"I mean that you won't last an hour after the story of this night's
work gets out."

Grady's colour slowly faded as he met the burning and contemptuous
gaze Godfrey turned upon him. As for me, an awful fear had gripped my
heart.

"Do you mean to say it wasn't Piggott?" stammered Grady, at last.

Godfrey laughed scornfully.

"No, you blithering idiot!" he said. "It wasn't Pigot. It was
Crochard himself!"

And he stalked out, slamming the door behind him.




CHAPTER XXVI

THE FATE OF M. PIGOT


Whatever may have been Grady's defects of insight and imagination, he
was energetic enough when thoroughly aroused. Almost before the echo
of that slamming door had died away, he was beside the sergeant's
desk.

"Get out the reserves," he ordered, "and have the other wagon around.