“Your partner in sin, where is he? I am going to take him and tear him into little bits and stuff him down his throat and make him swallow himself.” “Fair enough,” said Mr. Brown. “Perfectly in order,” said Mr. Delancey. Jane uttered a stricken cry. “William,” she screamed, “I can explain all.” “All?” said Mr. Delancey. “All?” said Mr. Brown. “All,” said Jane. “All?” said William. “All,” said Jane. William sneered bitterly. “I’ll bet you can’t,” he said. “I’ll bet I can,” said Jane. “Well?” “I came here to save Anastatia.” “Anastatia?” “Anastatia.” “My sister?” “Your sister.” “His sister Anastatia,” explained Mr. Brown to Mr. Delancey in an undertone. “What from?” asked William. “From Rodney Spelvin. Oh, William, can’t you understand?” “No, I’m dashed if I can.” “I, too,” said Mr. Delancey, “must confess myself a little fogged. And you, Reggie?” “Completely, Cyril,” said Mr. Brown, removing his bowler hat with a puzzled frown, examining the maker’s name, and putting it on again. “The poor child is infatuated with this man.” “With the bloke Spelvin?” “Yes. She is coming here with him at four o’clock.” “Important,” said Mr. Brown, producing a note-book and making an entry. “Important, if true,” agreed Mr. Delancey. “But I heard you making the appointment with the bloke Spelvin over the ’phone,” said William. “He thought I was Anastatia. And I came here to save her.” * * * * * William was silent and thoughtful for a few moments. “It all sounds very nice and plausible,” he said, “but there’s just one thing wrong. I’m not a very clever sort of bird, but I can see where your story slips up. If what you say is true, where is Anastatia?” “Just coming in now,” whispered Jane. “Hist!” “Hist, Reggie!” whispered Mr. Delancey. They listened. Yes, the front door had banged, and feet were ascending the staircase. “Hide!” said Jane, urgently. “Why?” said William. “So that you can overhear what they say and jump out and confront them.” “Sound,” said Mr. Delancey. “Very sound,” said Mr. Brown. The two detectives concealed themselves in the alcove. William retired behind the curtains in front of the window. Jane dived behind the Chesterfield. A moment later the door opened. Crouching in her corner, Jane could see nothing, but every word that was spoken came to her ears; and with every syllable her horror deepened. “Give me your things,” she heard Rodney say, “and then we’ll go upstairs.” Jane shivered. The curtains by the window shook. From the direction of the alcove there came a soft scratching sound, as the two detectives made an entry in their note-books. For a moment after this there was silence. Then Anastatia uttered a sharp, protesting cry. “Ah, no, no! Please, please!” “But why not?” came Rodney’s voice. “It is wrong--wrong.” “I can’t see why.” “It is, it is! You must not do that. Oh, please, please don’t hold so tight.”