But whilst it was easy earlier in the evening to get into touch with Hertford 906, it was now impossible. The Hertford operator, after the second attempt, signalled through that there was an interruption. Carver came back to Mr. Stott’s dining-room with a grave face. They could speak without interruption because Mrs. Stott and the errant Eline had disappeared. Mr. Stott, his hands clasped across his stomach, was fast asleep in a chair, a touch of a smile on his lips. Probably he was dreaming of his heroic and hard bit’n ancestors. “Tab,” said Carver, “you know Stone Cottage? Have you any recollection of the telephone arrangements? Is it a dead-end connection or is it connected from the road?” “I think it is from the road,” said Tab, “the wire runs by the house and the connection crosses the garden. I remember because Ursula said how unsightly it was.” Carver nodded. “Then he’s there,” he said, “and the wire has been cut. I’ll get the nearest police station and see what we can do,” he said. “In the meantime we will find somebody with a car; make a few quick enquiries, Tab.” Tab’s enquiries were particularly fortunate. In the very next house was a young man whose joy in life it was to exceed all speed limits on a sporting Spanz, and he accepted the commission which would enable him to break the laws with the approval of the police, with alacrity and enthusiasm. When Tab returned the Inspector was waiting at the garden gate. “Is that the car?” he said. “Our friend knows the way?” “I could find it blindfold,” said the amateur chauffeur. It was a wild ride. Even Tab, who treated all speed regulations with scorn, admitted that the driver erred on the side of recklessness. They spun through rain that stung and smarted like needles, that fell so fast that the two powerful lamps created fantastic nebulæ and haloes in the darkness ahead. They skidded round greasy corners, thundered along narrow roads. Once Tab could have sworn he glimpsed a black car drawn up under a hedge. They passed before he could be sure. The garden gate was open when Tab leapt out from his precarious seat. As he came through the gate, a dangling wire struck him across the face. There was no need to look for evidence of a visitor--the door was open wide. His heart was beating thunderously as he stood in the quiet hall, where the only sound that came to him was the sober ticking of a clock. He struck a match and lit one of the candles that he knew Ursula kept ready on a side table. By its faint light he saw that a chair in the hall had been overturned and lay on the carpet, which had been dragged up as though in a struggle. He held on to the wall for support. “I’ll go alone,” he whispered hoarsely, and went up the stairs slowly. Every movement required an effort.