However, he wired again to Monte Carlo: "Yes. Locate Mrs. Hillmer, if possible. I will then telegraph instructions to local police." When this message was despatched he felt easier in his mind. The chase was at least getting warm. "I cannot arrest him yet," he reflected; "but if I once get fairly on his track, I will not lose sight of him again if I can help it. I suppose it will mean a trip to Italy for me. I must lay the evidence before the Treasury to see if a warrant is justified." Two days passed without incident. Late on Sunday evening, February 5, a Continental telegram was handed to him at Scotland Yard: "Mrs. Hillmer's present address, Hotel Imperiale, Florence." He promptly wired the Chief of Police at Florence: "Keep Mrs. Hillmer, English visitor, Hotel Imperiale, under surveillance. Also watch her associates, particularly Englishman named Corbett, if there. Letter follows." "That's a good stroke of business," said he, when the message was sent. "Now we shan't be long!" It was in contented mood that he lit a cigar in his office, before walking home for dinner, but a messenger with the badge of the Commercial Cable Company in Northumberland Avenue bustled past him. "Who's the cable for, boy?" said the detective. "White, Scotland Yard," was the answer. "That's me." He tore open the envelope, and found that the contents were coded, but he caught the word "Corbett" amidst the unintelligible jumble. With some excitement he rushed into the office to find the A B C Code, and after some confusion in deciphering the words, this was what he read: "Regret delay in replying to your communication. Corbett left New York in _White Star_ steamer due Liverpool, February 4." "February 4? Why, that's yesterday. Good gracious, he's here all the time. Well, of all the--" But exclamations were useless. Calling another plain-clothes man to accompany him, he drove off in mad haste to Sloane Square. About an hour later Bruce received a typewritten slip gummed on to a telegraph form. It was from Florence, and ran as follows: "My brother wildly excited regarding allegations. We start for London to-night. Meanwhile fearful complications expected. Mr. Corbett, of Wyoming, my brother's friend, is probably occupying his flat, and may be arrested. We both trust you to save him. Wire us at Modane or Gare du Nord. "GWENDOLINE HILLMER." So Bruce also raced off in a hansom towards Sloane Square. CHAPTER XX MR. SYDNEY H. CORBETT The detective glanced up at Bruce's chambers while passing through Victoria Street. "I wonder what he would think if he knew what we are after," he said to his colleague, one of the two who accompanied him when the barrister was arrested by mistake. "What _are_ we after?" said the policeman. "This time we are going to nail the right Corbett," was the confident answer. "Will we cart him off?"