"Two can play at this game, Mr. Harleston," said a familiar voice, and
Crenshaw stepped out in front. "I'm in a better humour now, and more my
natural self; I was somewhat peeved in the Collingwood--due to late
hours, I think. By the way, it isn't an especially pleasant game for the
fellow who is it, Mr. Harleston? I'll take your answer for granted--or
we'll let my distinguished colleague answer for you--you know Mr.
Sparrow, sir?" as the man with the garrote put his head over Harleston's
shoulder. "Answer for Mr. Harleston will you, Sparrow?"

"No, it is not, Mr. Crenshaw," said Sparrow.

"I neglected to ask if you're not surprised to see me, Mr. Harleston?"

"I am indeed," said Sparrow.

"I regret that it was inconvenient for me to remain longer in your
apartment, Mr. Harleston--and so I exchanged places with your
detective," Crenshaw explained.

"I'm quite content, Mr. Crenshaw," Sparrow replied.

"Yes, certainly, and thank you, Mr. Harleston," Crenshaw smiled. "And
now, with your permission, sir, we shall inspect the contents of your
pockets, to the end that we may find a certain letter that you wot
of--also ourselves."

After the first warning twist, the garrote had been relaxed just enough
to permit Harleston breath sufficient for life, yet not sufficient for
an outcry; moreover, he knew that at the first murmur of a yell the