In this mysterious nocturnal disappearance of Raphael Craig he saw the hand of the real Simon Lock. During the whole of that strange interview which had taken place in the morning it had seemed to Richard that Simon Lock had been acting a part--had, at any rate, not conducted himself with that overbearing and arrogant masterfulness and unscrupulousness for which he had a reputation. Richard decided in his own mind that Simon Lock had arranged for this abduction, in case of necessity, before his visit to Raphael Craig. It was more than possible that he might have urged his visit chiefly as a visit of observation, to enable him to complete his plans for exercising force to compel Raphael Craig to agree to his wishes. With painful clearness Richard now perceived that Simon Lock was, in fact, fighting for all that he held most dear--perhaps for his very life and liberty, in addition to the whole of his fortune, for Richard knew that when these colossal financiers do happen to topple over into ruin the subsequent investigation of their affairs often leads to criminal prosecution, a process disagreeable to the financier, but pleasant enough to the public. A man such as Simon Lock had, therefore, a double, or, at least, a highly intensified, motive in avoiding financial failure. Yes, thought Richard, Simon Lock would stop at nothing to compel Raphael Craig to give way. His mind wandered curiously to tales of the Spanish Inquisition, and to the great torture scene in Balzac’s ‘Catherine de Medici.’ He involuntarily shuddered, and then with an effort he drew his mind back again to the management of the car. This vehicle, new and in beautiful order, and charged for a journey of a hundred and twenty miles, travelled in the most unexceptionable manner. The two and a half miles to the North-Western station at Dunstable were traversed in precisely five minutes, in spite of the fact that the distance included a full mile of climbing. The electric lights flashed along the deserted main streets of ancient Dunstable, which is only a little more sleepy at night than in the daytime. As they passed the Old Sugar-Loaf Inn a man jumped out of the stable archway and hailed them frantically. His voice echoed strangely in the wide thoroughfare. ‘What is it?’ demanded Richard, unwillingly drawing up. ‘You after a motor-car?’ the man inquired. He looked like an ostler. ‘Yes,’ said Richard. ‘Mr. Craig?’ ‘Yes,’ said Richard. ‘They stopped here,’ said the man, ‘and they told me to tell you if you came by that they’d gone to Luton, and was a-going on to Hitchin.’ ‘They! Who?’ asked Teresa. ‘The gents in the car.’ ‘Who was in the car?’ ‘Four gents.’ ‘How long since?’ ‘About half an hour, or hardly.’ ‘And was it Mr. Craig who told you they’d gone to Luton and Hitchin?’ ‘How do I know his blooming name as told me?’ exclaimed the man. ‘They gave me a shilling to stop here and tell ye, and I’ve told ye, and so good-night.’