no light but a single candle. Here we were welcomed indeed, but
by an enemy."

"Which?" asked Heritage. "Dobson or Lean or Spittal?"

"Dobson I do not know. Leon was there. He is no Russian, but
a Belgian who was a valet in my father's service till he joined
the Bolsheviki. Next day the Lett Spidel came, and I knew that I
was in very truth entrapped. For of all our enemies he is, save
one, the most subtle and unwearied."

Her voice had trailed off into flat weariness. Again Dickson was
reminded of a child, for her arms hung limp by her side; and her
slim figure in its odd clothes was curiously like that of a boy in a
school blazer. Another resemblance perplexed him. She had a hint
of Janet--about the mouth--Janet, that solemn little girl those
twenty years in her grave.

Heritage was wrinkling his brows. "I don't think I quite understand.
The jewels? You have them with you?"

She nodded.

"These men wanted to rob you. Why didn't they do it between here
and Auchenlochan? You had no chance to hide them on the journey.
Why did they let you come here where you were in a better position
to baffle them?"

She shook her head. "I cannot explain--except, perhaps, that
Spidel had not arrived that night, and Leon may have been