“Certainly. Gang B-D hands it over to gang A by mistake, and gang A makes off with it. Gang C, very furious because it is gang A's great rival, starts in pursuit and gets it back again. Then gang B-D demands it, but gang A refuses to give it up.” “Gang C!” Mr. Brunger panted. “Gang C had got it from gang A.” “Yes, but gang A got it back again. Gang B-D--Look here,” George broke off, “that's perfectly clear about the gangs, isn't it?” “Perfectly,” said Mr. Brunger, feeling that his reputation was gone unless he said so. “Wants a little studying, that's all. Most extraordinary story I ever heard of.” “I'm dashed if I understand a word of it,” Bill put in. “Who _are_ these gangs?” George rose: “Bill, old man, I'll explain that another time. The fact is, we're wasting time by sitting here. I was very near the end when you two arrived. The cat is here--quite near here.” The detective and Bill sprang to their feet. George continued: “It's going to change hands either tonight or to-morrow. If you two will do just as I tell you and leave the rest to me, we shall bring off a capture. To-morrow evening I will explain everything.” The detective asked eagerly; “Is it a certainty?” “Almost. It will be touch and go; but if we miss it this time it is a certainty for the immediate future. I swear this, that if you keep in touch with me you will be nearer the cat than you will ever get by yourselves.” Sincerity shone in his eyes from these words. The detective and Bill were fired with zeal. “Take command, sir!” said Mr. Brunger. “All right. Come with me. I will post you for the night. We have some distance to go. Don't question me. I must think.” “Not a question,” said the detective: he was, indeed, too utterly bewildered. George murmured “Thank heaven!”; took his hat; led the way into the street. In dogged silence the three tramped through the rain. V. George led for the Clifford Arms, some two miles distant. For the present he had but one object in view. He must get rid of Bill and this infernal detective; then he must speed the cat from Temple Colney. As he walked he pushed out beyond the primary object of ridding himself of his companions; sought the future. In the first half-mile he decided that the game was up. He must deliver the Rose to his uncle immediately without waiting for the reward to be further raised. To hang on for the shadow would be, he felt, to lose the substance that would stand represented by Mr. Marrapit's gratitude. But this preposterous buoyancy of youth! The rain that beat upon his face cooled his brow; seemed to cool his brain. Before the first mile was crossed he had vacillated from his purpose. When he said to his followers “Only another half-mile,” his purpose was changed.