an hour later, having bidden goodbye to naughton jones, who, however, did not take the slightest notice and remained sitting back in the armchair with his eyes closed as if he had fallen asleep, larose was again seated in sir arnold’s car and being driven back to the abbey.

“i did not intrude upon you,” said the surgeon, “for henrik told me mr. jones was in there, too.” he smiled. “our learned friend i know is very temperamental, and if i had disturbed him, without being sent for, it is quite probable i might have only received a snub for my pains. a very remarkable man, mr. jones, but he’s most touchy sometimes.”

“yes, and he’s not in too good a mood this morning,” said larose, “but he’s quite a genius in his way, and his kind often want a lot of handling.”

“so we found,” commented sir arnold dryly. “he was nearly dead that morning when i got him into the cottage hospital in burnham market, but within a few hours he was laying down the law as if i were the patient and he the medical man. in a couple of days, too, his room had become almost like a post office, with the number of telegrams that he was sending and receiving.”

“one of the big arteries was severed, wasn’t it?” asked larose.

sir arnold smiled again. “well, hardly,” he replied, “but i had to exaggerate his injury in order to keep him quiet. he was furious that i wouldn’t allow him to get up the next day, and demanded stout and oysters to pick up his strength.”

they had almost reached the bitumen when suddenly a dilapidated-looking car turned into the marsh road and pulled up, almost blocking the narrow way. a burly-looking man sprang out and held up his hand for them to stop.

“hullo!” exclaimed the surgeon quietly, “but this gentleman doesn’t look too prepossessing, and in these days of violence and abduction, we’d better be a little careful.”

“oh! it’s all right,” replied larose quickly. “i guess who he is. i recognise that car. it’s a four-cylinder goat and belongs to naughton jones.”

the man advanced to speak to them, and, as sir arnold had said, his appearance was certainly not of a reassuring nature. he was big and thick set, with a big square head and small, blinking, pugnacious-looking eyes. his ears were thick and large and stood out, almost at right angles.

“beg pardon, gentlemen,” he said touching his cap, “but is this the road for holkham bay?”

larose repressed a smile. “yes,” he replied, “but what do you want there? there’s not much to see.”

the man jerked his thumb back in the direction of the car. “but me and my mate are going to do a bit of shrimping.”

“well, you won’t get any,” said larose, “for it’s high tide.”

“we’ll have a go, anyhow,” said the man gruffly. ‘“we got the nets,” and he turned to go back to his car.

“one moment,” called out larose, putting his head out of the window. “are you by any chance the gentleman who is looking for mr. naughton jones!”

the man’s eyes twinkled suspiciously. “jones! jones!” he exclaimed, “never heard of him.”

but the face of larose suddenly assumed a startled look. “good gracious!” he called out, “but aren’t you ‘the limehouse bruiser’ who once knocked out stammering jack in the tenth round? great james! i’m sure you are. i remember you distinctly.”

the man’s face became at once a study, with pride and suspicion struggling for the mastery. he blinked his eyes violently, he smiled and he swallowed hard several times. then he beamed all over. “yes, guv’nor. you’ve placed me. i got him square on the jaw.”

larose laughed merrily. “it’s all right, my friend, quite all right, and you’ll find mr. jones up there, waiting for you both. i’ve just come from him and he told me he was expecting you. i know all about you.”

the man touched his cap once more and grinned. “beg pardon, sir, again,” he said, “but you see we has to be careful, and it was no good us throwing our names about, was it?”

“certainly not,” replied larose, “you were most discreet. now, you go up along this road and it’s the only house you come to, on the right. you’ll find the door open and mr. jones inside.” he laughed again. “you tell him mr. larose directed you. remember the name, mr. gilbert larose.”

the man’s jaw dropped. “larose!” he ejaculated, “not the ‘tec!”

“yes,” smiled larose, “but don’t worry. i’m not after you, and i wish both you and your pal good luck. good-bye and hurry up, for you know mr. jones never likes to be kept waiting.”

“quite an amusing little comedy,” remarked sir arnold as they speeded along, “and it was funny to watch the man’s face.” he smiled. “all you great men seem to like to make yourselves known to one another.”

“yes,” smiled back larose, “but it wasn’t exactly vanity on my part, this time. jones says he and i are rivals, and i wanted to pull his leg and let him know i should recognise his assistants now, when i see them.” he changed the conversation. “but tell me, doctor, what is sodium evipan used for?”

“it’s a wonderful new anaesthetic,” replied sir arnold, “and we expect great things from it. you don’t inhale it like you do chloroform or ether, but it is injected into you with a hypodermic syringe, and you go off almost at once into profound unconsciousness. it is very rapid in its action and the unconsciousness lasts for from ten minutes to a quarter of an hour.”

“then you go off quicker than when you are given ether or chloroform?” asked larose.

“good gracious, yes,” replied sir arnold. “you don’t know what’s happening after about a minute.” he looked curiously at the detective. “but what are your plans now, mr. larose? remember you are not too strong yet and must go easy for a few days.”

“i’m hiring a car from hunstanton,” replied larose, “and with two good private-clothes men who are coming from norwich to help me, am starting off about one o’clock. i have no idea yet in which direction i am going, but with any luck”— he gritted his teeth together —“i’ll be hot on the trail of those devils within twenty-four hours.”

“then you found something just now in that house that may help you?” asked sir arnold eagerly.

“yes, several things, i think,” nodded larose, “but i shan’t know what they are worth for a few hours.”

the surgeon looked very astonished. “and do you really mean to tell me,” he asked, “that you have any hope of finding where lady ardane is being held prisoner, say, within a week from now?”

“most certainly, yes,” replied larose, “and perhaps within half that time. that’s my trade, sir arnold”— he frowned —“and if i know anything of naughton jones, it’ll be a close thing between us, who finds where she is first.”

“then i’ll wait on at the abbey,” said sir arnold. “i was intending to return to london to-night, but as you seem so confident, i’ll remain on for a few days.” he shook his head. “but you’ll have to be a quick mover, my friend, for those wretches have had a long start.”

and certainly larose was a quick mover, for before half-past one he came out of the hunstanton public library and proceeded at once to give some very definite instructions to two men who were standing by a motor bicycle and side-car outfit.

“it’s at cambridge you’ll have to ring me,” he said sharply, “at the bull hotel, there. ring up at nine, and if you don’t get me then, ring up at every succeeding half-hour until you catch me. now you know what you’ve got to do. it’s very simple. you are to keep to the main road and enquire at every garage, beginning at those in this town, if, since monday week last, they have sold to any driver of a six cylinder grey-colored jehu, two valve cap covers. the tyres he had lost them from were the off-side back one, and the one on the spare wheel, but you needn’t make any account of that. you want to know anyone with a jehu who has purchased two valve-cap covers. if any garage can inform you, you are not to approach the man who has bought them, but tactfully find out all you can about him. you understand?”

“yes, sir,” replied one of the men, “if we locate him, we are to do nothing until we have spoken to you.”

“and if the garages can’t tell you,” went on larose, “get a list from them of all their clients who possess grey jehu cars.” he made a grimace. “unhappily grey jehus are pretty plentiful, and there are a lot about, but the driver you want to know about is a fairly tall man who stoops a bit, over six feet i should say, has a long face with a biggish nose, and he sometimes wears a cap with car flaps tied under his chin. the two back tyres on his car are nearly new ones, and so were probably both bought at the same time, so you are to ask everywhere if they have any record of two such tyres being sold recently. now is everything quite clear!”

“yes,” replied the man who had spoken before, “and the number plates of his car are v.f. 2113.”

“but you can’t count on that, hale,” said larose sharply, “for, as i have told you, that number does not belong to him, and he may have others that he makes use of as well. i can’t tell you anything more, except that the first part of his journey from where he had set out to come to holkham bay was a muddy one, for scraping at the mud under the car that day, there was first the little mud from the marsh crossing, then a hard layer that had evidently become dried from coming a good few miles over the bitumen, and then underneath that, much moister mud again. ah! one thing more, i noticed three dried dragon-flies stuck in the combs of his radiator, so he probably comes from where there is swampy ground.” he waved his hand. “now off you go and good luck to us all.”

the detective was in quite a cheerful frame of mind as he drove along towards king’s lynn. “a glorious day,” he told himself, “and i’ve a lovely drive before me. i shall pass through these beautiful little english villages and through these quaint, old-fashioned market towns. i shall touch the lonely fen country, once all marsh and swamp and where the great hereward the wake fought so valiantly that the soil of england should not pass under the norman yoke. then i shall come to the wonderful cathedral city of ely, and finally i shall reach cambridge, with its old world colleges and churches, hundreds and hundreds of years old.”

he sighed. “but i’m not going all this way to see the beautiful countryside or the wonder of man’s craft down the ages. i’m on a much more prosaic mission.” his face hardened and took a solemn look. “i am wanting to get upon the track of these wretches whose trade is murder and violence, and probably law-breaking of other kinds. it’s a gang we’re after, too, i’m sure, and although i am taking this long journey to cambridge, i don’t for a moment believe they have their hiding place within many miles of there. when i went over that jehu car, the petrol that had been used, assuming even that the tank had been full when the journey started, couldn’t have taken it a yard over fifty miles, and jones agreed with me, too.”

he shook his head. “no, they don’t live anywhere near cambridge, but all the same, with any luck, i’m going to pick up the trail there, and by tomorrow i shall probably be back, close here again. there were quite a number of things that struck me in that house, but that one in the medical journal was, i am sure, the most important.”

he looked at his watch and at once proceeded to reduce his speed. “no, i’ve plenty of time, for the gentleman i am going to interview in cambridge is not likely to be home much before his dinner hour, and i’ve only seventy-five miles to go.” he drew a deep breath. “now, let me reason it all over again and see if there’s anything glaringly wrong with my argument. a dr. r.d. smith, of king’s parade, cambridge, writes what is probably an intelligent and illuminative article on ‘hay fever,’ and it duly appears in the official organ of his profession. naturally then, he expects to derive some credit from it, not only from his professional brethren, but also from certain of his patients as well. so imagine his disgust, when, with his name a very common one, the journal gives him a wrong initial and prints ‘r.b.’ instead of ‘r.d.’ hay fever is not a rare complaint by any means, and several of his patients having probably suffered from it, it is quite natural he would like them to read his article. but he couldn’t lend it to them with the initials all wrong, so before doing so, he rectifies the mistake and with his pen puts a d. instead of the b.”

he paused for quite a long time to go back over his deductions and weigh up whether they seemed feasible or far fetched. at length he went on. “then assuming that it is dr. smith himself who has rectified the mistake in his own copy of the journal — and by no stretch of the imagination can i conceive of anyone else taking the trouble to do it — all i have to find out is to whom he lent the journal, and in that way i ought to soon get at this man prince.” he shook his head. “but if it were not for the altering of that initial my whole theory would fall to the ground, for undoubtedly this issue of the journal was in the possession of these men, not because of that article on ‘hay fever’— but because of that one on ‘narcotics.’ the page there was well thumbed and ‘sodium evipan’ had been underlined.” he shook his head again. “yes, they might have bought a copy of the journal for themselves.”

his face brightened. “but no, i am not altogether coming to cambridge because of this medical journal, for i was intending to go there in any case. those sandwiches that i found in the car were made of pate-defoie-gras, and that was a good brown sherry in the pocket flask, and i thought of some big cities at once when i saw them. those sorts of things are not to be bought in little country towns, and so norwich and cambridge leapt instantly into my mind, for they are the nearest places where they could be obtained. it was the same, too, this morning, directly i saw that expensive burgundy had been drunk. shopping in a big city somewhere, where all kinds of expensive luxuries are on sale.”

he pressed down upon the accelerator. “yes, upon second thoughts, i’d better hurry up a bit, so that if the doctor isn’t at home, i can go the round of the wine merchants at once.”

he arrived at cambridge a little after four, and learning that the doctor was out and that his evening surgery hours were from seven to nine, gave his card to the maid who had answered the door, and asked her to inform her master that he would be much obliged if he could spare him a few minutes just before seven. he was not coming as a patient, he said, and would return at ten minutes before the hour. the girl regarded the card with very curious eyes and replied that she thought the arrangement would be quite all right.

then he inquired of a postman whom he met which was the best firm of wine merchants in the city, and was directed to one in sydney street. asking to see the chief one in authority there, he was shown into the manager’s office, and producing his card, was at once treated with the utmost respect.

“what i want to know, sir,” he said, “is whether you have made a sale, lately, of any pint bottles of chambertin 1904, accompanied perhaps at the same time by some bottles of brown sherry, and if you have done so, to whom you sold the wine.”

the manager smiled. “happily, sir,” he replied, “we have a good connection and are very often disposing of the wines you mention. now, can you give me any approximate date?”

“unfortunately i can’t,” replied larose, “but i am very interested in an unknown party, a tall man, with a rather long face and big nose, who has been purchasing these wines, and i want to find out who he is.”

the manager pursed up his lips and looked very doubtful. “i may be able to give you the names of a score of persons who have bought them,” he said, “and yet”— he looked more hopeful —“if this party you want bought the two wines at the same time, i may perhaps be able to help you, and particularly so, as you say the burgundy was in pint bottles. the still vintage wines are nearly always preferred in quarts.” he rose up from his chair. “i’ll go and look through our sales books.”

he left the room and was absent for quite a quarter of an hour. then he returned with a big ledger under his arm. “you are lucky,” he smiled, “i can give you the exact date.” he pointed to a page in the book. “see, on september 9 we sold a case of chambertin pints and six bottles of brown sherry and a bottle of 1906 brandy, all to the same person.”

“who was he?” asked the detective eagerly, thrilled to the core that he had hit the bull’s-eye with the first shot. his hopes, however, were immediately dashed to zero when the manager replied, “ah! there i’m afraid my services end, for the sale was a cash one, and in consequence there is no name of the purchaser recorded in our book.”

“and there is no possibility of finding out?” asked larose with a choke in his voice.

“none whatever,” replied the manager. “ah! wait a moment. our cellar man may know something about him, for he will have delivered the wine.” he touched a bell upon his desk and a clerk immediately appeared. “send william to me,” he said.

a minute or two later a stout, heavy man in a big leather apron appeared, and the manager put the question to him as to whether he remembered the sale.

the man thought for a moment and then nodded his head. “yes, sir, i do,” he said. “i carried everything out to a car, and packed it in for the gentleman.”

“who was he?” asked the manager. “do you know?”

“no, sir, he was quite a stranger to me.” the man smiled. “but he gave me a shilling and was very particular how the chambertin was put in the car and asked me how long he ought to let it rest after he’d got it home. he said it was going to have a good shaking, for he’d be travelling nearly forty miles.”

“what was the car like?” asked larose.

“couldn’t tell you, sir,” was the reply, “except that there was a lot of mud about, because i remember having to clean up my apron afterwards.”

that was all the information the detective could extract, and then, proceeding to the bull hotel, he put in a good hour studying a big ordnance map that he had purchased in hunstanton.

at a quarter to seven he presented himself at the doctor’s house, and was at once shown into the surgery, where the doctor himself was seated at his desk. the doctor was a round-faced, plump little man, beaming good humor and good nature, and with a merry twinkle in his eye. he looked about fifty-five years of age.

“well, what have you found out about me, sir?” he asked at once, wagging his finger playfully at the detective. “oh! yes, i’ve heard about you, mr. larose, and know your favorite hobby is murder work.” he pretended to look very frightened. “but in my case i can inform you straightaway that you’ll need a perfect host of exhumation orders to secure any conviction, for everyone for whose death i am responsible is well buried under the ground.”

larose smiled back. “it’s not quite as bad as that yet, doctor,” he replied, “and so far we’ve not had too many complaints about you up at the yard. i’ve come about that article of yours on ‘hay fever’ that was published in the issue of the ‘british medical journal’ of september 4.”

“but that’s not a crime!” exclaimed the doctor instantly. “an indiscretion, if you like, but certainly no indictable offence!” his face sobered down. “but what do you mean, sir?”

“now have you got a copy of the journal, with your article in it?” asked larose.

“certainly,” was the reply, and the doctor at once reached forward and picked one off the desk. “here you are and there is the offending article.” the hopes of larose dropped again, but he was in part reassured, when he saw the initial had been corrected as before. “but is this the original copy that was sent you,” he asked, “for, of course, i presume you are a member of the british medical association and receive one every week.”

the doctor nodded. “yes, i am,” he said, and then he added, looking very surprised, “no, this is not the copy that was sent me. someone stole that from my waiting-room and i had to buy another.”

larose put his hand in the breast pocket of his coat, and plucking out the journal he had brought with him, handed it dramatically across to the doctor.

“then is this your original copy?” he asked, and he saw the doctor’s jaw drop, and his brows contract, as his eyes fell upon the correction under the title of his article.

“my oath, it is!” he gasped, “but how the very devil did it come into your hands, and bring you all this way to question me?”

“the position, doctor, is like this,” replied larose. “we are after some very bad men, and we should have got them about a week back up hunstanton way if they had not suddenly become aware that we had located them — and bolted away. well, in the house they had been living in, we came across this journal, and thinking it must be yours, i have come over eighty miles today to speak to you.”

“how extraordinary!” exclaimed the doctor, “but there is no doubt this is the journal that was stolen from me.” he leant back in his chair and reflected. “now let me see. the journal is published on the saturday and i always get it on the monday.” he spoke very slowly. “then it was probably on the wednesday that i put it on the waiting room table, and on the friday when i went to look for it, it had gone. one of the patients must have taken it.”

“well, can you remember among your patients a tall man, with a long face and rather big nose,” asked larose, “who was probably suffering from some form of chest trouble about that time?”

the doctor shook his head slowly and then smiled. “i see from sixty to seventy people a day sometimes, and i can’t remember them all. no, i have no recollection of any such man.”

“but you are quite correct as to the date, doctor,” said larose. “the journal was taken on the thursday, for on that day, september 9, we have found out that this man, one of those we are wanting, was in cambridge. now, can you show me a list of the patients, with their addresses, who consulted you that day, most probably in your afternoon surgery, because i have reason to believe the man is not a local man, but lives a good way away.”

“yes,” nodded the doctor, “my wife shall make it out for you. she keeps all my accounts for me, besides occasionally acting as my nurse.” he hesitated. “but it will take quite a little time, for she will have to go through a lot of cards.” he pulled out a drawer and lifted it upon the desk. “you see, when the patients come, i don’t enter their names into a book, but a card is allotted to each one, and the date, name, address, ailment and roughly what i have prescribed, is written upon it. then the card is placed alphabetically in this index and when the patient comes again it doesn’t take two seconds for me to pick up all about him.” he put the drawer under his arm. “now come with me into the dining-room. i’ll introduce you to my wife and she’ll pick out the list from these cards.” he paused just before opening the door, and whispered, “but tell me, what are these men wanted for, anything serious?”

larose nodded. “murder and other crimes besides that.”

the doctor whistled. “whew! but my wife will be thrilled. she’s very romantic and loves to hear about murderers.” his eyes twinkled. “that’s why she married a doctor!”

“oh! one thing more,” said larose, and he stepped back to the desk and picked up the original journal. “see this oil mark on the cover? well, it has a faint smell of camphor to me, and that may help us in picking out the thief, for he probably took the paper home with him in the same pocket as some camphorated oil that you prescribed.”

the doctor sniffed hard at the paper and then shook his head. “you have a very lively imagination, young man,” he said with a smile, “for i can’t smell anything.” he shrugged his shoulders. “still you may be right, for i smoke a good deal. are you a smoker?”

“as a rule,” replied larose, “but i’ve not had a cigarette for over a week now, and my scent is pretty keen. i’ve been laid up from a crack over the head that one of the gentlemen i’m after gave me.”

“that’s bad,” said the doctor. he laughed. “but i expect it makes your wish to get him as keen as your smell. but come on now, we’ll see the wife. she knows who are the patients, and can tell you all about them.”

the detective found mrs. smith a pleasant-looking, placid woman, many years younger than the doctor, and certainly the very last person, he thought, to be thrilled with murders. her husband introduced him and explained what was wanted; then he pointed to the grease splash upon the journal and asked her to smell it. “a bit of detective work, mary,” he said, “and mr. larose will be getting you a job at scotland yard if you can tell him what it is.”

mrs. smith smelt it delicately. “camphorated oil,” she said at once. “i can recognise it plainly.”

the doctor threw up his hands. “and that’s what mr. larose declared,” he said disgustedly, “and i told him it was all imagination.” he bustled to the door. “well, i’ll have to leave you two detectives together and go off and do some work. i hear a lot of coughing and scraping of feet going on in the waiting-room, and that means the poor wretches are getting desperate.”

alone with the detective, mrs. smith proceeded to go through a great number of cards, but she worked quickly and soon had a little heap of them put to one side upon the table.

“thirty-seven,” she said at last, “and those are all the patients my husband saw in the surgery that day.” she sorted out the cards. “the pink ones are the panel patients and the white ones the private ones. now do you want to go through the panel patients?”

larose smiled. “i don’t think so,” he replied. “they’d hardly be buying cases of expensive burgundy like the man i’m after.”

“well, that simplifies our work a lot,” said mrs. smith, “and leaves only nine to deal with, and i’m sure i know nearly all of them. five are women.” she proceeded in a brisk and most professional manner to go through the cards. “mrs. colliver, aged 22, and expecting a baby. no, she’s the grocer’s wife and most respectable. mrs. astley, age 41, and being treated for eczema. nice woman and keeps a milliner’s shop. mrs. davis, 46, indigestion and sore tongue, the solicitor’s wife. mrs. rumbull, 33, nerves and nothing the matter with her. husband keeps a boot shop. miss dander, 24, school teacher, indigestion from over-smoking and drinking too much tea.”

“that’s all the women, now for the men. b. hawker, 34, stomach pains. ah! he’s since gone into hospital and had his appendix out. employed in the post office. r. wellington, 35, aching limbs, earache. temperature 100.2. probably influenza. occupation not given. address crown hotel. 5 gr. dover powder and 5 grains aspirin prescribed. hum! no, i don’t know him, but he evidently took up some time, for i see the doctor charged him 7/6. next, r. p. walker, 51, tonsillitis, temperature 102. he’s a butcher, and we have dealt with him for twenty years. quite all right.”

she started to replace the cards. “well, that’s all, mr. larose, and except this r. wellington, every patient i have mentioned lives in cambridge and is well known to us.” she held up her hand. “but wait a minute, i’ve thought of something. you shall ring up the crown hotel straightaway, and find out what they know about this mr. wellington. yes, you ring up and then i’ll get the doctor out of his surgery and we’ll show him this card.”

the detective, with a great admiration for her shrewdness, did as she suggested, but upon getting in touch with the hotel, was not at all surprised to learn that they knew nothing about a mr. wellington. the proprietor himself answered the phone and was positive that no person of that name had stayed there, at any rate, during the past year.

then mrs. smith knocked at the surgery door and the doctor came out. he was told everything had been sifted down, and that in all probability the mr. r. wellington must have been the purloiner of the journal, for he was the only stranger whose respectability the doctor would know nothing about. also the prescription that had been given him suggested that a verbal injunction might have been made at the same time, that he should rub his chest with camphorated oil. added to that, he had told the doctor an untruth when he had said he was stopping at the crown hotel.

“but why should he have wanted to mislead me about his address?” asked the doctor doubtfully.

“well,” replied larose, “if he had stolen something from your waiting room, he would naturally not want you to know too much about him, now would he?”

“but can you remember him, roger,” asked mrs. smith quickly, perceiving that her husband was anxious to get back to his surgery. “you ought to, for you put the p.a.a. at the bottom of the card.”

the doctor’s eyes twinkled. “that means ‘probably an alcoholic,’” he whispered to the detective. “i have to make little notes like that to jog my memory.” he stared hard at the card.

“no, i’m sorry, but i haven’t the very slightest recollection of him, but still — i’ll try and think about him later on. now where are you staying the night? the bull hotel! good! then i’ll ring you up later if i think of anything. apart from that your only chance is to try the chemist. i tell all strangers to go to griffin’s.” he shook his hand. “good-bye and good luck. i’m pleased to have met you.”

the detective found griffin’s, but they told him they had no record on their books of any prescription having been made up for an r. wellington, likewise the next chemist down the street, but at a third shop he was heartened at once when the man behind the counter, after only a minute’s search, furnished the information that they had made up a prescription for a gentleman of that name on september 9.

“can you remember him, a tall man with a long face and a big nose?” asked larose anxiously.

“no, sir,” replied the man, “but one moment,” he added. “i’ll ask my son, for i see from the prescription book that he made up the powders.” he shook his head. “but i’m afraid there’s very little hope.”

but at once a very bright-faced young man emerged from a back room, and stated that he not only remembered mr. r. wellington quite clearly, but knew to the minute when he had made up the prescription for him on the afternoon of thursday, september 9.

it happened, he explained, there was a race meeting at newmarket that afternoon, and a horse called ‘the duke of wellington’ was running in the 3.30. he had been thinking all day about having a few shillings on it, and the coincidence of a gentleman named wellington coming in very shortly before the time of the starting of the race, had seemed to him so marvelous that he did back it and won quite a nice little sum, for the horse had started to 33 to 1.

he remembered it was nearly a quarter-past three when the prescription had come in, and he had been so expeditious in serving the gentleman in order to get in touch with his bookmaker in time, that he spilt some camphorated oil that was also being purchased, all down his coat, and he had never been quite able to get the smell away since.

“and you are sure you remember what your benefactor was like?” asked the delighted larose.

“yes, sir. he was tall and slight and had a long narrow face with a long nose. he had a very deep voice and, from his fingers, he’s always smoking cigarettes.”

“then do you know where he came from?” asked larose, trembling at the very thought of the answer he might get.

“no, sir, but it was some long way. somewhere towards the coast, for he was taking a pint bottle of methylated spirits away with him too, and would not allow me to make one parcel of it with the camphorated oil, because the road just beyond littleport, he said, was under repair, and, as he would be getting a good jolting, he didn’t want any broken bottles in his pocket.” the young fellow smiled. “in case it may help you in any way, i think the gentleman had been drinking. he smelt very strongly of spirits and kept on blinking his eyes a lot.”

larose was quite pleased with his day’s work, and when later the plain-clothes man, hale, rang up at the bull hotel, and reported no success for the day, he was by no means downhearted.

“now, at any rate, i’ve found out something,” he said. “i know he lives about forty miles from cambridge and, as i expected, back in the direction of hunstanton. also, i know he kept to the main road and did not begin the muddy part of the journey to his house until he’d gone at least thirty miles, therefore, he turned off, right or left, somewhere a few miles before he reached downham market, with the muddy fen country on either side.”

his eyes sparkled. “now, i have thought all along that these wretches who were after lady ardane were members of an organized gang that existed and was at work as a gang, long before there was any idea of this kidnapping, and if they were engaged in the illicit drug traffic, then that would explain their number and the resources at their command. there must be quite eight of them in the gang, and they must be well financed to possess a motor yacht, and at least two cars. those false number plates upon the jehu, too, were not new, and the clear indication therefore is, that they have been employing them upon unlawful expeditions for some time, and that their coming into existence had nothing whatever to do with the recent happenings at carmel abbey.”

he took out his ordnance map and spread it upon the table. “and what better place could a gang want for their headquarters than among the fens? in places, for their areas, the fens are still among the most desolate and lonely parts of england, and the roads that lead on to them lead nowhere but to the few isolated farms that the lands of the reclaimed swamps shelter. the cultivated parts that have been wrung from the mud and the quagmire and the slime are still like islands, with the narrow bridges over the drains and cuttings, the only means of communication with the bad, heavy roads that lead away outside on to the bitumen and then on to the towns.” he traced an imaginary circle with his finger upon a part of the map. “why, there are miles and miles of country here about these methwold and feltwell fens that do not appear to be crossed by a road in any direction.”

he undressed quickly and got into bed. “well, it’ll be bad luck if we don’t forge ahead quickly tomorrow.”

the next morning he was early upon the road, for he had instructed the plain-clothes men to meet him sharp at nine o’clock in the town of downham market.

passing through ely a few minutes after half-past eight, his eyes suddenly became riveted upon a very shabby-looking car standing outside an iron monger’s shop, and he gave a startled exclamation and half stopped, but then moved slowly on. “gosh!” he whispered, “but i’d swear that’s jones’ car!”

he pulled his car into the kerb close near to a small public-house and, stopping his engine, was upon the point of alighting when he suddenly sank back into his seat and ducked his head sharply. the two assistants of the great naughton jones were just issuing from the bar, and the exlimehouse bruiser was rubbing the back of his hand appreciatively over his mouth, as if he had just partaken of some agreeable refreshment!

“hah! hah!” hissed larose, melodramatically, “then they’ve struck a trail, if it’s only a beer one.” the grin left his face and he peered furtively through the curtains of his car. “yes, and, the hounds are running up to meet their master, for here’s jones himself coming out of the ironmonger’s.”

he saw them all get into the car, and then off it went with a great noise and in a cloud of smoke.

“now what’s brought jones here?” he whistled. “and he’s taken the cambridge road too!”

he thought a moment and then ran quickly into the ironmonger’s shop, as if he were in a great hurry. “did my friend, that gentleman who’s just gone,” he asked breathlessly of the man behind the counter, “remember to leave you the pattern of the wick he wanted.”

“no, sir,” replied the man at once, “he didn’t show me any pattern, but he just asked for a ventnor wick, and i’ve never heard of it. he said someone he knew had bought one here, but i’m sure he’s mistaken.”

“dear me! how very annoying!” said larose. “my friend is so forgetful. who was it, he said, had got the wick here?”

“a mr. henderson, sir, but i don’t remember him, although he gave me his description.”

“tall and slim, with a long nose?” exclaimed larose.

“yes, sir, and he said this gentleman always bought his cartridges here.”

the detective left the shop as if most annoyed with his forgetful friend, but directly he was outside the annoyance passed. “really!”, he exclaimed smilingly, “but great minds do generally think alike. a wick was the first thing i thought of and — jones thought of one, too. something that would enable us to put in a few questions, and yet we wouldn’t be able to purchase.” he looked very thoughtful. “now i wonder what’s taking jones to cambridge? he didn’t want that medical journal, and yet he’s got upon the trail, just as i have, but almost certainly in some other way. what a pity it is that he’s so difficult to manage, for with he and i together”— he grinned —“no one would be safe.”

arriving at downham market, he found the plain-clothes men waiting for him. they had covered a wide area of ground the previous day, but although they had collected the names of a large number of persons who possessed jehu cars, there was nothing of an encouraging nature in their reports.

“well, now,” said larose, “i’ll get you to alter the line of your enquiries today. this man we’re after seems a bit of a boozer and you must try the hotel right now. also, his fingers are stained a lot from smoking cigarettes. comb this town first and then try the villages up the main road as far as littleport. we’ll make the king’s arms our headquarters here, and i expect to be back by six at the latest. i’m going to work round swaffham and brandon for i’m a bit suspicious of those fens upon the suffolk border.”

within an hour then, larose, after making enquiries at every village upon his way, found himself in the pleasant little town of swaffham, and was electrified to learn at the very first garage he called at, that a man had purchased two valve cap covers a couple of days previously.

“but he hasn’t got a jehu,” supplemented the proprietor of the garage, “for he drives an ariel. still that doesn’t matter for his covers are the same size.” he nodded grimly. “but if you think you’ll find out anything hanky-panky about dick hart, you’ll come a cropper straightaway, for dick’s one of the straightest men about here and i’ve known him for some years and he’s highly respected. someone pinched these covers of his last week when he’d left his car upon the road for a few minutes to go down his meadows after some sheep. he lives near oxborough and about six miles from here. enquire at the inn there, and they’ll direct you to his place.”

larose thanked him for his information and then was thrilled again, when the man gave him the names and places where they lived, of two men who owned jehu cars, for one of them, roy fensum, lived in the heart of the methwold fens.

“but fensum isn’t a customer of mine,” nodded the man, “and i don’t see him once in a blue moon. still his car occasionally goes through here, although often he’s not driving it himself. yes, it’s a grey one and when he’s not driving it, it goes pretty fast. no, he’s not tall by any means. he’s medium sized, and you can’t mistake him, for he’s very dark. what is he?” the man laughed. “why a farmer, of course, and he goes in for romney marsh sheep! no, i don’t know the other chaps who drive it, for they’ve always got the curtains up and don’t appear ever to stop in the town. quite welcome, sir. good morning.”

the detective went off in high glee. things were now shaping splendidly, and he was sure he was getting close.

he found dick hart with no difficulty, but met with no very favorable reception, after crossing over a very muddy field to get speech with him. the man was ploughing with four horses, one of which became very restive, as the plough was stopped when larose came up. hart was a fine, well-built fellow about forty-five, with a big face and very fearless-looking eyes. he scowled irritably when larose started to ask him about his recent purchases in swaffham.

“and what’s the hell’s that to do with you?” he asked. he looked very fierce. “you’ll play no tricks with me, young fellow, for i was a policeman once. what! a detective, are you? well, show me your badge.”

“splendid!” exclaimed larose. “it couldn’t have been better,” and he at once produced his badge and told him who he was.

“gee!” exclaimed the man, his whole expression altering. “then you’re this gilbert larose are you? i’m proud to meet you, sir. i’ve heard all about you, of course, detective inspector,” he went on, giving larose his proper title and now saluting most respectfully. “i was in the metropolitan police force.” he drew himself up proudly. “sergeant richard hart and fifteen years with never a bad mark against me. i still keep in touch with things a bit, for i’ve a brother in the city police and he sends the gazette every now and then.” he expended a few curses upon the restive horse and then turned back to larose. “now, what do you want to know, sir?’”

the detective realised at once that he was in the presence of a man of sterling character, and told him quickly what he wanted. then in a few terse sentences, and without the use of one unnecessary word, the expoliceman related all that had happened.

he had left his car unattended upon the road the previous monday week about two o’clock in the afternoon, and gone about a quarter of a mile down the meadow, to look at some sheep. he had not actually seen any car pass, because for part of the time he had been in a dip in the field, but he had heard one go by, and then returning to the road a few minutes later, had noticed at once that his valve-cap covers had gone. he was positive beyond any possibility of mistake that they had been there a few minutes before, because not half an hour previously he had put some air in each of the tyres and had then screwed up all the covers tightly.

then, assured from his whole bearing and demeanor that the man could be thoroughly trusted, larose went straight to the point and asked him about roy fensum, as one who was under suspicion of the authorities.

“i just know fensum very slightly, and that’s all,” replied hurt. “he’s not a type of man that i like and i’m hardly ever brought in contact with him. i see him at brandon market sometimes, but he never appears to mix much with anyone. he keeps himself very much to himself, and i don’t know any farmer round here who’s friendly with him. he’s a widower and employs several hands. no women, i believe, about the place at all. yes, i’ve been there once lately. i bought a horse off him about six months ago. oh! you want to go and see him, do you?” he nodded vigorously. “well, you be very careful and don’t stop your car until you’re right up to the house, for he’s got two big, ugly-looking alsatians that come up at once and go for strangers. oh! you want to go up there without being seen! well, that’s rather difficult, for he’s right in the heart of the methwold fens.” he looked hard at the detective. “what do you want to go and look at him for? what’s he supposed to have done?”

“murder, perhaps,” replied larose sharply, “and other things as well. at any rate, that’s what he’s mixed up in, and i think there’s a gang of bad men up there.”

the expoliceman’s face paled a little under its tan. “whew!” he whistled, “so it’s as bad as that!” he considered for a moment and then looked at his watch. “here, sir, you just wait until i’ve finished this round, and then come in and have a bit of dinner with me.” he nodded. “i may be able to help you a lot, for i was born among these fens and have fished every cut and dyke. yes, you come, sir, and we’ll have a talk.” he laughed and looked very pleased with himself. “it will remind me of the old times when i was p.c. richard hart, and handling the drunks up hoxton way.”