Jack Knebworth was pacing the road when the police car came flying back from Chichester. “He’s not there, hasn’t been to the station at all,” said the driver breathlessly as he flung out of the car. “He may have gone into Longvale’s house.” “I’ve seen Mr. Longvale: it was he who told me that the Captain had gone into Chichester. He must have made a mistake.” Knebworth’s jaw dropped. A great light suddenly flashed upon his mind. Longvale! There was something queer about him. Was it possible——? He remembered now that he had been puzzled by a contradictory statement the old man had made; remembered that, not once but many times, Sampson Longvale had expressed a desire to be filmed in a favourite part of his own, one that he had presented, an episode in the life of his famous ancestor. “We’ll go and knock him up. I’ll talk to him.” They hammered at the door without eliciting a response. “That’s his bedroom.” Jack Knebworth pointed to a latticed window where a light shone, and Inspector Lyle threw up a pebble with such violence that the glass was broken. Still there was no response. “I don’t like that,” said Knebworth suddenly. “You don’t like it any better than I do,” growled the officer. “Try that window, Smith.” “Do you want me to open it, sir?” “Yes, without delay.” A second later, the window of the long dining-room was prized open; and then they came upon an obstacle which could not be so readily forced. “The shutter is steel-lined,” reported the detective. “I think I’d better try one of the upper rooms. Give me a leg up, somebody.” With the assistance of a fellow, he reached up and caught the sill of an open window, the very window from which Adele had looked down into the grinning face of Bhag. In another second he was in the room, and was reaching down to help up a second officer. A few minutes’ delay, and the front door was unbarred and opened. “There’s nobody in the house, so far as I can find out,” said the officer. “Put a light on,” ordered the inspector shortly. They found the little vapour lamp and lit it. “What’s that?” The detective officer pointed to the hook that still hung in the beam with the pulley beneath, and his eyes narrowed. “I can’t understand that,” he said slowly. “What was that for?” Jack Knebworth uttered an exclamation. “Here’s Brixan’s gun!” he said, and picked it up from the floor. One glance the inspector gave, and then his eyes went back to the hook and the pulley. “That beats me,” he said. “See if you fellows can find anything anywhere. Open every cupboard, every drawer. Sound the walls—there may be secret doors; there are in all these old Tudor houses.” The search was futile, and Inspector Lyle came back to a worried contemplation of the hook and pulley. Then one of his men came in to say that he had located the garage.