It was an unusually long building, and when it was opened, it revealed no more than the old-fashioned car which was a familiar object in that part of the country. But obviously, this was only half the accommodation. The seemingly solid whitewashed wall behind the machine hid another apartment, though it had no door, and an inspection of the outside showed a solid wall at the far end of the garage. Jack Knebworth tapped the interior wall. “This isn’t brickwork at all, it’s wood,” he said. Hanging in a corner was a chain. Apparently it had no particular function, but a careful scrutiny led to the discovery that the links ran through a hole in the roughly plastered ceiling. The inspector caught the chain and pulled, and, as he did so, the “wall” opened inwards, showing the contents of the second chamber, which was a second car, so sheeted that only its radiator was visible. Knebworth pulled off the cover, and: “That’s the car.” “What car?” asked the inspector. “The car driven by the Head-Hunter,” said Knebworth quickly. “He was in that machine when Brixan tried to arrest him. I’d know it anywhere! Brixan is in the Dower House somewhere, and if he’s in the hands of the Head-Hunter, God help him!” They ran back to the house, and again the hook and pulley drew them as a magnet. Suddenly the police officer bent down and jerked back the carpet. The trap-door beneath the pulley was plainly visible. Pulling it open, he knelt down and gazed through. Knebworth saw his face grow haggard. “Too late, too late!” he muttered. CHAPTER XLI THE DEATH THE shriek of a man half crazy with fear is not nice to hear. Michael’s nerves were tough, but he had need to drive the nails into the palms of his manacled hands to keep his self-control. “I warn you,” he found voice to say, as the shrieking died to an unintelligible babble of sound, “Longvale, if you do this, you are everlastingly damned!” The old man turned his quiet smile upon his second prisoner, but did not make any answer. Lifting the half-conscious man in his arms as easily as though he were a child, he carried him to the terrible machine, and laid him, face downwards, on the tilted platform. There was no hurry. Michael saw, in Longvale’s leisure, an enjoyment that was unbelievable. He stepped to the front of the machine and pulled up one half of the lunette; there was a click, and it remained stationary. “An invention of mine,” he said with pride, speaking over his shoulder. Michael looked away for a second, past the grim executioner, to the farther end of the cave. And then he saw a sight that brought the blood to his cheeks. At first he thought he was dreaming, and that the strain of his ordeal was responsible for some grotesque vision. Adele! She stood clear in the white light, so grimed with earth and dust that she seemed to be wearing a grey robe. “If you move I will kill you!”