warily out on to the road, ran
across, and was lost to view. Presently a rustling in the bushes told of
his return to Oppner's side.

"It's from Sheard," whispered the detective. "Our man must have written
him further particulars, same as he said he'd do. It just reads:
'Detained. S.' But it was handed in at Fleet Street, and I haven't any
doubt who sent it."

"He's smart, is Sheard," said Mr. Oppner. "He smelled trouble, or maybe
he got wise to us----"

_"Sss!"_

"That you, Martin?"--from Alden.

"All right. Everybody seems to be posted. They're all finely out of
sight, too."

"Good. The newspaper man isn't coming. See me get the wire?"

"Yes. I wonder if the rest will come."

"Hope so. I don't want to have to open the ball, because until some
visitors have gone in we haven't got any real evidence that Severac
Bablon is there himself."

"Quiet," said Martin.

A measured tread proclaimed itself, drew nearer, and a policeman passed
their hiding-place. When the regular footsteps had died away again:

"If _he_ knew who's leased The Cedars," murmured Alden, "he'd be a
sergeant sooner than he expects."

Which remark was the last contributed by any of the party for some
considerable time. Alden's description of the road before The Cedars as
a lonely one was fully justified. From the time of Martin's return until
that when the big car drove up and turned into the drive, not a solitary
pedestrian passed their hiding-place.

A laggard moon sailed out from a cloud-bank and painted the road white
as far as the eye could follow it. Then came a breeze from the river, to
sing drearily through the trees. In the intervals, when the breeze was
still, its absence seemed in some way, to stimulate the watchers' power
of hearing, so that they could detect vague sounds which proceeded from
the river. The creak of oars told of a late rower on the stream--a voice
was wafted up to them, to be drowned in the sighing of the leaves set
swaying by the new breeze.

Then came the car.

The whirr of the motor announced its coming from afar off; but, so
swiftly did it travel, that it was upon them a moment later. As it swung
around and on to the drive of The Cedars its number showed clearly.

"3509," said Martin. "That's Mr. Antony Elschild!"

"Gee!" said Oppner, and his sandy voice shook somewhat, perhaps owing to
the chill of the breeze. "This is getting real exciting!"

The car was delayed some little time before the door of