Corrie glared at his fellow-conspirator. “I intend to trust ye, Symington,” he said slowly. “Same time, I warn ye, if ye try to get the better o’ me, I’ll take the risk o’ handing the letter to Kitty Carstairs and telling her the whole cursed story.” For an instant Symington’s gaze was murderous. Then he laughed. “Canny man, canny man!” he sneered. “If Kitty would forgive you—well, let that pass. Meantime, I want the loan of twenty pounds. There ought to have been a registered letter for me this morning. If it comes to-morrow, you must re-direct it to London. Now I’ll walk down to the shop with you and get the cash.” “All right,” said Corrie reluctantly, after a pause. “But ye mun be careful what ye say before Rachel. I doubt if she’s on our side now. Let her think ye’re considering about giving me back the Zeniths for the girl. D’ye see?” “Very well. Now that she’s got Kitty’s address she might easily make trouble.” “I wish,” said Corrie, as they went down the road, “I wish ye would tell me how ye’re going to get a hold o’ her. Ha’ ye got a plan?” “Perhaps I have.” Symington smiled darkly, and changed the subject. * * * * * Meanwhile Colin was seated in an exceedingly slow train on his way to the hospital where Sam the postman lay. Afterwards he would go on to Glasgow, and thence hack to London by a line that did not pass near Dunford. In this he was simply obeying the instructions of Mr. Risk. CHAPTER XVI THAT nearly a fortnight should have passed without any effort on Symington’s part to “get a hold” of Kitty may seem to the reader to require some explanation. Possibly sufficient will be found in a conversation between Risk and Colin, which took place on the twelfth day after the latter’s call on the postmaster of Dunford. Colin had returned from Scotland, only to be dispatched, within a few hours, to an address in Amsterdam with a belt full of finely broken bottle glass next his skin, which he believed to be a fortune in uncut precious stones. Back from Holland he found written mstructions to proceed to Madrid to fetch a little box purporting to contain 3,000 sovereigns, and actually concealing about half a hundredweight of lead. And now, a trifle fagged, he was sitting in Risk’s study, hoping to hear that he had done well. Risk did not keep him long in suspense. After a few questions respecting the last journey he said, rather abruptly—