how many more behind! He had been a fool to get into this carriage. He might have known it would only trap him to his death. There seemed absolutely no chance for escape now--yet he must fight to the last. He put his hand on his revolver to make sure it was easy to get at, tried to think whether it would not be better to chew up and swallow that cipher message rather than to run the risk of its falling again into the hands of the enemy; decided that he must carry it intact to his chief if possible; and finally that he must make a dash for safety at once, when just then the carriage turned briskly into a wide driveway, and the attendant auto and motor-cycle dropped behind as if puzzled at the move. The carriage stopped short and a bright light from an open doorway was flung into his face. There seemed to be high stone walls on one side and the lighted doorway on the other hand evidently led into a great stone building. He could hear the puffing of the car and cycle just behind. A wild notion that the carriage had been placed in front of the house to trap him in case he tried to escape, and that he had been brought to prison, flitted through his mind. His hand was on his revolver as the coachman jumped down to fling open the carriage door, for he intended to fight for his liberty to the last. He glanced back through the carriage window, and the lights of the auto glared in his face. The short, thick-set man was getting out of the car, and the motor-cyclist had stood his machine up against the wall and was coming toward the carriage. Escape was going to be practically impossible. A wild thought of dashing out the opposite door of his carriage, boldly seizing the motor-cycle and making off on it passed through his mind, and then the door on his left was flung open and the carriage was immediately surrounded by six excited men in evening dress all talking at once. “Here you are at last!” they chorused. “Where is the best man?” shouted some one from the doorway. “Hasn’t he come either?” And as if in answer one of the men by the carriage door wheeled and called excitedly: “Yes, he’s come! Tell him--tell Jeff--tell him he’s come.” Then turning once more to Gordon he seized him by the arm and cried: “Come on quickly! There isn’t a minute to wait. The organist is fairly frantic. Everybody has been just as nervous as could be. We couldn’t very well go on without you--you know. But don’t let that worry you. It’s all right now you’ve come. Forget it, old man, and hustle.” Dimly Gordon perceived above the sound of subdued hubbub that an organ was playing, and even as he listened it burst into the joyous notes of the wedding march. It dawned upon him that this was not a prison to which he had come but a church--not a court-room but a wedding, and horror of horrors! they took him for the best man. His disguise had been his undoing. How was he to get out of this scrape? And with his pursuers just behind!