Seton Pasha tossed a match into the road.

"My official business is finished for the day," he replied. "I place
myself unreservedly in your hands."

"Well, then," began Gray--and paused.

A long, low car, the chauffeur temporarily detained by the stoppage of
a motorbus ahead, had slowed up within three yards of the spot where
they were standing. Gray seized Seton's arm in a fierce grip.

"Seton," he said, his voice betraying intense excitement, "Look! There
is Monte Irvin!"

"In the car?"

"Yes, yes! But--he has two police with him! Seton, what can it mean?"

The car moved away, swinging to the right across the traffic stream
and clearly heading for old Bond Street. Quentin Gray's mercurial
color deserted him, and he turned to Seton a face grown suddenly pale.

"Good God," he whispered, "something has happened to Rita!"

Neglectful of his personal safety, he plunged out into the traffic,
dodging this way and that, and making after Monte Irvin's car. Of the
fact that his friend was close beside him he remained unaware until,
on the corner of old Bond Street, a firm grip settled upon his
shoulder. Gray turned angrily. But the grip was immovable, and he