He would have wondered even more acutely had he seen Mr. Torrington straighten up and smile as the big ear turned into the Park through Stanhope Gate. Every trace of anguish had gone from the old man's face. To speak the truth he looked extremely well pleased with himself. Harrison Smith walked slowly down Piccadilly debating in his mind whether or no he should abandon his investigations. He stopped at the bottom of Clarges Street to allow a taxi, laden with luggage, to pass. The taxi had its cover down and inside he had a glimpse of a girl with a happy, smiling face. The girl was Isabel Irish and the brief glimpse decided him. "One more cast," he said and jumped into an empty cab that was coming down the slope. "Follow that chap in front," he cried. "The one with box on top. Don't lose sight of him whatever happens." He slammed the door and settled down on the cushions. Pursuer and pursued threaded their way through the traffic to Waterloo Station. CHAPTER 14. "OFF THE BEATEN TRACK." Anthony Barraclough's mother was seventy-eight and still a sport. She loved her garden, she loved her son and she loved adventure. She was very fond of life, of punctuality, of the church, and of good manners. She was deeply attached to the memory of her late husband and her late sovereign, Queen Victoria, upon whom, with certain reservations, she patterned herself. The reservations were a taste for stormy literature and a habit of wearing her ice-white hair bobbed. The bobbing of her hair, and it used to be waist long, was a tribute to patriotism. She sacrificed her "ends" in 1914 to give a lead to hesitating girls of the neighbourhood. This she conceived to be a duty and one that would materially expedite the close of hostilities. Mrs. Barraclough lived in the sweetly named village of Clyst St. Mary where you will find Devon at its gentlest. She was waited upon by four strapping girls who bore the names Flora, Agnes, Jane and Cynthia. These young women arrived in a body during the spring of 1919 and took possession of the house. Flora who was spokesman of the party bore a note from Anthony in which he wrote-- "Mother Darling, Am sending these girls to look after you. No more servant worries. They are tophole. Flora and Jane saved my life when I was in France. Love, TONY." That was all. Being a dutiful mother, Mrs. Barraclough asked no questions;--instead she arranged accommodation and bought some new dimity chintzes for the top floor bedrooms.