a quarter of an hour later the detective was being ushered into a large, homely kitchen, and the expoliceman was putting a cold leg of pork upon the table.

“we’ve got the whole place to ourselves today,” he explained, “for the children are at school and the missis is out gadding about. i let her out of the cells for the day, and she’s in downham market buying things we don’t need and don’t want. bless her heart! she’s like all women — directly she’s got a few bob in her pocket she must let them go. beer? ah! that’s right. i thought you might be one of those tea-drinking fiends.” he went on. “i remember there was a doctor once on my beat, a very clever chap, but always on the booze, and many a time i’ve popped him into his own doorway, instead of running him into the station as i ought to have done. well, he told me once that the early morning cup of tea some people take was more responsible for indigestion than anything else. he was a fine fellow and married a barmaid afterwards, and then she wouldn’t let him touch a drop of drink. cut it right out and made a splendid chap of him. when i left the force he had got four kiddies and was a bit of a nob on harley street. consulting physician and becoming a big bug on nerves.”

they proceeded to do justice to the meal, and then suddenly, looking out of the window, hart remarked, “my days! but your luck’s in, mr. larose. there’s a fog coming up from over the fens and i’m thinking that’s the only hope in the world of you getting near fensum’s place without being seen.”

“oh!” exclaimed larose, “do you get bad fogs here?”

hart laughed. “bad!” he exclaimed, “why, good old london’s nothing to them! mind you, they’re not black or yellow, but just a thick, heavy white. they come up all at once, and they may last a fortnight, and when they’re really bad you can’t see your own feet. then it’s almost like having a blanket over your head.” he nodded. “i’ll lend you my little compass, and you can send it back any time. i shan’t be here tomorrow, though, for the missis is giving me a holiday, and i’m going to london for the day.”

“well, about this man fensum,” asked larose, “what is the name of his place?”

“black gallows,” replied hart, with a grin, “and it seems like proving a darned appropriate name.” he looked intently at the detective. “but the more i think about it, sir, the more i’m inclined to believe that if there’s anything in the nature of a gang up there, as seems to be your idea — then you’re taking a great risk, going alone.”

“but i’m not going to make any arrests today,” replied larose, “i only just want to get a peep at all the men who are living there. i’ve some good glasses with me and if i get within half a mile of them, it will do.”

“and that’s about as near as you will get,” nodded the expoliceman, “for it’s all level ground at once when you get on fensum’s lands. he’s got about 1,600 acres of it and every yard was swamp and quagmire once.” he looked very serious. “it’s a regular trap for anyone, directly they get on it, who doesn’t know the place, for it’s cut off from everywhere by great wide drains, deep dykes, and the dangerous little river wissey. apart from that, it’s criss-crossed in lots of places with dykes that, although they are certainly not so wide, you would never get over.”

“why not?” asked larose. “i could swim at a pinch.”

“swim!” ejaculated hart scornfully. “yes, you could swim if there was any depth of water in them, but you couldn’t swim in the fen mud. there’s nothing like it anywhere else. it’s ten and twelve feet deep in parts, as thick almost, as tar, and as heavy as lead when it clings to you.” his eyes dilated. “why, i saw a bullock once disappear in less than three minutes after it had slipped down into the big cut drain that borders upon one side of fensum’s property.” he shook his head. “no, mr. larose, as well face a bullet at point-blank range as try to cross over those drains.”

“well, tell me how i’ll get there,” said larose, in no way dismayed, “and i’ll take a chance. it’s like this, mr. hart,” he added, “i may be entirely at fault in my suspicions and this fensum may be a perfectly innocent man, and there may be no one upon his premises who has done anything wrong. so, i don’t want to come down with a search warrant and a large party of officers, and besides making a fool of myself, rouse all the countryside, and give the real culprit a chance of breaking away when they learn i’m after them. i want to be sure, first. i want to catch sight of either one of two men, and then i shall be certain once and for all how i stand.”

“you’ve no certain knowledge then,” asked hart, “that any of the men who are wanted are there?”

“no,” replied larose at once, “no certain knowledge at all, but”— he spoke very slowly —“i have come a long trail, and it leads most definitely to somewhere about here. to a man who has some reason for covering up all his tracks wherever he goes, who lives in the fen country, who drives a jehu car and uses false number-plates, and who, finally, has been in need of two valve-cap covers such as yours, within the past few days.” he broke off suddenly and asked, “now, do you ever get any aeroplanes coming over here, on moonlight nights?”

hart nodded. “yes, we do, occasionally,” he replied. “not very often, but when we do get one, we always get two”— he frowned —“or, now that you are making me suspicious about everything, we hear the same one going and returning.”

“exactly!” commented larose, looking very pleased, “and it’s a dope gang i’m after. someone drops the stuff, i’m thinking, from these aeroplanes you hear.” he smiled. “another link in the chain, my friend.”

“all right,” said the expoliceman briskly, “and i’ll not try and dissuade you any more.” he fetched a piece of paper and a pencil. “i’ll draw you a map. oh! that’s all right,” he went on as larose took his ordinance map out of his pocket, “then i’ll only need to draw you one of fensum’s place.”

they bent their heads over the map and he pointed out the way to the detective. “there’s black gallows, and it’s seven miles from here. now, you’ll go along the methwold road until you see an inn on the left, just at the beginning of methwold village.” he shook his head warningly. “but whatever you do, don’t go near that inn, for the proprietor, jowles, is about the one pal fensum has. he’s got a face like a ferret and if you ask anything about black gallows there it’s a hundred to one he’ll tell fensum about it. so leave the main road about two hundred yards before you get to this inn and take the side road to the right. this road won’t look very inviting, because it’s always muddy. then go straight along for about three miles until you come to a small plantation.” he paused for a moment and considered. “there, i think, you’d better leave the car, for beyond that it’d be a black spot on the landscape that could be picked up easily. yes, run your car round the back of the plantation. there’s a dip in the ground there and it’ll be quite safe. then about a quarter of a mile farther on you’ll come to a big, deep drain, about three times as wide as this room and you’ll see a gate, opening on to a black wooden bridge crossing the drain.”

“an iron gate?” asked larose sharply, “that’s not been painted lately?”

“yes,” nodded hart looking very surprised, “how do you know that?”

“only that the inside of the fingers and the palm of some motor gloves that belong to one of the men i’m looking for,” replied larose, with difficulty suppressing the exultation that he felt, “smelt strongly of rust, when i was handling them the other day. go on.”

“open this gate — you’ll have to lift it up, for one of the posts has sunk — and cross over the bridge. it’s only made of planks and there are wide spaces between them.” he picked up his pencil and piece of paper. “now comes the dangerous part of the journey, and i’ll draw you a map. look, you’ll be now about two miles from fensum’s houses. there are two of them. one is where they live, and the other is a long, two-storied building that is not occupied, and has long since fallen into ruins.”

“that’s interesting!” exclaimed larose. “what was it built for?”

“it was the cracked idea of the man who had black gallows about thirty years ago,” replied hart. “he was a jew, called bernstein, and he thought he would train horses upon black gallows and no one would be able to spy upon him, and learn how good his animals were. so he built a racing stable, with the ground floor all stalls and loose boxes for the horses, and the storey above them for his trainer and the stable hands. he spent a lot of money on it, and some of the rooms above were quite comfortably fitted up. but this bernstein died, and, as i say, all the place has gone to ruin since.”

“what sort of a farmer is fensum?” asked larose.

hart shook his head. “a poor one, and with plenty of good land, he makes little of it. he crops a few acres and he’s got a good few romney marsh sheep. but he never troubles much and folks often wonder how he makes it pay.” he looked down at the map he was drawing, and went on. “well, now you’re inside fensum’s property and your real difficulties begin. don’t take the road leading up to the house, but hug the side of the big drain for about four hundred paces, then if there’s any fog, which it looks likely there will be, set your compass, turn off at right angles and, keeping straight north for two miles or just a little more, you will come bang up against these stables.”

the detective studied the map carefully. “it seems quite easy, mr. hart,” he said, “and i ought to have no difficulty.”

the expoliceman looked very serious. “but for the lord’s sake,” he said warmly, “keep your eyes on this compass and go straight north the whole time, for if you don’t, you’ll get among a maze of dykes and you’ll never find your way back again, until the fog lifts.”

“and about those dogs,” said larose thoughtfully, “do you know if they run loose after dark?”

“i should hardly think so,” replied hart, “for no farmer leaves his dogs unchained at night. they don’t learn what discipline is if they’re not on the chain sometimes.” a thought came to him. “now have you got a good knife on you, mr. larose!”

“a pocket one,” replied the detective, “but not a dagger.”

“then i’ll lend you a bayonet,” replied hart, “a good one that i took off a german on the glorious vimy ridge. poor devil. i’d just given him the haymaker’s lift with mine.” he bent over towards larose. “now look here, sir, i’ll give you a good tip for dealing with a dog when it comes rushing at you. meet it crouching down, or even, if you’ve got a good knife, some say, lying down. then he loses all the benefit of his rush and the impetus of his big body doesn’t knock you over. i’ll give you a nice square of wire netting, too. that foggles them and you can strike through the meshes.” he shook his head. “i’m afraid for you if you meet with those alsatians in the fog and don’t want to pistol them and let everyone know you are about the place. generally, they don’t bark when they come to you. you only hear a blood-curdling snarl!”

the detective parted with much gratitude to the expoliceman for his kindness. “really, my luck’s in,” he told himself, as he drove away, “and i couldn’t have met with a better man.”

larose was rather disappointed when, for the first two miles or so, the weather appeared to be clearing, but when he judged he was halfway upon his journey, he ran all at once into a thick bank of fog and began to almost wish it had been so.

he could not see a dozen yards beyond the bonnet of his car, and he had to take out his ordnance map and with the help of an electric torch, tick off the turnings to the right and left as he went by.

he came at last to the turning on to the muddy road, and there was no doubt about the mud there, for his tyres squelched into it most unpleasantly and it was flung up in big spots all over the windscreen. in the fog he was desperately afraid of missing the plantation, but, taking hart’s estimate of three miles as being quite accurate, he stopped when he had gone that distance and walked on on foot. but the estimate had been a very good one, and within a hundred yards he came upon the trees looming like ghosts out of the fog.

he parked the car where he had been advised and, greatly heartened that now he would find the going much easier, taking a few things from the tool-box, he set off blithely for black gallows.

he found the iron gate without much difficulty, and tip-toed up to it, with his heart beating strongly. “yes, gilbert, my boy,” he whispered, as he noted the rust upon his hands as he climbed over, “you’ve not lost quite all your punch yet, although you do make big bloomers every now and then.”

the fog was now lifting a little and he regarded with no pleasant feeling the deep, wide drain under the wooden bridge. it was evidently one of the main ones that had been dug to drain the methwold fens, and its waters, he judged, were at least fifteen feet below the top of the drain sides.

“a nice place to be thrown into,” he thought with something of a pang at the dangers that were now facing him, “but it would make funeral expenses very cheap.” he grinned. “what price, gilbert, commencing your last long sleep down there, with the eels gnawing the ‘dead march in saul.’”

still keeping most minutely to the directions of dick hart, be turned sharp to the left and hugged the side of the drain for four hundred carefully counted paces. then he turned again at right angles but to the right this time, and was quickly swallowed up in the silence of a dead world.

very, very soon it came to him, that he had lost a friend, for he realised now that the sullen gurgling of the water in the drain had been a comfort to him and a reassuring thought that he could turn back at any time if he so wished, and reach his car and safety again. but now he was cut off from everything, and in all directions, less than fifty yards away, stretched a wall of ghostly and impenetrable fog.

his life’s work among dangers had however, hardened him, and with no quickening of his pulses, and with the little compass held close up to his eyes all the time, he proceeded to walk briskly forward, to cover the two miles that the expoliceman had told him would now be separating him from the racing stables of the dead jew, bernstein.

“and once i’m there,” he thought confidently, “i shall be only 300 yards due east from the farm where they all live.”

he did not seem too happy, all the same. “but i may have to wait until dark,” his thoughts ran on, “and that will make it about half-past five. it’s quite on the cards, too, that those dogs may spoil everything, and it isn’t too good to think they may turn up when i’m too close to the buildings to dare to use my gun. still, i should imagine that with this dense fog, they have been chained up long ago, for the sake of the sheep.”

he kept on looking round, however, and held his square yard of wire-netting unfolded, and the german bayonet ready in his hand. “but what a come down,” he grinned, assuring himself for the hundredth time of the sharpness of the blade. “once making history in the great world-war, and now being hawked about upon a lonely fen, to thrust into the throat of a snarling dog if he comes near.”

the fog was lifting slightly, and his area of observation had now become a little wider. then when, according to his calculations, he could not be more than a quarter of a mile from his objective, he took a zig-zag course for a hundred yards or so, to assure himself that his compass was functioning correctly. he found it was quite all right and was just setting his course due north again, when suddenly he heard a slight noise behind him.

he paused for a moment, thinking he might have been mistaken, but then he heard the sound again — the labored panting of some animal!

his blood froze in horror as he stood peering in the direction from which the sound was coming, but all was fog — fog everywhere, with earth and sky in the grip of their dark master.

then suddenly a huge form, magnified by the vapor, loomed into view. “a calf! only a calf!” he ejaculated in great relief, “and i have been giving myself a fright for nothing.”

but in two seconds the horror all returned, for, with his head bent close to the ground, the creature was now nosing along each foot of the zig-zag course that the detective had just taken. to the left, to the right, and then to the left again, on came the animal.

“one of the alsatians!” gasped larose. “he’s picked up my trail!” and then he smiled, as a brave man often does in the presence of danger. his hand was steady, his pulse had quietened down, and he sank gently on to the ground in such a position that he would be lying upon his left side, and facing it, when the alsatian had finished with the zig-zags and came to nose along the straight trail.

a few breathless seconds followed, with the hound quickening his pace and now beginning to whimper eagerly. then he stopped suddenly and with his fine head upraised and one fore paw lifted off the ground, stood staring straight in front of him.

he had caught sight of larose.

the detective was lying quite still. the square of wire netting was tucked under one side of him, covering his head and the greater part of his body. in his right hand he held the bayonet, and in his left, clutching to the wire netting, was his automatic.

perhaps ten seconds then passed, and becoming aware, perhaps by some instinct or perhaps by some unconscious movement that larose had made, that his prey before him was living and not dead, the great beast drew back his lips with a savage snarl, and then without an instant’s warning, dashed straight for the detective’s throat.

but with his head down, there was no force behind the impact, and with his muzzle coming in contact with the wire netting, he fixed his teeth in it and tore at it to pull it away.

but the deadly bayonet plunged instantly between the meshes of the wire and drew blood from somewhere in the dog’s head. the blow, however was not an effective one, and the enraged beast, snarling furiously in his pain, returned savagely to the attack, this time planting his great forefeet upon the detective’s shoulder and rolling him over upon his back.

but, like lightning, the bayonet plunged again, and now, penetrating deeply into the flesh, it tore a ghastly wound across the animal’s throat. the effect was instantaneous, and the alsatian sank down groaning upon his side.

larose sprang to his feet, and not discarding the wire netting, plunged the bayonet again and again, into the dog’s heart.

the whole happening had not lasted two minutes, from the moment when the detective had first seen the alsatian to when he was kneeling down beside it and wiping his hands upon the damp grass.

but there was no exultation in his face. on the contrary, it was more gloomy and downcast. “but this is most unfortunate,” he thought, “for there’s no possible chance of hiding the body, and with the beast missing they’ll find it at once when the fog lifts and know that someone’s been here.” he shook his head. “it’s no triumph, it’s a real disaster.”

a few moments later, however, he was regarding it as a disaster of quite a minor kind, for, to his horror, he discovered he had now lost his compass.

in a fever of haste, he began to search all over the ground, where he had been standing when he had first heard the pantings behind him, where he had lain, awaiting the coming of the alsatian and where, finally, he had sprung to plunge the bayonet into its heart.

at last he found it close to the dead dog’s side, trodden into the ground, its glass smashed to atoms and its needle broken off!

for a long moment he stood surveying it as he held it in the palm of his hand. then he looked round at the fog, now beginning to close down thicker and thicker than ever, and a choking feeling came up into his throat. in all his life he thought he had never been in a more unpleasant position.

“gilbert! gilbert!” he exclaimed sorrowfully, “you’re losing grip of the game”— he looked down at the alsatian —“and if this poor beast only knew it, he has triumphed even in death.”

but he was never down-hearted for very long, and, always of a sanguine disposition, he was very soon endeavoring to discern some way out of his predicament.

he tried, first, to place the exact position in which he had lain down, and from that determine in which direction the alsatian had approached, for the path of the dog, he told himself, following in a bee-line up his own track, would point directly due north, and towards where the stables lay.

he worked it all out as well as he could, and then, to make sure he should not wander in a circle, walked forward in distances of only ten paces at a time, and after the first ten paces, with two directing ground-marks always behind him.

the procedure was very simple. he dropped his cap, covered the ten paces, stuck his bayonet into the ground, and then went on for another, ten, but walking backwards this time in order to keep the cap and bayonet always exactly in the same straight line. then he dropped his piece of wire netting, went back and retrieved the cap, and using the bayonet and wire netting now for the straight line, walked backwards as before for another ten paces and dropped his cap once more.

it was very slow work, and he was by no means too hopeful about it, but it was the only thing he could think of, and all along he kept buoying himself up with the hope that with the fog lifting any moment he might catch sight of the disused stables, not far away, and perhaps be able to hide himself until night fell and the other alsatian was chained up. then circumstances must determine what he must do.

larose walked on and on, but nothing happened and no building came into sight, just fog, impenetrable fog everywhere, and the ghostly silence of the lonely fen. then at last, when he knew he must have proceeded much farther than the allotted quarter of mile — he realised that he was lost.

he heaved a big sigh, and sitting down, proceeded to light a cigarette. “no good worrying,” he told himself, “and no good tiring myself out”— he grinned —“i’ll just wait until the tea bell rings and then walk in with the farm hands. they can’t refuse me a good meal, even if they do shoot me afterwards.”

an hour passed, two, a weak and bastard dusk crept down and seemed to argue with the fog as to which was the better blanket, and then night fell, so chilling to the very marrow of his bones and so dark that it could almost be felt.

“but this won’t do,” he told himself, “or i’ll be getting another fever,” and he began to walk backwards and forwards, jerking his arms about all the time.

then suddenly he was electrified by a muffled sound that came out of the darkness just upon his right, and his heart stood still in his excitement, for it had sounded like the banging of a door.

it was not repeated, but because there was not a breath of air stirring anywhere to make noises of its own accord, it came to him instantly that he was in the close vicinity of some animate beings, and most probably, for surely it was hardly likely to be otherwise, of human ones.

so he plucked up heart at once, and before he had lost the direction of the sound, plunged boldly into the darkness before him. then came one of the minor shocks of the day, for he had not proceeded fifty paces when he banged right into a hard wall. for a moment the impact made him feel sick, but in a few seconds he had pulled his torch out and was inspecting what had brought him up so dead.

yes, it was a stone wall, and higher than he could flash the rays of his torch; he knew it must be the racing stables that all along he had been making his objective. but how cruel fortune had been, for these two hours and more he had been pacing up and down, less than forty yards away from the very spot he had come so far and through such danger to visit!

but he must be careful, very careful, he told himself, for a banged door meant the presence of someone, and evidently then the stables were not uninhabited, as the expoliceman had said.

flashing his torch every few yards, he began circling cautiously round the building. he had struck the end of it, he found, for a very few yards’ progress brought him to a corner. then he crept along the side, and, a very little way down, a light from an upper window attracted his attention. he could just see the window sill, and the window was square, and from the interruptions in the rays, he thought it must be a barred one. he stood for a long time listening, but he heard no sound, and passed on. next he came to a door. it was approached by three steps, and it was a big, heavy-looking one, fitting closely. there was a big handle to it, with the brass green and discolored, as if it had never been polished. he was half inclined to turn the handle, but it did not look a door that could be opened noiselessly, and so he passed on.

next he came to two more lighted windows, close together, and still on the upper storey, and he thrilled as he heard the sounds of deep voices and some laughter, but both windows were shut and he could not catch a word that was being spoken.

he moved on, quite a long way, it seemed, and then came to the end of the wall and another sharp corner. he counted 20 paces as the length of the end of the building. no lights anywhere and no windows that he could see! then he turned the corner, and proceeded slowly down the other side. big doors, a few of them shut and locked; some chambers, doorless and gaping open. derelict loose-boxes and stalls that had gone to wrack and ruin! two barn-like sheds where cows were evidently sheltered at times, and finally another shed with only half its door standing, that from a pulley and tackle and pools of dried blood upon the ground, was evidently used as a place where sheep were slaughtered. in this last shed was a hay loft, and upon the floor in the corner, just under the loft, were stacked a number of trusses of straw.

he made the round of the building again. there was no light shining now from the first window, but from the other two it was still there, and the talking and laughter was still going on. he was considering what he must next do, when suddenly all the talking ceased, and a few seconds later the haunting strains of ‘ave maria’ came floating through the air.

in spite of his anxiety and a full recognition of the danger he was in he stood still to listen.

“life! life!” he murmured when it was all over. “the beautiful and the foul things so intermingling. this den of murderers and the music of the angels! the black evil in men’s hearts and yet their appreciation of the outpouring of gounod’s soul! my clothes fouled with the blood of that alsatian hound, and so soon my ears entranced with a melody that surely falls from heaven!” he shook his fist up at the window. “those men may laugh in happiness to-night, but tomorrow the shape of the scaffold shall loom up into their dreams.”

then all at once a sound came through the fog, very different to that he had just been listening to. the mournful baying of a hound not very far away!

as so often in his life, larose had to think quickly, and two minutes later he was racing round to the other side of the building and climbing into the hay loft in the shed.

“blood to blood!” he murmured breathlessly. “the blood upon me will make the scent strong, but if the beast comes here, the sheep’s blood below will turn off his attentions.

“there’s no help for it,” he went on, “i must remain here until daylight and then chance it what i must do. everything depends upon the fog and if it is still thick, i may get off and away before they discover what has happened to the other dog.” his heart began to beat a little quicker. “i hardly dare to think it, but it is just possible helen ardane may have been behind that light that was extinguished so early. here would be an ideal place to be keeping her, and i am sure — i am as sure as i have ever been about anything in all my life — that prince, the long-faced driver of the jehu, and i will be all sleeping under the same roof to-night.”

he was consoling himself that he was lucky to be having a warm bed among the hay and could quite well do without any further meal that night, when he experienced an agreeable surprise. he found three eggs close beside him in the loft, and breaking them carefully under the light of his torch, was of opinion they were all quite fresh. so he experienced for the first time in his life how very satisfying raw eggs can be, assuring himself, after he had eaten them, that even a most succulent grilled steak would then have lost most of its attraction for him.

he had just finished his frugal meal, when suddenly he made all his muscles tense and rigid, and holding himself like a thing of death, he drew in breaths so shallow that he felt almost suffocated.

he had heard the padding of soft footfalls below!

a long minute passed, two, three, four and then he drew in a long breath again. the beast, evidently the other alsatian, had sniffed and sniffed and poked among the trusses of straw. then the click of his big nails had sounded as he pawed up on the boards under the loft, and finally he had padded away.

“my conscience!” ejaculated the detective, “but if only anyone had been with him it would have been all up with me.”

he nestled himself down among the hay, and, aware that all his energies would be required upon the morrow, tried to compose himself to sleep. he had been sure that sleep would be a long while coming, but he was so exhausted by the varying emotions of the day, that he dropped off almost at once.

then he had a strange dream, and he always remembered it afterwards. he thought he was going to die, and naughton jones came into the room humming the funeral march, and advised him to back angel’s wings, for it was bound to win on saturday. then lady ardane came in and kissed him and told him he was going to get well, but naughton jones seemed most annoyed, and said it was very inconsiderate, for he had just bought a black tie and had an appointment with the archbishop of canterbury at half-past ten. then polkinghorne, the butler, appeared in a great hurry, and said the coffin had been ordered for someone else, but he got up and fought him, and was made sir gilbert larose for knocking him out in the tenth round. then lady ardane put her arms round his neck and told him that with all his courage he was afraid to ask her to marry him, but acting upon the limehouse bruiser’s advice, who said he believed in woman’s rights and often bashed his wife one or two, exactly as he did his men pals when he’d had a drop of liquor, she was going to propose to him herself. so she put her red head upon his shoulder and someone pulled down the blinds.

it was a very pleasant dream.

larose slept long and heavily, and to his disgust the sun was shining through the open door when he awoke. the fog had all gone and it was a beautiful late autumn day.

he hopped quickly down from the loft to see if anyone were about, but then hopped back even more quickly still, for a man was standing by a fence not two hundred yards away, and another big alsatian was prowling about and nosing along the ground much nearer than that.

“now what am i to do?” he asked himself ruefully. “it’s only half-past seven and i may have to stay here all day long.”

then he heard faint sounds of movement, just overhead, and he thrilled at the thought that they might be those of helen ardane. he took out his glasses, and leaning over the rickety loft, swept them round. he could see the ely road plainly, and a motor car going along, also fensum’s house was not far away, and a man there was saddling a horse. the man had got his back turned to him, but directly he mounted, his face was towards the glasses.

“oh! oh!” murmured the detective brokenly, “it’s the driver of the jehu, the long-faced man!” he wrung his hands in his distress. “i’ve all the good cards in the pack and yet i dare not throw one down.”

then he swung his glasses round in the other direction, and at once picked out the body of the alsatian he had killed. “and it won’t be five minutes,” he nodded grimly, “before it’s seen by someone, and what will happen then?”

but he had no time for grieving over his unfortunate position, for at that moment he heard the sounds of someone whistling merrily and the rumbling of a wheelbarrow over the bricken path outside. the whistler was whistling ‘love’s old sweet song.’

in a few seconds the whistler hove in sight, and larose groaned when he saw it was the debonair and pleasant-mannered prince!

“another of them!” he ejaculated with a terrible feeling of oppression over his heart. “the whole gang here and i am as helpless as a dead man!”

prince was trundling a sheep, with its legs tied, upon the barrow, and he made straight for the shed door. he was evidently going to slaughter it inside. he was in riding breeches and an open shirt, and bare-headed, with his hair nicely brushed, and altogether fresh and clean; he looked a fine specimen of young manhood. he could not, the detective thought, be much over twenty-six or twenty-seven.

“and yet he is a murderer,” muttered larose, “and to save his own skin, pistolled one of his friends with the same callousness, no doubt, as he’s now going to butcher this sheep.”

he flattened himself against the side of the loft, and well back among the hay, gripped fiercely at one of the boards, so that by no movement should he betray his presence there. he was not ten feet from the pulley and tackle.

prince pushed the wheelbarrow into the shed and gently lifted the tethered sheep off on to the floor.

“it’s all right, old girl,” he said, smiling and showing his white even teeth, “you don’t know what’s going to happen so you oughtn’t to be afraid.” he took down a knife and steel that were hanging upon the wall and began sharpening the knife briskly. “it’s quite nice not knowing you’re going to die, and i only hope my end will come like this. no long, tiring pains for you, no bed of sickness, no melancholy good-byes — just two seconds of agony and you’ll feel nothing after.”

he tested the sharpness of the knife and decided that it was not yet quite to his liking. he went on, but with a sad note in his voice now. “but there’ll be no more sunrises for you, old girl — no more browsings in the meadow, no more wee lambies to come snuggling up at night. those times are all gone for you, for you’ve grown too old.” he came over to the sheep. “it’s a shame, isn’t it, old dear, but it’s the way of the world, you know. i’m stronger than you and you’ve got to suffer for it. no pity for the weak down here, whatever you’ve been told. they go under every time.”

he was just about to kill the sheep, when the long-faced man rode up to the shed door.

“you devil!” he exclaimed seeing what prince was doing, “i believe you love that job. you and young clive ought to have been butchers. no, wait till i’ve gone. i don’t particularly like the smell of blood, and i want to speak to you.”

“speak on, my son,” replied prince. he pointed to the tethered sheep and added solemnly, “but let your words be meek and reverent, for you are in the presence of one about to die. what’s the trouble, clem?”

“there’s no trouble,” said the other, and then he asked a question himself. “seen helen yet, this morning?”

“yes,” nodded prince carelessly, “and she was just as sulky as ever and gave me a black look, as usual. i took in her breakfast, eggs and bacon, coffee and toast, and she barely said ‘thank you’ for them, and then refused to speak another word. what about her?”

“well, the old fool says he won’t wait any longer,” was the reply. “he’s sure her spirit must be broken by now and she’ll agree to anything he asks.”

“good!” exclaimed prince, “and i, for one, will be glad to get rid of both of them. business is business, i know, or i’d have never had anything to do with it, but when we’re all going to be set up for life with plenty of cash, any risk is worth taking.” he shook his head. “still, it’s brought larose into the picture, and i tell you straight that i’m afraid of him, and if it wasn’t for my dogs, i would be having some very bad nights.”

“pooh!” scoffed the other. “we’re all right.” he nodded in his turn. “then we’ll fix up about helen.”

“yes, tell jakes to do it at once,” was the sharp reply. “they’re both upstairs now. he’s to hustle the old fool in roughly, and say that tomorrow we’ll be willing to treat for the ransom of them both. remember it’s to be ￡100,000 and not a penny under. whoever pays, they can well afford it.”

in the meantime, larose was almost choking in the bitterness of his grief and rage. he did not trouble to consider who the ‘old fool’ was, but he grasped most clearly from the conversation that helen ardane was being subjected to horrible indignities, for men evidently had access to her room and were actually waiting upon her as if she were one of their own sex! he was half-minded to pistol the two below without any warning, but he did not know what other forces might be against him, and for the sake of helen he was not going to risk his own life unnecessarily.

the one-time driver of the jehu car rode away and prince proceeded to go on with his interrupted task.

he knelt down, with one knee upon the sheep’s body. “come on, dearie. i’ll be very quick and make it as easy for you as i can.”

larose watched the swift and dexterous manner in which he despatched the animal. no fuss, no hesitation — just one quick, deep cut, the neck broken, the spinal cord exposed and severed, and in five seconds the animal’s sufferings were over.

then her slayer broke the shanks of her back legs, inserted the gamble between the tendons and had just hauled up the carcase with the pulley and tackle, and was about to start the skinning when the noise of hoofs was heard outside and the driver of the jehu came quickly galloping up.

“prince! prince!” he called out sharply as he sprang on to the ground, “someone was on black gallows yesterday afternoon and has killed ishmail!” he pointed with outstretched arm. “his body’s over there and he’s got five wounds. he was killed with a knife.”

“damnation!” swore prince, “where is he?” and the two at once raced out of the shed.

“exactly!” nodded larose, “and now i’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest.” he clenched his jaws together tightly. “one thing, if i come to my end here, i’ll take that fellow prince with me.”

in a few minutes prince returned alone and proceeded with great haste to skin and dress the sheep, but he was a very different man now to the one of a few minutes ago. he was glum and thoughtful, and frowning heavily all the time. he had nearly finished his work when the man he had called clem came racing back, now carrying a rifle upon his shoulder.

“it’s as i said,” he began shouting long before he had reached the shed door, “and i don’t believe the devil can have got away. ishmail must have come upon him just after half-past three, for roy is sure the dog was by the house up to then. the man must have been wandering about, lost in the fog, but how he got away i can’t think. he may have fallen into the big drain and is finished with.” he nodded his head emphatically. “he hasn’t left black gallows since the fog lifted, that’s certain. peter was at work by the bridge at sunrise and the fog hadn’t lifted then. he’s been by the bridge ever since.”

“you’ve served out a rifle to every one?” asked prince sharply.

“yes, and drain or no, we’ll make a thorough search everywhere. i’ve told the men to hail any stranger up and shoot instantly if he doesn’t stop. there’s not one here that can’t put in a bull at 500 yards. i’ve brought a rifle for you, too,” and he bent down from his horse and leant one up against the door.

“all right,” commented prince, “and not only will we search here, but i’ll go over to methwold and find out at the inn if any nosey people were about yesterday.”

“but we may be only disturbing ourselves about nothing,” went on the other, “and probably it was just a casual tourist who strayed on to black gallows and fell in somewhere. just an ordinary man.”

“an ordinary man,” said prince sharply, “would not have had to inflict five wounds upon a dog like ishmail to kill him, without at least having one wound on himself, and remember there was no blood on ishmail’s muzzle or upon his fangs.” he spoke in a tone of authority. “now you go off at once and search the north banks, and in three minutes i’ll be starting for the big drain.”

alone again, he proceeded to work feverishly upon the sheep, and had just finished the dressing and was methodically proceeding to cleanse his knife, when suddenly he stopped, and like a graven image, stood staring up at the hay loft.

the foot of the detective had slipped and fallen with a thud upon the wall!

seconds of intense silence followed, and then the worst happened, for pressing against the board at the end of the loft flooring, in order to retain a condition of perfect immobility, larose exerted too much force, and the board, breaking from its fastening, fell with a resounding crash below.

the detective and the gangster were now staring at each other, face to face!

larose recovered from the surprise first, and his hand slipped like lightning to his hip pocket and plucked out his automatic, but prince was only the fraction of a second behind him and leaped to reach the rifle by the door.

he had almost got his hands upon it, when the pistol cracked, and then with a convulsive clutch at his right side, he toppled over on to the ground.

larose was after him, like a terrier after a rat, and long before the smoke of the pistol had risen to the height of the loft, had dragged him back into the shed, and seeing now that he was quite helpless, was tearing at his shirt to expose and staunch the wound.

“oh! leave me alone,” he groaned, “and let me die in peace. you’ve hit me in the liver, and i know i shall be bleeding internally as well. leave me alone, please.”

“no!” exclaimed the detective sternly, “i may want you to give evidence against the others.”

“then — i’ll — give — it — in-kingdom — come,” sighed prince. a fleeting smile came into his face and he whispered very faintly, “how many — pigs — does — a — sow — have — in-a — litter mr. larose?” then closing his eyes, his jaw dropped, and he was dead.

larose had all his wits about him, and darting to the door, crouched down and peering in all directions, fully expecting that the noise of his automatic would be bringing someone at once to the spot. but apparently no one had heard it, for everything was quite. two men with rifles upon their shoulders were talking earnestly together by the farmhouse door, while another one, also armed, was right in front of the stables, about a quarter of a mile away, and walking slowly along, what looked, to the detective, like the slightly raised bank of another big drain. the other alsatian was not far from this last man, and moving backwards and forwards, nosing, as before, close to the ground.

larose considered quickly. it was obvious that for the time being he could not move from where he was, but he knew prince would be missed soon, and someone would come to look for him. then his dead body would be ghastly evidence that all was not well on black gallows and that there was an enemy in the camp.

so he made no bones about the matter, and quickly carrying the body over to the trusses of straw in the corner, making sure, however, that no blood dripped as he did so, laid it upon the top of them and then thrust it well down at the back, pushing the disturbed trusses again into their places. then he heaved up the long board that had fallen from the loft, and with some difficulty, got it back into the position it had originally been in. then he hid himself again among the hay.

half an hour passed before anything happened. then another man, a stranger to him, appeared, closely followed, to his horror, by the alsatian.

“prince,” called out the man, “where are you?” and then, seeing the shed empty, he kicked viciously at the dog who had suddenly become very excited and wanted to rush on in front of him. “get out, you beast,” he cried. “come away from that carcase,” and reluctantly the dog obeyed, going, however, no further away from the door than a few yards and then sitting down upon his haunches and whimpering softly.

the man cursed that prince had left before finishing everything, and snatching a long white bag from a shelf, lifted it up round the carcase of the sheep and tied it at the top. then calling the dog to heel, he walked off in the direction of the house.

“whew!” whistled larose, “and there may be trouble again from that quarter. the dog may come back.”

and come back again the dog did, in a few minutes. he slipped in the shed like a shadow, and taking no notice of the now shrouded carcase, nosed backwards and forwards over the floor.

“it’s his master he smells, as i expected,” breathed larose. “good heavens!” and he groped stealthily for the bayonet that was lying by his side.

the detective had already rehearsed the scene that was about to follow, and when the great beast jumped up upon the heap of straw and thrust his head down towards where the body of his master was hidden, he bent down over the loft side and, selecting the exact spot, drove the bayonet into the animal up to its very hilt, just below the left shoulder.

there was no need for any second blow, indeed he could not have given it, for the alsatian, with just one long-drawn sigh, rolled over on to the floor, his heart transfixed by the deadly length of steel that had been plunged into it.

once again larose lost not a moment of time, and five minutes later was back again in the loft with all traces of his last encounter removed, as far as possible.

the dog slept with his master, and as their caresses had mingled in life, so now their bloods were mingling in death.

the detective’s eyes were beaming now, and for the first time since he had arrived upon black gallows, his face was lit with triumph.

“and now things will be so much easier,” ran his exultant thoughts, “and if those devils had not got their rifles, i’d chance it straightaway. anyhow, if i have to wait here all day, directly its dark, i’ll get away from this cursed fen, and before dawn we’ll have the place surrounded.”

so all day long he waited patiently for the coming of darkness, with nothing happening except that, late in the afternoon, a man, again a stranger to him, came and fetched the sheep carcase, remarking, as he gave a curious glance round, “bah! how this place stinks of blood.”

then towards half-past five larose did a foolish thing, for, in the half light of evening, thinking that dusk had at last fallen sufficiently, he crept out round to the corner of the building and stood for a few minutes, crouching by the wall to get his bearings.

but the move proved almost disastrous to him, for suddenly three bullets in quick succession zipped upon the wall near him; he heard the crackings of a rifle, and turning in a startled jump to see from which direction the bullets were coming, he saw a man barely a hundred yards away, down upon one knee and taking deliberate aim to fire again.

then things happened very quickly. the detective raced to the other corner to gain the shelter of the side of the building and two more bullets zipped as he ran, the wind from one of them actually driving across his face, but he reached the corner in safety and with no set purpose in his mind, turned and began to run down the side.

there, however, another ghastly surprise awaited him, for he had not gone a dozen yards before he heard a car being started up near by, and then a search-light broke the dusk, swept quickly round, and picked him up as clearly as if it had been broad day.

but if, on the one hand the search-light presaged sudden death, on the other it pointed to a possible way of escape, for he suddenly became aware that the open doorway of the building was close beside him, and without a moment’s hesitation he plunged into it and banged to the heavy door.

there could only have been the merest fraction of a second between him and disaster, for, as the door clanged, a perfect fusillade of bullets broke through it.

he shot the two big bolts into their sockets and then started to run up the stairs. breathlessly gaining a small landing, he came upon two doors. one of them was open, but the other, shut, with the key in the lock. the open door led into three rooms, but there was no one in them. the first was a living-room, with the table laid already for a meal. beyond that a small kitchen, and then came a bedroom, with three beds in it. at the far end of this last room was another door and opening it, he saw a narrow flight of stairs leading to somewhere down below. there was no key to this door, but he immediately pulled up a bed against it, so that it could not be opened without noise.

then he ran back on to the landing and tried the handle of the closed door. it was locked, but with a great thrill at his heart, he turned the key, and thrusting the door wide open, stepped into the room beyond, to find himself, as he had expected, in the presence of the amazed and startled lady ardane and sir parry bardell.

“good evening!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “i’m a bit late, but i’ve come at last, as you see.”