Scrambling through the door which he had thrust open, Mr. Townsend found himself standing on what was evidently thereof. It was flat just there. In front of him was a high brick wall, which served as a base for a stack of chimneys. He stood for some seconds listening. He could distinctly hear voices ascending from the room below. "I wonder what they will do to our friend Pendarvon, and how long they will keep those dear policemen out--if I shall have time to do what I have to do. Keep moving, sir! The moments are all that you can call your own." He went forward, keeping the stack of chimneys on his left. "Hallo! There's the edge of the roof! Yes, and here's a rail and a bridge--all spoken of by our friend Pendarvon. To essay the great act of crossing the bridge!" He stepped on to the plank. It quivered beneath his weight. "This bridge is of somewhat rickety construction and the rail unsteady." When about half-way across he paused. The plank seemed to be bending double. He peered into the depths below. "It occurs to me that it would not be a difficult business to smash this bridge into two clean halves as I stand here. That might be an easy way to end it all. But it will not serve. There is that which I must do." He moved on more rapidly. The frail planking shuddered and shook; it swung in the air. More than once it seemed as if the tall, quickly-moving figure was supported upon nothing. But the bridge became firmer as he approached the opposite side. He put out his hand to the left, feeling for what Mr. Pendarvon told him he would find there. "The ladder! As he said, straight against the wall. Bravo! Now, if the house is only empty, the thing is done!" The house was empty, and the thing was done. It all happened as Mr. Pendarvon had said it would. He ascended the ladder, raised the unlatched window frame, struck a light, passed through the empty house, and into the street beyond. He found a cab, and, ere long, he was at Albert Gate. As he stepped out of the cab some one touched him on the shoulder from behind. He turned sharply round, thinking, perhaps, that he had but escaped from one pitfall to fall at once into another. But it was not so. The person whom he found himself confronting was that recalcitrant member of the Murder Club, Lord Archibald Beaupré. "You! Well?" This was Mr. Townsend's greeting. Lord Archibald's response was a little delayed. When it did come it came in a hoarse whisper from between tremulous lips. "Why did you do it?" "Do what?" Lord Archibald, leaning forward, whispered something into Mr. Townsend's ear. "I was afraid, my dear Archie, that you might be a quarter of an hour too late." Mr. Townsend paused, looking at, without seeming to notice, the other's ashen countenance. "Is she dead?" "No." "Will she die?" "No." There was silence. Then Lord Archibald went on, rendered almost voiceless by contending emotions, "I was there in time; you should have waited."