Or was she, as he thought much more probable, the accomplice of Cecil Jones, and his assistant in bringing the Americans to justice? Neither possibility was pleasant to contemplate. If she were one of the friends of these Americans, even though she might extricate herself from all suspicion of being concerned in their misdoings, she could not fail to be dragged into a most unpleasant case, the publicity of which might perhaps offend, if not alienate, her best friends. If, on the other hand, as seemed much more probable, she should prove to have been the accomplice of Cecil Jones, it was distasteful to contemplate her having assisted in exposing the people who passed as her friends and who gave her the shelter of their roof. On the whole, therefore, it was in a state of considerable perplexity and distress that Gerard accompanied his friend down the drive, and turned into the road. Both young men had come down by train, and it was towards the station that they were wending their way, when they saw a little way in front of them the bright lights of a motor-car. Expecting to find that it and its occupants had some connection with the police surprise at the Priory, Gerard and Arthur walked quickly up to it and perceived that the man in a big overcoat, who was standing beside it, was no other than Cecil Jones. “Ah!” said he, making a gesture with his hand to stop them, “here he comes!” The young men, rather disconcerted, stopped and looked at him aggressively. They felt that upon his shoulders lay the burden of the brusque manner in which the crisis at the Priory had taken place. “You are from Scotland Yard, I suppose?” said Gerard stiffly. Jones nodded with a genial smile. But it was strange how that smile of his, which used to seem so imbecile and irritating when they had taken him for a fool, or an amiable decoy, seemed to have grown astute and intelligent now that they knew him for what he was, a detective of remarkably well developed histrionic powers and the keenest of keen eyes. Jones nodded. Gerard glanced at the car, and Jones stepped back. “There’s someone you know inside,” he said with a dry smile. He was gently, mildly triumphant, satisfied with having brought off a coup which would redound greatly to his credit. Gerard guessed whom he should see as he stepped up to the side of the car. And, just as he had expected, he saw Miss Davison inside, leaning back in one corner, with her eyes closed, and a look of weariness that was almost pain upon her handsome, pale face. But it was the sight of the man seated beside her which caused Gerard to utter an exclamation, and to look in stupefaction from Rachel to him and from him to Cecil Jones. For, sitting in the car beside Miss Davison, wrapped in a fur-lined motor-coat and with a cap drawn well down over his eyes, was the distinguished-looking man with the white mustache whom Gerard had been accustomed to look upon as her evil genius.