He drew his pipe from his pocket and proceeded to fill it. His air was that of a chess player who knows that he can mate his opponent in two moves. "It's a damned lie!" roared one of the men, whilst Goldschmidt shrieked something that was unintelligible. "You drove out by way of Putney Hill, Esher, and Clandon Cross Roads. You backed the car to within two hundred yards of 'The Grove,' where you all got out with the exception of the driver. You then entered 'The Grove,' taking cover behind a large clump of rhododendrons." "It's a damned lie," choked Goldschmidt. "By the way," continued Malcolm Sage, "your fair friend drove out in the tonneau; but returned seated beside the driver, and one of you was nearly left behind and entered the car after it had started." The men looked at one another in bewilderment. "You, Goldschmidt, carried an umbrella," continued Malcolm Sage, "and took cover behind the holly bush; but you came out a little too soon, hence that nose. Burns was playing possum. You were rather anxious for a smoke too. I am a smoker myself." A stream of profanity burst from Goldschmidt's lips. "You see I am in a position to prove my points," said Malcolm Sage calmly. "Oh! you are, are you?" sneered the spokesman, as he moved a little closer to Malcolm Sage, "and I am in the position to prove that we're four to one." "Three to one," corrected Malcolm Sage quietly. "Your friend," indicating Goldschmidt, with a nod, "is scarcely----" He was interrupted by a stifled oath from the armchair. "Good old Nigger!" murmured one of the men by the door. "Well, and what about it?" demanded Nigger. "If Burns is delivered over to me within two hours, unharmed and in fighting trim, and a cheque for 1,000 pounds is paid to St. Timothy's Hospital by noon to-morrow, there will be no prosecution, and I will not divulge your names. If not, during the next twenty-four hours, London will probably have its first experience of lynch-law." With that Malcolm Sage struck a match and proceeded to light his pipe. "That all?" sneered the man. "Ain't there nothink else you'd like?" "I cannot recall anything else at the moment," said Malcolm Sage imperturbably, as he looked across at the fellow over the top of the burning match. "You dirty nark," burst out the man by the door, who had hitherto remained silent. "A pretty sort of stool-pigeon you are." "Spyin' on us, wasn't you?" demanded Nigger, edging nearer to Malcolm Sage. "It's ten minutes past four," remarked Malcolm Sage coolly, as he glanced at his wrist-watch. "Oh, it is, is it?" was the retort, "and in another hour it'll be ten minutes past five." "I have to be back at my office by half-past four." Malcolm Sage looked about for some receptacle in which to throw the spent match. "You don't say so." Again Nigger edged a little nearer; but Malcolm Sage appeared not to notice it. "Well, I may as well tell you that you don't leave here until eleven o'clock to-morrow night, see?"