“It is in a rabbit-hole by that German aeroplane,” said Miss Brewster. “When you would not heed my warning about that odious-looking pilot, I took the packet out of your overcoat pocket—I thought the jewels would be safer with me than with you. And as that man attacked you from behind, I let the packet slide into a rabbit-hole at my feet and they saw nothing in the dark. It seemed to me it was time I took charge. They’ll never find that packet in the dark. But I know the spot, and when it’s light and we’re free, we’ll . . .” Her head drooped suddenly forward. She had fainted. Out of the night resounded, loud and challenging, the roar of propellers . . . At noon next day the Chief received Desmond Okewood and Mary Brewster. They found Francis Okewood in the office with a grey-haired man of distinguished appearance who was in the last stage of restless anxiety. It was to him that the Chief, having received it from the hands of Mary Brewster, presented the chamois leather packet sodden with damp and stained with Kentish marl. With trembling hands he examined the seal, and, having found it intact, muttered a broken phrase of thanks and fairly bolted from the room, carrying the packet under his arm. The Chief shook his head and laughed. “Cabinet Ministers have great responsibilities,” he remarked, “only they are too fond of shoving them off on other people’s shoulders. And now, Miss Brewster, to hear your story.” But Mary Brewster, who had faced The Man with the Clubfoot unabashed, was tongue-tied in the Chief’s rather forbidding presence. It was Desmond who ultimately narrated their adventures of the night ending with their release at dawn by an astonished fisherman who, on his way to inspect his lobster pots, had answered Desmond’s cries for help. “They drugged and kidnapped the pilot I had engaged for you,” the Chief said after Miss Brewster had taken her leave, “and slipped their man in his place. I have here a telegram from Brussels about it. There’s been a leakage somewhere which,” he added grimly “is being investigated. In the mean time, thanks to you, Okewood, and to this young lady, with whom I intend to hold some converse regarding her future career, we’re rid, it would seem—for the present at any rate—of Clubfoot and his gang.” His manner grew reflective. “I wonder,” he said, “when and where we shall see him again!” A silence fell on the three men. Each felt that a fourth was present, invisible save in the mind’s eye—a vast figure of a man who, with misshapen foot drawn up beside him, leaned on his crutch-stick and glared at them defiance from savage, cruel eyes . . . THE END Transcriber’s Notes --Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication. --Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.