“I have now completed the arrangements according to your instructions. The town is only twenty miles from Dunford, and the road between is excellent. Besides, the moon will oblige on the night appointed. I am no judge of cars, but think I have engaged the sort you require. . . . I saw the postman yesterday. He is fairly on the mend now, but worrying at not hearing from Miss Kitty. Herewith three snapshots of him, taken while sitting on the hospital veranda. By the way, I gathered that he would not seek to lift a finger against Corrie without Kitty’s permission. . . . Corrie is a hard nut. He takes me for a friend of Kitty’s late father, and I have allowed him to think that my first inquiry was prompted more by a belated sense of duty than by any real interest in the girl. I dropped into the post-office about closing time last night, and found him less disinclined to talk. He said nothing directly against his niece, merely remarking that in the face of his advice she had gone to London, where she had friends, and that while she had not yet written, he hoped he might be able to hand me her address before long. To extract truth from such a person will take a bit of doing. The sister, I learn from the gossips, has been ill, though not seriously so, for the last few days. I should add that Corrie goes about saying that the burning of his mill was a piece of foul play. A man told me to-day that it was not insured. . . . No word of Symington. He has not been seen in Dunford for more than a week. As far as I can gather, no one would regret his permanent absence. . . . I see Zeniths have jumped to £8. Do you still say they are worth £12? I almost wish I had taken your advice, and pawned my shirt! . . . Well, I am looking forward to our meeting here on Thursday with pleasure, not to say curiosity. What’s the game, I wonder? But, perhaps, you will have found Kitty and Colin before then—God make it so . . . ” * * * * * Risk laid the letter on the table, placed the snapshots in an envelope, directed it, and rang for his man. “Sharp, take a taxi and deliver this to Mr. Boon. Say I’m sorry it comes a little late, but that he must get his men to work harder. Tell him to spare neither men nor money. There must be no failure to-night. I am going out presently. If I’m late, don’t wait up. Pack my bag for one night; include both my revolvers. Call me at eight; breakfast at nine; and a taxi for nine-thirty.” An hour later Risk was at the flat in Long Acre. “This won’t do, Hilda,” he said kindly. “You’re not going to help matters by breaking down. Have you been out to-day?”