hed
simply but with great good taste--and withdrew. Harborne congratulated
himself. The simple and direct, if old-fashioned, methods were, after
all, the best.

It was a very silent house. That fact struck him at once. Listen
intently as he would, no sound from within could he detect. What should
be his next move?

He stepped to the door and looked out into the hall. This was rather
narrow, and, owing to the presence of heavy Oriental drapings, very
dark. It would suit his purpose admirably. Directly "Mr. Sanrack" came
in he would spring upon him and get the handcuffs fast, then he could
throw open the front door, if there had been time for anyone to reclose
it, and summon assistance with his whistle.

He himself must effect the actual arrest--single-handed. He cared
nothing who came upon the scene after that. He placed the handcuffs in a
more convenient pocket, and buttoned up his double-breasted blue serge
coat.

Sheffield was certain to be Superintendent before long; and it only
required one other big case, such as this, to insure Harborne's
succession to an Inspectorship. From thence to the office vacated by
Sheffield was an easy step for a competent and ambitious man.

How silent the house was!

Harborne glanced at his watch. He had been waiting nearly five minutes.
Scarce another two had elapsed--when a brisk step sounded on the gravel.
The detective braced himself for a spring. Would he have the Arab to
contend with too?

No. A key was slipped into the well-oiled lock. The door opened.

With something of the irresistible force of a charging bull,
Detective-Sergeant Harborne hurled himself upon his man.

Human strength had been useless to oppose that attack; but by subtlety
it was frustrated. The man stepped agilely aside--and Harborne reclosed
the door with his head! That his skull withstood that crashing blow was
miraculous; but he was of tough stock. Perhaps the ruling passion helped
him, for dazed and dizzy as he was, he did the right thing when his
cunning opponent leapt upon him from behind.

He threw his hands above his shoulders and grasped the man round the
neck--then--slowly--shakily--his head swimming and the world a huge
teetotum--he rose upon his knees. Bent well forward, he rose to his
feet. The other choked, swore, struck useless blows, but hung limply,
helpless, in that bear-like, awful grip.

At the exact moment--no second too soon, no second too late--down went
Harborne's right han