Bell nodded thoughtfully. The information was of the greatest possible value to him. It told him quite plainly that Reginald Henson knew exactly what had happened. Under ordinary circumstances by this time Henson would be on his way to Littimer Castle, there to checkmate the man he had so deeply injured. But fortunately Henson was laid by the heels, or so Bell imagined. "I am really obliged to you," Bell said. "Your information is likely to be of the greatest possible service to me. I'm sorry you can't work." "Don't worry about me," David said, grimly. "I'm gaining a vast quantity of experience that will be of the greatest value to me later on. Besides, I can go and compare notes with Miss Ruth Gates whilst you are away. She is soothing." "So I should imagine," Bell said, drily. "No, I must be off. I'll let you know what happens at Littimer Castle. Good luck to you here." And Bell bustled off. He was pleased to find a recent telegram of acceptance from Littimer awaiting him, and before five o'clock he was in the train for London. It was only after he left London that he began to crawl along. Thanks to slow local lines and a badly fitting cross service it was nearly eleven o'clock before he reached Moreton Station. It did not matter much, because Littimer had said that a carriage should meet him. However, there was no conveyance of any kind outside the station. One sleepy porter had already departed, and the other one, who took Bell's ticket, and was obviously waiting to lock up, deposed that a carriage from the castle had come to the station, but that some clerical gentleman had come along and countermanded it. Whereupon the dog-cart had departed. "Very strange," Bell muttered. "What sort of a parson was it?" "I only just saw his face," the porter yawned. "Dressed in black, with a white tie and a straw hat. Walked in a slouching kind of way with his hands down; new curate from St. Albans, perhaps. Looked like a chap as could take care of himself in a row." "Thanks," Bell said, curtly. "I'll manage the walk; it's only two miles. Good-night." Bell's face was grim and set as he stepped out into the road. He knew fairly well what this meant. It was pretty evident that his arch-enemy knew his movements perfectly well, and that a vigorous attempt was being made to prevent him reaching the castle. He called back to the porter. "How long since the carriage went?" he asked. A voice from the darkness said "Ten minutes," and Bell trudged on with the knowledge that one of his enemies at least was close at hand. That Reginald Henson was at the castle he had not the remotest idea. Nor did he fear personal violence. Despite his figure, he was a man of enormous strength and courage. But he had not long to wait.