For some moments he paced the room. Never since I had met him had I seen him so perturbed—he was at all times singularly calm. I was not, however, surprised at his anxiety, for it seemed more than likely that quite unwittingly, and with the best intentions, Dick Challoner had not merely landed us in a terrible mess, but that he had certainly turned the tables upon us, leaving Dulcie and myself at the mercy of this desperate gang. On board the boat I had mentioned Dick to the detective, and told him about the cypher, and the part that Dick had played. He had not seemed impressed, as I had expected him to be, and without a doubt he had not been pleased. All he had said was, I now remembered: "It's a bad thing to let a boy get meddling with a matter of this kind, Mr. Berrington"—he had said it in a tone of some annoyance. And now, it would seem, his view had been the right one. What Dick had done, according to this letter just received from him, had been to start advertising in the _Morning Post_ on his own account—in the cypher code which he had discovered—serious messages intended for the gang and that must assuredly have been read by them. With his letter two cuttings were enclosed—his two messages already published. As I looked at them again a thought flashed across me. Now I knew how it came about that my impenetrable disguise had been discovered. Now I knew how it came about that Alphonse Furneaux had been released from the room where Preston had locked him in his flat. And now I knew why the members of the gang had left the "Continental" so suddenly, scattering themselves probably in all directions, and why the woman Stapleton had dashed back to London. I caught my breath as my train of thought hurried on. Another thought had struck me. I held my breath! Yes, it must be so. Try as I would I could not possibly deceive myself. Dick had unwittingly been responsible for the murder of George Preston! This was the most awful blow of all. Unconsciously I looked up at the detective, who still paced the room. Instantly my eyes met his. He may have read in my eyes the horror that I felt, or the strength of my feeling may have communicated my thought to him, for at once he stood still, and, staring straight at me, said in a tone of considerable emotion: "That boy has done a fearful thing, Mr. Berrington. He has—" "Stop! Stop!" I cried, raising my head. "I know what you are going to say! But you mustn't blame him, Albeury—he did it without knowing—absolutely without knowing! And only you and I know that he is to blame. Dick must never know—never. Nobody else must ever know. If his father ever finds it out, it will kill him." For some moments Albeury remained quite still. His lip twitched—I had seen it twitch like that before, when he was deeply moved. At last he spoke. "Nobody shall ever know," he said in the same strained tone. He paused, then: "I must talk on your telephone," he exclaimed suddenly, turning to leave the room.