“Is that the Radio Station? Inspector Elk, Headquarters Police, speaking. I want to get a message through to Gloucester, to Gloucester Prison, viâ—eh? . . . But I thought you’d overcome that difficulty. How long has it been jammed? . . . Thank you,” he said, and put down the telephone for the second time. “There’s a jam,” he said. “No messages are getting through. The radio people say that somebody in this country has got a secret apparatus which was used by the Germans during the war, and that when the jam is on, it is impossible to get anything through.” Dick looked at his watch. It was now half-past nine. “You can catch the ten-five for Gloucester, Elk, but somehow I don’t think it will get through.” “As a telephone expert,” said Elk, as he patiently applied himself to the instrument, “I have many of the qualities that make, so to speak, for greatness. Hullo! Get me Great Western, please. Great Western Stationmaster. . . . I have a perfect voice, a tremendous amount of patience, and a faith in my fellow-man, and—Hullo! Is that you, Stationmaster? . . . Inspector Elk. I told you that before—no, it was somebody else. Inspector Elk, C.I.D. Is there any trouble on your road to-night?” . . . A longer pause this time. “Glory be!” said Elk unemotionally. “Any chance of getting through? . . . None whatever? What time will you have trains running? . . . Thank you.” He turned to Dick. “Three culverts and a bridge down at Swindon, blown at seven o’clock; two men in custody; one man dead, shot by rail guard. Two culverts down at Reading; the metals blown up at Slough. I won’t trouble to call up the other roads, because—well, the Frog’s thorough.” Dick Gordon opened a cupboard and took out a leather coat and a soft leather helmet. In his drawer he found two ugly-looking Browning pistols and examined their magazines before he slipped them into his pocket. Then he selected half-a-dozen cigars, and packed them carefully in the breast pocket of the coat. “You’re not going alone, Gordon?” asked Elk sternly. Dick nodded. “I’m going alone,” he said. “If I don’t get through, you follow. Send a police car after me and tell them to drive carefully. I don’t think they’ll stop me this side of Newbury,” he said. “I can make that before the light goes. Tell Miss Bennett that the reprieve is signed, and that I am on my way.” Elk said nothing, but followed his chief into the street, and stood by him with the policeman who had been left in charge of the car, while Dick made a careful scrutiny of the tyres and petrol tank.