who sat quite close together in the dark corner. His gaze developed into
a stare, then a look of triumph. A moment later he was pointing out the
couple to his companions, all three peering at them with excited eyes.

Brock's face went red under the rude stare; he was on the point of
resenting it when the Englishman stepped forward. The American arose at
once.

"I've been looking for you, Mr. Medcroft--if that is your name," said
the stranger, halting in front of the table. "My name is Githens,
Scotland Yard. These men have an order for your arrest. I'd advise you
to go with them peaceably. The young woman will not be bothered. She is
free to go."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Brock angrily. Suddenly he felt a
chill of misgiving. What had Roxbury Medcroft been doing that he should
be subject to arrest?

"You are masquerading here as Roxbury Medcroft the architect. You are
not Medcroft. I have watched you for weeks. To-day we have learned that
Medcroft is in London. Your linen is marked with a letter B. You've
drawn money on a letter of credit together with a woman who signs
herself as Edith F. Medcroft. There is something wrong with you, Mr. B.,
and these officers, acting for the hotel and the State Bank, have been
instructed to detain you pending an investigation."

Mr. Githens was vindicating himself. He may have been a trifle
disconcerted by Miss Fowler's musical laugh and Brock's plain guffaw,
but he managed to preserve a stiff dignity. "It's no laughing matter.
Officers, this is your man. Take him in charge. Madam, as I understand