turned eagerly to Bell.

"Tell me the worst," she cried. "Tell me all there is to know."

"Your niece's sufferings are over," Bell said, gravely; "I have no more
to tell you."

A profound silence followed, broken presently by angry voices outside.
Then Williams looked in at the door and beckoned Enid to him. His face
was wreathed in an uneasy grin.

"Mr. Henson has got away," he said. "Blest if I can say how. And they
dogs have rolled him about, and tore his clothes, and made such a picture
of him as you never saw. And a sweet temper he's in!"

"Where is he now?" Enid asked. "There are people here he must not see."

"Well, he came back in through the study window, swearing dreadful for so
respectable a gentleman. And he went right up to his room, after ordering
whisky and soda-water."

Enid flew back to the drawing-room. Not a moment was to be lost. At any
hazard Reginald Henson must be kept in ignorance of the presence of
strangers. A minute later, and the darkness of the night had swallowed
them up. Williams fastened the lodge-gates behind them, and they turned
their faces in the direction of Rottingdean Road.

"A strange night's work," David said, presently.

"Aye, but pregnant with result," Bell answered. There was a stern,