"Jane," gasped Flora very quickly, "these men want to see master--I've told them he isn't here----" "Quiet you," said Dirk threateningly, while Harrison Smith descended on the new arrival under a coverlet of smiles. "Come along, my dear," he said, "you're a sensible looking girl. Now where's Mister Barraclough, eh?" For a second Jane seemed lost in consideration, then shook her head stupidly and replied in a rich brogue: "Maister Bar'clough--doan't know 'un--never clapt eyes on 'un. 'Tis on'y larst week I took sarvice 'ere t'oblige." "Have you seen anyone strange about the premises today?" "Noa." "A man--tall--broad shouldered--wearing a blue suit and cap." "Oh 'im," said Jane, her face lighting up with a semblance of intelligence. "I did see some un 'bout 'arf an hour ago, 'twas." "Yes, yes. Go on." "Come out of tool shed at garden end and kept low by the 'edge." "Did he enter the house?" "Noa. 'E lit off down the road as fast as 'e cud make." "Damn! We've missed 'im," roared Dirk. "Which direction?" "Away from village 'twas." Dirk was tugging at Harrison Smith's sleeve and dragging him toward the French windows. "No, no," cried Smith, "the front way--it's quicker." The two turned at the exact second Barraclough, entirely oblivious of their presence, walked into the room. The light flashed dully on the barrel of Harrison Smith's automatic. "Put 'em up," he said, "put 'em up"--and as the order was obeyed--"Well met indeed, Barraclough, well met indeed." CHAPTER 27. A KNOTTED KERCHIEF. The timing and arrangement of the situation was flawless. Barraclough with his hands upheld, Harrison Smith masking the persuasive automatic from the view of the two girls and Dirk's fingers travelling caressingly toward the pocket in which his mascot reposed. It was hugely dramatic. Flora and Jane, robbed for the moment of the power of speech and action, clung to one another on the far side of the room, their gaze riveted on their hero, who, in this moment of crisis, was whistling a bar of ragtime and accepting defeat with smiling eyes. Harrison Smith's left hand ran professionally over the contours of Barraclough's coat to satisfy himself that there was no concealed weapon. "Most opportune," he remarked, "and we had almost despaired of seeing you." Then in a lower voice--"All right, but no games." "Thank you," said Barraclough, and lowering his arms he walked slowly to the writing table. "And now you two nice little girls," said Harrison Smith, rubbing his hands together, "cut along and pick flowers. Much too nice an evening to be spending your time indoors. Off you go." There was certainly a better chance of getting help if they could escape. Nothing was to be gained by staying. As they passed the table by which Barraclough was standing he whipped an envelope from his pocket and thrust it in Flora's hand with the words: "Post that for me--quick."