“Capital!” exclaims Lord Westray, with a laugh. “And does she still go under the name of Mrs. de Lara?” “Yes, my lord.” “Now, Mr. Trackem, what are your plans?” Mr. Trackem puts on a mysterious look, walks quickly to the door of the sanctum, and opens it suddenly. “What do you want?” he inquires sharply of some one without. “If you please, sir, I was just coming in to see if his lordship had rung,” answers Stuggins stolidly, who had never quitted the outside of the door since we last saw him, and who had been listening intently all the time. “Lord Westray did _not_ ring,” answers Mr. Trackem, coldly, “and you are _not_ required.” “Oh! very good, sir,” and Stuggins retires defeated, and much put about. Mr. Trackem watches the butler’s retreating form till it is out of sight, then he closes the door softly, and returns to his original place near Lord Westray. “These are my plans, my lord. I propose to take down two of my men by rail. Two will be ample, as more might attract attention and be in the way. I shall send a brougham and smart pair of trotters the day before. I have ascertained by observation that Mrs. de Lara invariably goes for a walk in the evening by herself, that her servants do not sit up for her, as she writes in her study late at night, and I have further ascertained that she is frequently in the habit of leaving the house before any one is up, and coming up to town. This is a most valuable point, as her absence will attract no attention. But to be safe I have possessed myself of some of her writing paper and a sample of her writing, and a note will be duly left, apprising her maid of her departure, and intention to remain in London for a few days.” “By Jove, Mr. Trackem, you are a smart one! I don’t see how your plan can fail,” exclaims the wicked earl with a laugh. “I never fail, my lord, in any of these little businesses,” answers Mr. Trackem, with a suave smile. “But ain’t you afraid of the police finding you out?” inquires Lord Westray, just a little nervously. Mr. Trackem laughs outright. “Police!” he ejaculates contemptuously. “What’s the good of them? Think they know a lot, know nothing. Why, my lord, the police are useless in matters of this sort; and as for detectives, why, it’s easy to green them up the wrong way. I don’t fear them. I’m a match for every noodle detective in and around Scotland Yard, I am,” and Mr. Trackem gives a self-satisfied laugh. “Well, Mr. Trackem, when is it to be?” inquires the earl anxiously, after a short lull in the conversation. “It’s to be the day after to-morrow,” answers Mr. Trackem. “To-morrow my men go down. I shall follow, and just give them a squint at the place, and then they’ll be all prepared for the next day. Never fear, my lord; by Wednesday she shall be in your power.”