"What do you mean?" "For friend Barraclough?" "Idiot," she retorted. "As if I had any feelings." "He's a decent looking chap." "Oh, go away," she said. And he went--smiling. Auriole waited until the front door closed, then picked up the telephone receiver and gave a number. "I want to speak to Lord Almont Frayne. Oh, is it? Good morning. Yes, that's right. A. B. was kidnapped last night at twelve thirty. They've taken him to Laurence's house in Totteridge. What? Yes, perfectly satisfied. One of their agents, a man named Harrison Smith, has been here a minute ago. He seems to be suspicious about something. Thinks you all seem too contented. He'll be hanging about outside your flat this morning. Yes, that's all. Oh, Lord Almont, wish you'd explain the situation to me--can't understand it at all. Wouldn't make any difference. No, but what was to be gained by letting Anthony Barraclough be kidnapped? If you won't say it doesn't matter but it seems stupid not to trust one's own side. Oh, Mr. Cassis. I doubt if he'd trust himself. 'Bye!" She hung up the receiver with a little gesture of annoyance and crossed to the writing table. From a small drawer above the pigeon holes she took a photograph of a man in flannels. It was signed "Yours for keeps, Tony." She read the inscription and smiled--and it was not a very kindly smile. * * * * * * Harrison Smith, as a prospective buyer, proved extremely tiresome to the staff of the Motor Show Rooms in Park Lane. He shilly-shallied from one car to another asking rather stupid questions for the best part of two hours. The exquisitely dressed salesman poured forth his eulogies in vain. Nothing could make Mr. Smith decide. He would listen attentively to long recitals of the respective virtues of this make and that and then would gaze out into the street as though lost in contemplation. In the midst of listening to a highly technical discourse on the subject of cantilever springs, without a word of warning he leapt into the interior of a big Siddeley Saloon and closed the door behind him. The salesman looked at Mr. Smith in amazement but Mr. Smith was looking into the street along which three very serious-looking men were slowly progressing. Two of them supported the third who was very old and very bent. His face was set in an expression of acute anguish. They helped him into a waiting automobile, shook their heads at each other and proceeded in different directions. The automobile started up and moved away. The old man's head was sunk upon his chest. When all three were out of view Harrison Smith emerged from the Siddeley Saloon, glanced at his watch, thanked the salesman, said he would call again and passed out of the showrooms. On the pavement he halted and, like the three gentlemen who had occupied his attention, he too shook his head. "They seem pretty well in the depths now," he reflected. "Wonder if I'm making a fool of myself."