al."

"You won't repeat it?"

"No fear."

"There was a West Country guide book on his table one day and I
happened to glance at it."

"Um."

"Ever heard of Polperro?"

"Yes."

"On one of the maps Polperro had a pencil line ringed round it and a
couple of very small dots marked in certain places."

"That might have been years old."

"It wasn't. I had lent him a blue pencil a few days before--rather a
funny colour it was. He'd used that pencil."

"You're a bit of a Sherlock."

"I oughtn't to have said anything about it."

"It's safe enough with me," said Flora. "You can bet your boots I
shan't blab."

A silvery toned bell sounded from the house.

"There's tea," said Isabel.

The two girls rose and moved away arm in arm.

Mr. Harrison Smith pulled out his watch and looked at the dial.

"With luck I can catch it," said he.

And through the drawing room window Mrs. Barraclough saw the unusual
spectacle of a clergyman running like fury in the direction of the
railway station. As she remarked a few moments later:

"This is indeed an age of speed. Even the delivery of the Gospel is
conducted by express service."

CHAPTER 20.

A LITTLE HOUSEBREAKING.

The train which conveyed Mr. Harrison Smith back to London stopped at
every intermediate station and did not arrive until after ten o'clock.
He, therefore, was given leisure for thought and the result of his
thinking was to bring him perilously near the truth.

He began with the premise that somehow Anthony Barraclough had
succeeded in making good his escape--that he was even now obtaining the
concession--that he would return to London on the night of the 18th
instant at eleven o'clock in all probability carrying the document upon
his person. All this was plain sailing but against it was the
established fact that Anthony Barraclough was imprisoned in Laurence's
house. If this were indeed the case further investigation was useless.
But was it the case?

The girl Isabel Irish had said there was a plan to make his exit from
London easy but no evidence had been given to suggest that this plan,
whatever it was, had been put into operation. Torrington's syndicate
was not composed of fools and yet the kidnapping of Barraclough had
been mere child's play without a speck of opposition. His own side had
been guilty of an act of crass stupidity in failing to carry off the
servant Doran as well as his master. It was one of those tragic
oversig