sir anthony gyde was a fearless horseman, but a somewhat timid motorist, as motorists go.

he drove carefully, rarely exceeding fifteen miles an hour.

to-day, however, he cast his timidity aside.

he was lucky to-day, for on these roads of cumberland it is nothing to meet with a flock of five hundred sheep or so, or a string of farm carts, each drawn by a horse terrified of motor-cars, as most of the farm horses of cumberland still are.

it was ten minutes to four when he reached throstle hall.

the edinburgh express for london stops at carlisle at five, so he had plenty of time in which to catch it.

he descended from the car in a leisurely manner, with the black bag in his hand, and entered the house. he crossed the hall and entered the library, remained there for a minute or so, and then came out and went into the dining-room. one could tell, by the man’s footsteps, that he was full of unrest. he went upstairs and entered the rooms on the first floor. here he met his secretary, mr folgam, but he did not speak a word.

in one of the corridors he met leloir.

“the luggage has all been dispatched, sir,” said leloir, “and the car is waiting. when would you like to start?”

“start,” said sir anthony, speaking like a person awakened from a dream, “for where?”

“you ordered the car to take you to carlisle, sir,” said the astonished leloir, “to catch the london express at five. i telegraphed this morning for a special saloon carriage to be attached.”

“ah, so i did,” said sir anthony, “so i did.” he chuckled, as if at some obscure joke, known to him alone.

it was dusk in the corridor, and leloir could not see his master’s face distinctly, or the expression on it, but he heard the chuckle. he had been in gyde’s service for two years, and he thought that he knew every phase of his master’s temperament and character, but this chuckle alarmed him more than the wildest outbreak of rage would have done.

there was something inhuman in it, something horrible. it did not seem the sound produced by a man’s voice, a great ape might have uttered it or a devil.

leloir was turning to go, in fact, he had made half a dozen steps, when gyde’s voice said:

“stop.”

“sir?” replied the valet.

“you have all my jewels.”

“yes, sir, they are in this bag.”

“right. order the car to the door.”

the valet, glad to be gone, did as he was bid, and the master of throstle hall continued his peregrinations about the house, as though to make sure that everything was right before leaving.

a few minutes later he came downstairs, still carrying the bag. the motor, a large brougham affair, was standing at the steps; he got in, leloir closed the door, mounted beside the chauffeur, and they started.

ten minutes before the express was due they arrived at carlisle station.

“tell me when the train arrives,” said gyde through the speaking tube to his valet. “i am busy and don’t want to be disturbed.”

he sat reading over some papers he had taken from his pocket, whilst leloir busied himself, seeing that what luggage they had with them was prepared for the train.

when it arrived sir anthony, leaving the motor, walked hurriedly down the platform to the special saloon carriage that had been attached for him, took his seat, and ordered his man to let nobody disturb him.

it was dusk when the great two-engined express drew out of carlisle station and took its way to london.