IN the study Colin rose to his feet, a prey to distress and wrath. Kitty’s message fluttered in his hand. “I had better take the midnight train,” he said, striving for control. “To what end?” Risk gently asked, while Hilda, who looked worn-out, took a step forward as if to speak. “To compel that blackguard Corrie—” “Please sit down again, Hayward,” Risk said, enforcing his words with a mild pressure. “As far as we can see it at the moment, Corrie had no direct hand in the outrage—” “He has got the Post Office authorities to act—” “The post office people had nothing to do with it. Pull yourself together, man! I’m going to give you a shock. . . You tell him, Hilda.” “Mr. Hayward,” she said, pityingly, “the person who took Kitty away was merely masquerading as a detective. He had nothing to do with the police or the Post Office. My brother learned that much within a few minutes after my giving him the alarm. . . . But don’t let this crush you. We want your help, you know.” Hilda had a way of striking the right note. Colin got a grip on himself. “Symington, of course,” he said, steadying his voice. “Oh, of course!” she assented bitterly. “And I went out and left her alone!” “At the same time,” said Risk, “Symington did not move from his hotel after eight o’clock last night, and he went North by the mail train at five this morning. That does not prove his innocence; on the other hand, it does not help to prove the other thing.” “You have set the police to work?” said Colin sharply. At that moment he hated Risk. Why on earth had not the man held up Symington the moment he doubted the latter’s right to the Zeniths? Why had he insisted on making a “game” of it all? . . . But the feeling passed. He knew too well that Risk had been as sincerely anxious to shield Kitty from anything sordid and ugly as he had been eager to serve her material interests. “No,” said Risk mildly. “I have no supercilious feelings about the methods of our police, but for Miss Carstairs’ own sake we want publicity less than ever now. I have eight men at work, who will do all that Scotland Yard could do—and I am not resting much myself.” Colin thought for a moment. “Knowing what we do,” he said, “we don’t need to look far for a motive on Symington’s part. The Zeniths alone—” “Kitty will never give in,” cried Hilda. “He’ll never force her to marry him.” “Good God!” groaned Colin, “to think of her being in that scoundrel’s power!” Risk laid a hand on his shoulder. “Blame me, if you must, Hayward,” he said quietly, “but don’t give way to despair.” After a slight pause he added: “Give me four days.” “You have a clue?” “Not quite—only the means, I hope, of obtaining one. But don’t ask me questions. My plan may be unnecessary after all. We may perhaps find the way without it.” “But, Mr. Risk, can’t you put your plan into operation at once?”