Flora seized the envelope and made a dash for the window but hardly covered half the distance before Dirk and Smith closed in upon her, fighting for possession of the paper. It was given to Jane to translate the actual meaning of this extraordinary performance and she alone saw Barraclough take the note case swiftly from his pocket and bury it under the foliage in the basket of roses. The others were too busily engaged to attend to such a trifle. "Let them have it, Flora," said Barraclough, sweetly. "They are friends of mine. Do as I tell you." "You girls get out," gasped Harrison Smith, coming down breathlessly with the envelope, and after Flora and Jane had escaped into the garden, "Cornered, Mr. Barraclough, and we've got the goods." Anthony was smiling. "Hadn't you better make sure?" said he. The envelope was ripped open and a letter withdrawn. "What's this?" "I don't know--something my mother wrote. Oh, I wasn't born yesterday and if you think I carry the concession--search me." And to emphasise the uselessness of such a course he pulled out the lining of his inner pocket. Dirk and Smith closed in threateningly. "We mean to have that paper," they said in a single voice. "Haven't you chosen rather a public place to get it?" he answered steadily. "Oh, I realise I'm cornered, but is this the place for the kill? After all, I'm not much good to you without that paper." "Where 'ave you put it?" hissed Dirk, edging closer. "Where 'ave you put it, eh?" "Aha, my friend, that's the point. But it won't be cleared up by breathing hops in my face." The barrel of Harrison Smith's pistol pressed unpleasantly into his short ribs and Dirk's mascot "whump-whumphed" in the air above his head. "A little persuasion." "No, not even with a little persuasion." His voice rang high on a note of challenge. "If you want that paper, you'll have to accept my terms and my terms are stiff." "I can tell you 'oo'll be stiff ternight if he don't----" The sentence was never finished, for from the hall outside came the sound of Mrs. Barraclough's voice: "I may be a little late for dinner, Cook, so don't put on the potatoes till the half hour." "My mother," said Anthony, warningly. With a curse and a growl Smith and Dirk backed away, pocketing their weapons, as Mrs. Barraclough in a long motor cloak and veil came into the room. For a second she stood in the doorway, her eyes travelling from her son to the two men and back again. From the astonishment on her features Anthony read plainly enough that Flora and Jane had failed to find and advise her of the danger.