Lopez’s hand shot swiftly behind him; then he dropped it to his side and smiled. He had been beaten, but he showed no emotion or the slightest sign of anger. "I think you had better come quietly," he said. "I have plenty of assistance outside. The charge is wilful murder over that affair at Streatham. Shall I call a cab for you?" Lopez nodded. As he passed out of the house Isa Benstein went to the telephone again, and called up the office of the _Evening Banner_. There was a hurried conversation, then the communication was cut off. It seemed to Mrs. Benstein that she had every reason to be pleased with her evening’s work. "It would be good to see Frobisher’s face when he knows that," she said. "And he will know to-night." It was getting late now, but some of the evening papers were running extra specials. There had been a big railway accident in the North, and there was a little capital out of that. Frobisher heard the raucous cry of the boys as he came out of his club. He was restless and ill at ease; he could not sit down and contemplate the beauty of his orchids to-night. "Terrible accident," a boy screamed as he passed. "More about the Streatham ’orror. Arrest of Paul Lopez to-night. Arrest of the missing witness. Speshul." "Here, boy, let me have a paper," Frobisher called out. "Never mind the confounded change. Give me a paper, quick." His hand trembled as he took the still damp sheet, his legs shook as he made his way back to the quietude of the conservatory. He must see to this at once. Yes, there it was, a few short pregnant lines to the effect that Paul Lopez had been arrested by Inspector Townsend a little after nine that night. It looked cold and bald enough in print, but it thrilled the reader to his marrow. "The fool!" he hissed. "The fool had no money to get away with. Why didn’t he come to me or send? I’d have given him all he wanted if it had been half my fortune." *CHAPTER XXVIII.* *NEMESIS.* Frobisher raged furiously up and down the conservatory for a time. Everything seemed to have gone wrong with him all at once. His favourite clay pipe would not draw; as he jammed a cleaner down the stem angrily it came away in his hand. The case of spare pipes he could not find anywhere. It crossed his imagination suddenly that some of the more delicate orchids in the roof were looking a little stale. He touched the gauge of the automatic steam-pipe that threw off vapour at regulated intervals and found it out of order. He shook the spring tap angrily as a terrier might shake a rat. "Confound the thing," he cried. "Everything seems to be wrong to-night. Here is a job for Hafid." Hafid came in trembling at the long ring of the electric bell. He had not seen his master in such a dark mood for many a day. Why had he not come before? Where had the fool been? Hafid bowed before the storm.