Mr. Drayton was seriously considering as to the advisability of withdrawing his men, when one of them brought him a piece of information which startled him considerably. This man, Tidey by name, had been on watch in a clump of trees a short distance from the cottage, when, so he averred, he saw a corner of one of the blinds drawn on one side, and a man’s face peer out along the road, as if expecting some one. Tidey was positive that it was a man’s face. He was equally certain it was not the face of Mr. Bristow, which was well known to him by sight. That it could not be Mr. Bristow was proved in another way, by another man, who had seen that gentleman leave the cottage only two hours previously. Mr. Drayton decided to strike while the iron was hot. He went at once to Colonel Chumley, one of the magistrates—he would not go to Sir Harry Cripps again, who, indeed, happened not to be sitting that day—and having deposed to his belief that Lionel Dering was at that moment hiding at Alder Cottage, he at once obtained the requisite warrant, authorizing him to search the premises in question. Half an hour later, followed by four picked men in plain clothes, Mr. Drayton set out for the cottage. CHAPTER V. HIDE AND SEEK When Lionel Dering found himself safe inside Alder Cottage, with his wife’s arms around his neck, the door locked behind him, and no sounds of pursuit in the distance, he broke down utterly, and, big, strong man though he was, he cried like a child. For days afterwards he asked nothing more than to lie on the sofa in his wife’s dressing-room, holding her hand in his, letting his eyes rest on her face, and feeling her soothing presence over and around him like rain on a desert land. The bow that had been bent so long was now unstrung; the terrible ordeal was at an end. The rebound was so immense, the change so sudden and wonderful, from the imminent prospect of a disgraceful and horrible death to comparative safety and the loving shelter of his wife’s arms, that mind and body were alike shaken for a little while: and, for the first forty-eight hours after his escape, Lionel Dering was like a man just beginning to recover from some lingering and painful illness, and had to be waited upon and tended as though he were a veritable invalid. But joy rarely kills; and basking in the warmth and sunlight of his wife’s love, Lionel breathed an atmosphere of happiness beyond what words could tell, which, like ozone to a sick man, gave him back by degrees his health both of mind and body, and endowed him with strength and vigour to fight the stern battle still before him.