“About half an hour ago, sir. The information was a bit slow getting to us and then we had to find out from the porter which offices it would be.” “Half an hour ago? Oh, no; we’ve been in here ever since six and Miss Saverel’s been in her office—she’s only just come in. That’s the only other room that opens on to the escape. The porter must have made a mistake.” Poole hesitated for a second, as if doubtful what to do in the face of this direct denial. The momentary pause was ended by a terrific crash from the adjoining room. Quicker almost than thought, the detective whipped an automatic from his pocket. “Stand back!” he cried. “Put your hands up, Captain Wraile—all of you—back in that corner.” He took a quick step back to the door and, with his left hand, felt for and turned the key, which he slipped into his pocket. Still keeping his pistol pointed at the group across the table, he moved quickly across to the door into the passage leading to the manager’s and clerks’ rooms. “Stay where you are till I come back,” he exclaimed sharply and, leaving the Board room door open, darted quickly into the manager’s office. A glance showed him a heavy table turned over on its side and on it the crucified form of Ryland Fratten. Snatching a knife from his pocket he had just cut the cord binding Fratten’s right hand when he heard the door of the Board Room shut and the lock snap. At the same instant a window was flung up and there came the sound of hurried footsteps on the iron staircase. Poole dashed to his own window, forced back the catch, threw up the sash and had got one leg across the sill before he realized that there was no staircase outside it. A laugh came from the darkness and Wraile’s mocking voice: “Sorry, Poole; I misled you about the fire-escape. This is the only window that has it. You must try the stairs!” The detective flashed a torch to the sound of the voice and followed its beam with the pistol in his other hand, but, though he made out a dim movement below him, the twisting flights of stairs made shooting impossible, even had it been advisable. Thrusting his body out as far as it would go he bellowed with all the force of his lungs: “Hold them, Fallows! Hold them!” There came an answering shout from below, a moment’s pause, and then a terrible cry of fear, followed, a moment later, by the sickening thud of a heavy body striking the hard ground.