flash of inspiration, the truth. Zoe Oppner had seen in
this disappearance the hand of Severac Bablon--if, indeed, if she did
not _know_ it for his work. She was anxious about her father. She wished
to appeal to Severac Bablon upon his behalf. And she had gone--not
direct to the man--but to Eccleston Square. Why? Clearly because it was
Lady Mary, and not herself, who had influence with him.

Hatless, Haredale ran out into the courtyard. Rohscheimer's car was
waiting, and he leapt in, his grey eyes feverish. "Lord Evershed's," he
called to the man; "Eccleston Square."

CHAPTER XXI

A CORNER IN MILLIONAIRES

At the moment that Julius Rohscheimer's car turned into the Square, a
girl, enveloped in a dark opera wrap, but whose fair hair gleamed as she
passed the open door, came alone, out of Lord Evershed's house, and
entering a waiting taxi-cab, was driven away.

"Stop!" ordered Haredale hoarsely through the tube.

The big car pulled up as the cab passed around on the other side.

"Follow that cab."

With which the pursuit commenced. And Haredale found himself trembling,
so violent was the war of emotions that waged within him. His deductions
were proving painfully correct. Through Mayfair and St. John's Wood the
cab led the way; finally into Finchley Road. Fifty yards behind,
Haredale stopped the car as the cab drew up before a gate set in a high
wall.

Lady Mary stepped out, opened the gate, and disappeared within. Heedless
of the taxi-driver's curious stare, Haredale, a conspicuous figure in
evening dress, with no overcoat and no hat, entered almost immediately
afterwards.

Striding up to the porch, he was searching for bell or knocker when the
door opened silently, and an Arab in spotless white robes saluted him
with dignified courtesy.

"Take my card to your master," snapped Haredale, striving to exhibit no
surprise, and stepped inside rapidly.

The Arab waved him to a small reception room, furnished with a wealth of
curios for which the visitor had no eyes, and retired. As the man
withdrew Haredale moved to the door and listened. He admitted to himself
that this was the part of a common spy; but his consuming jealousy would
brook no restraint.

From somewhere farther along the hall he heard, though indistinctly, a
familiar voice.

Without stopping to reflect he made for a draped door, knocked
peremptorily, and entered.

He found himself in a small apartment, whose form and appointments, eve