"Wait and see," snapped the man, but added later: "You are going to a much nicer home than you have ever had in your life, and you ought to be very thankful." "Indeed I am, dear," said the girl earnestly. "Don't call me 'dear,'" snarled her husband. The cab took them to Camden Town, and they descended in front of a respectable-looking house in a long, dull street. It was too dark for the girl to take stock of her surroundings, and she had scarcely time to gather her parcels together before the man opened the door and pushed her in. The cab drove off, and a motor cyclist who all the time had been following the taxi, wheeled his machine slowly from the corner of the street where he had waited until he came opposite the house. He let down the supports of his machine, went stealthily up the steps, and flashed a lamp upon the enamel numbers over the fanlight of the door. He jotted down the figures in a notebook, descended the steps again, and, wheeling his machine back a little way, mounted and rode off. Half an hour later another cab pulled up at the door, and a man descended, telling the driver to wait. He mounted the steps, knocked, and after a short delay was admitted. "Hello, Crawley!" said the man who had opened the door to him. "How goes it?" "Rotten," said the newcomer. "What do you want me for?" His was the voice of an uncultured man, but his tone was that of an equal. "What do you think I want you for?" asked the other savagely. He led the way to the sitting room, struck a match, and lit the gas. His bag was on the floor. He picked it up, opened it, and took out a flask of whisky which he handed to the other. "I thought you might need it," he said sarcastically. Crawley took the flask, poured out a stiff tot, and drank it at a gulp. He was a man of fifty, dark and dour. His face was lined and tanned as one who had lived for many years in a hot climate. This was true of him, for he had spent ten years of his life in the Matabeleland mounted police. The young man pulled up a chair to the table. "I've got an offer to make to you," he said. "Is there any money in it?" The other laughed. "You don't suppose I should make any kind of offer to you that hadn't money in it?" he answered contemptuously. Crawley, after a moment's hesitation, poured out another drink and gulped it down. "I haven't had a drink to-day," he said apologetically. "That is an obvious lie," said the younger man; "but now to get to business. I don't know what your game is in England, but I will tell you what mine is. I want a free hand, and I can only have a free hand if you take your daughter away out of the country." "You want to get rid of her, eh?" asked the other, looking at him shrewdly. The young man nodded. "I tell you, she's a millstone round my neck," he said for the second time that evening, "and I am scared of her. At any moment she may do some fool thing and ruin me." Crawley grinned.