“Trust me, please,” he said gently. “Sutton go ahead; there are some labourers’ cottages a little way along. Knock them up and get assistance. There is a chance that you are on the right track--there is a bigger chance that I am. Anyway, it will be less dangerous for Cynthia to follow you than to return with me.” With no other word he turned and went running back the way he came with the long loping stride of a cross-country runner. They stood watching him till he vanished in the gloom. “I don’t understand it,” muttered Frank. The girl said nothing; she was bewildered, dumbfounded. Mechanically she fell in by her brother’s side. He was still clutching the hat. They had a quarter of a mile to go before they reached the cottages, but they had not traversed half that distance before, in turning a sharp bend of the lane, they were confronted by a dark figure that stood in the centre of the road. Frank had his revolver out in an instant and flashed his lamp ahead. The girl, who had started back with a heart that beat more quickly, gave a sigh of relief, for the man in the road was a policeman, and there was something very comforting in his stolid, unromantic figure. “No, sir,” said the constable, “nobody has passed here.” “A quarter of an hour ago?” suggested Frank. “Not during the last three hours,” said the policeman. “I thought I heard footsteps down the lane the best part of an hour since, but nobody has passed.” He had been detailed for special duty, to detect poachers, and he had not, he said, moved from the spot since seven o’clock--it was then eleven. Briefly Frank explained the situation. “Well,” said the man slowly, “they couldn’t have brought him this way--and it is the only road to the quarry. Sounds to me like a blind. If you’ll wait whilst I get my bicycle, which is behind the hedge, I’ll walk back with you.” On the way back Frank gave him such particulars as he thought necessary. “It’s a blind,” said the man positively. “Why should they take the trouble to tell you which way they went? You don’t suppose, sir, that you had a friend in the gang?” Frank was silent. He understood now Amber’s sudden resolve to return. The road was downhill and in ten minutes they were in sight of the house. “I expect Peter----” began Frank. Crack!--Crack! Two pistol-shots rang out in the silent night. Crack--crack--crack! There was a rapid exchange of shots and the policeman swung himself on to the cycle. “Take this!” Frank thrust his revolver into the constable’s hand. At the full speed the policeman went spinning down the hill and the two followed at a run. No other shots broke the stillness and they arrived out of breath at the wicket gate to find Amber and the constable engaged in a hurried consultation. “It’s all right.” Amber’s voice was cheery. “What of father?” gasped the girl. “He’s in the house,” said Amber. “I found him gagged and bound in the gardener’s hut at the other end of the garden.”