With a dexterous blow, Capel caught Artis's right hand with the stout cane, numbing his nerves, so that the poker fell. With a second blow, he seemed to hamstring his adversary, who staggered, and would have fallen, but for Capel's hand grasping him by the collar; and then, for two or three minutes, there was a hail of blows falling, and a terrible struggle going on. The light chairs were kicked aside, a table overturned, a vase and several ornaments swept from a cheffonier, and suppressed cries, panting noises and blows, filled the gloomy room, till, after one final stroke with the cane, Capel dashed the helpless, quivering man to the floor, and placed his foot upon his breast. An hour later, when Preenham went up from a confidential talk with his fellow-servants to admit Mr Girtle and Lydia--back from the theatre--he found the front door open. Had he been half an hour sooner, he would have seen Katrine, fully dressed, supporting Artis down the dark stairs, and out into the darkness of the great square, where they were seen by the light of one of the street lamps to enter a cab, and then they passed out of sight. Preenham saw nothing, and Mr Girtle and Lydia ascended to the drawing-room, the latter feeling light-hearted and happy, in spite of the evening's disappointment. The old lawyer uttered a cry of dismay, as he saw the wreck, and that Capel was seated in a low chair, bent down, with his face buried in his hands. "My dear boy! What is it?" he cried, as Lydia ran to his side, and her soft hand was laid or his. "Don't touch me, woman," he almost yelled, as he sprang from his chair. "Oh," he said, softly, "it is you?" He took and kissed her hand, and then left the room. "Preenham, what does this mean?" cried Mr Girtle, as the butler brought in lights; and they learned the truth. CHAPTER THIRTY. WHERE THE TREASURE LAY. Six months elapsed before Mr Linnett put into execution the project he had had in his mind that night when he playfully tried the handcuffs on his wrists. He had meant business, as he termed it, the next morning, but on presenting himself at the chief office, one of his superiors sent for him, and announced an important task. "Extradition, eh, sir? America?" "Yes. Cross at once; put yourself in communication with the New York police, and then spare no expense. He must be found." "When shall I start, sir?" "Now." Mr Linnett did start _now_, saying to himself as he entered a carriage for Liverpool: "Well, they didn't set me the job. It was my own doing, and the news will keep." So it came about that one morning, when he presented himself at the Dark House, he was saluted by Mr Preenham with: "Why, how _do_ you do? We thought we'd quite lost you, Mr Linnett, sir. You look quite brown." "I've been pretty well all over America since I saw you, Mr Preenham, and now, sir, just go and give them my card and say I want to see them on very particular business." "Have you found out anything, Mr Linnett?"