to study me!" explained the detective tersely. Then:
"I'm stopping at the 'Golden Tiger,' in the village. I'd been over the
ground in daylight, and I sent the men along first. They were round the
house by half-past seven. Just as I turned the corner out of the High
Street a big grey car overtook me; out jumped two fellows and had a
jiu-jitsu hold on in a second! They gagged me and tied me up inside, all
the time apologising and hoping they weren't hurting me! They drove me
to this shed and left me there. It was five minutes to nine when one of
them came back and untied my hands, giving himself a start while I undid
the rest of the knots. Here I am! Where's Severac Bablon?"

The Right Hon. Walter Belford became the man of action again. He pulled
out his watch.

"Twenty-five minutes since he left the house," he said. "But he may not
have taken the road at once."

He rang.

"Truman," he cried to the footman, "the limousine ready--immediately!
This way, inspector!"

Off he went through the Circular Study, Sheffield following. At the door
Mr. Belford paused--and turned back.

He bent over his writing-table, searching for his own careful
enlargement of Severac Bablon's photograph.

Severac Bablon had not taken it with him, nor had he returned to the
room.

But it was gone!

"Rome divided! Treason in the camp!" he said, _sotto voce_. Then, aloud:
"This way, inspector!"

The tower of Womsley Old Place is a conspicuous landmark, to be seen
from distant points in the surrounding country, and visible for some
miles out to sea.

Mr. Belford raced up the many stairs at a speed which belied the story
of his silver-grey hair, and which left Inspector Sheffield hopelessly
in the rear. When at last the Scotland Yard man dragged weary feet into
the little square chamber at the summit, he saw the Home Secretary with
his eyes to the lens of a huge telescope, sweeping the country-side for
signs of the daring fugitive.

An unclouded moon bathed the landscape in solemn light. To north, east,
and west rolled the billows of the Downs, a verdant ocean. On the south
the country was wooded, whilst in the south-east might be seen the
gleaming expanse of the English Channel, a molten silver floor, its
distant edge seemingly upholding the pure blue sky dome. Roads inland
showed as white chalk lines, meadows as squares on a chess-board, houses
and farmsteads as chess-men.

"If he has made for Eastbourne we have lost him!" muttered M