There was no reply. He dashed in the direction he thought Jack o' Judgment must have taken and again missed. With a curse he turned off in another direction and then suddenly glimpsed a shape before him and leapt at it. He was flung back with little or no effort, and stood bewildered, for the coat his hand had touched was rough and he had felt metal buttons. "A soldier!" he gasped. "Who are you?" "Steady," said the other; "don't get rattled, Pinto." "Who are you?" asked Pinto again. "My name is Stafford King," said the soldier, "and I think I shall want you." Pinto half turned to go, but was gripped. "You can go back to Huddersfield and pack your boxes," said Stafford King. "You won't leave the town except by my permission." "What do you mean?" demanded Pinto, breathing heavily. "I mean," said Stafford King, "that the unfortunate man you tried to blackmail must prosecute whatever be the consequence to himself. Now, Pinto, you've a grand chance of turning King's evidence." Pinto made no reply. He was collecting his thoughts. Then, after a while, he said: "I'll talk about that later, King. I'm staying at the Huddersfield Arms. I'll meet you there in an hour." Stafford King did not move until the sound of Pinto's footsteps had died away. Then he began a systematic search, for he too was anxious to end the mystery of Jack o' Judgment. He had followed Pinto when he dashed from the room and had heard the Portuguese calling upon Jack o' Judgment to surrender. That mysterious individual, who was obviously lying low, could not be very far away. He was in a shrubbery which proved later to be a clump of rhododendrons, in the centre of which was a summer-house. To the heart of this shrubbery led three paths, one of which Stafford discovered quite close at hand. The sound of gravel under his feet gave him an idea, and he began walking backward till he came to the shadow of a tree, and then, simulating the sound of retreating footsteps, he waited. After a while he heard a rustle, but did not move. Somebody was coming cautiously through the bushes, and that somebody appeared as a shadowy, indistinct figure, not twenty yards away. Only the keenest eyesight could have detected it, and still Stafford waited. Presently he heard the soft crunch of gravel under its feet, and at that moment leapt towards it. The figure stood as though paralysed for a second, and then, turning quickly, fled back to the heart of the bushes. Before it had gone a dozen paces Stafford had reached it, and his arm was about its neck. "My friend," he breathed, "I don't know what I'm to do with you now I've got you, but I certainly am going to register your face for future reference." "No, no," said a muffled voice from behind the mask. "No, no, don't; I beg of you!"