ed to attend at Bow Street Police Station in
an hour, in order to identify the stolen property. By that time the
charge would be made out, and we should, the inspector said, be up
before the magistrate for a remand before the Court rose.

As we drove along Piccadilly, my heart fell within me. All my dreams of
those splendid, well-kept roads in the sunny South, of touring to all
the gayest places on the Continent, and seeing all that was to be seen,
had been shattered at a single blow. And what a blow!

I had awakened to find myself under arrest as the accomplice of one of
the most expert jewel-thieves in Europe!

My companions were not communicative. Why should they have been?

Suddenly I became aware of the fact that we had driven a considerable
distance. In my agitated state of mind I had taken no notice of our
route, and my captors had, it seemed, endeavoured to take my attention
off the direction we had taken.

Collecting my scattered senses, however, I recollected that we had
crossed one of the bridges over the Thames, and looking out of the
window, I found that we were in a long, open road of private houses,
each with a short strip of railed-off garden in front--a South London
thoroughfare evidently.

"This isn't the way to Bow Street!" I exclaimed in wonder.

"Well, not exactly the straight way," grinned the inspector. "A
roundabout route, let's call it."

I was puzzled. The more so when I recognised a few minutes later that we
had come down the Camberwell New Road, and were passing Camberwell
Green.

We continued up Denmark Hill until, at the corner where Champion Hill
branches off, the inspector called to the cabman to stop, and we all
descended, the detective-sergeant paying the fare.

Where were they taking me? I wondered. I asked, but they only laughed,
and would vouchsafe no reply.

Together we walked up the quiet, semi-rural Champion Hill, until we
reached Green Lane, when at the sharp right angle of the road, as we
turned, I saw before me an object which caused me to hold my breath in
utter amazement.

The car was standing there, right before me in the lonely suburban road,
and in it, seated at the wheel, a man whom I next second recognised as
the Count himself! He was evidently awaiting me.

He was wearing a different motor-coat, the car bore a different number,
and as I approached I noticed that the coronet and cipher had been
obliterated by a dab of paint!

"Come on, Ewart!" cried the