had opened the door of the lift. One of the voices he failed to
understand, but with a thrill he recognised the fact that the speaker
was talking in either Spanish or Portuguese. Instantly it flashed into
his mind that this was the language most familiar to the man who called
himself Mark Fenwick. Beyond doubt he was quite right when he
identified this last development with the actors in the dramatic events
earlier in the evening.

"Now don't be long about it," a hoarse voice whispered. "There are two
more cases to send up, and two more to come down here. Has that van come
along, or shall we have to wait until morning?"

"The van is there right enough," another hoarse voice said. "We have
the stuff out on the pavement. Let's have the last lot here, and get it
up at once."

Gurdon could hear the sound of labored breathing as if the unseen man was
struggling with some heavy burden. Presently some square object was
deposited on the floor of the lift. It seemed to slip from someone's
hands, and dropped with a heavy thud that caused the lift to vibrate like
a thing of life."

"Clumsy fool," a voice muttered. "You might have dropped that on my foot.
What did you want to let go for?"

"I couldn't help it," another voice grumbled. "I didn't know it was half
so heavy. Besides, the rope broke."

"Oh, are you going to be there all night?"--another voice, with a
suggestion of a foreign accent in it, asked impatiently. "Don't forget