'm very glad you think so, my dear sir," remarked the detective,
glancing round to where the woman Petre had been placed in an armchair
quite unconscious.

Phri