Poltavo sprang back, his face ashen. One hand dived for his pistol-pocket, but before he could reach it T. B. was at his throat. That moment the Pole felt two arms gripping him, two steel bands they seemed, and likely to crush his arms into his very body. Then he went over with the full weight of the detective upon him, and was momentarily stunned by the shock. He came to himself rapidly, but not quickly enough. He was conscious of something cold about his wrists, and a none too kindly hand dragged him to his feet. T. B. with his white beard all awry was a comical figure, but Poltavo had no sense of humour at that moment. "I think I have you at last, my friend," said T. B. pleasantly. He was busy removing his disguise and wiping his face clean of the grease paint, which had been necessary, with a handkerchief which was already grimy with his exertions. "You will have some difficulty in proving anything against me," said the other defiantly; "there is only you and I, and my word is as good as yours. As to the Duke of Ambury----" T. B. laughed, a long chuckling laugh of delight. "My poor man," he said pityingly, "there is no Duke of Ambury. I depended somewhat upon your ignorance of English nobility, but I confess that I did not think you would fall so quickly to the bait. The Dukedom of Ambury ceased to exist two hundred years ago. It is one of those titles which have fallen into disuse. Ambury Castle, from which the letters were addressed to you, is a small suburban villa on the outskirts of Bolton, the rent of which," he said carefully, "is, I believe, some forty pounds a year. We English have a greater imagination than you credit us with, Count," he went on, "and imagination takes no more common flight than the namings of the small dwellings of our humble fellow-citizens." He took his prisoner by the arm and led him across the downs. "What are you going to do with me?" asked Poltavo. "I shall first of all take you to Great Bradley police station, and then I shall convey you to London," said T. B. "I have three warrants for you, including an extradition warrant issued on behalf of the Russian Government, but I think they may have to wait a little while before they obtain any satisfaction for your past misdeeds." The direction they took led them to Moor Cottage. In a quarter of an hour a force of police would be on the spot, for T. B. had timed his arrangements almost to the minute. He opened the door of the cottage and pushed his prisoner inside. "We will avoid the study," he smiled; "you probably know our mutual friend Lady Constance Dex disappeared under somewhat extraordinary circumstances from that room, and since I have every wish to keep you, we will take the drawing-room as a temporary prison." He opened the door of the little room in which the piano was, and indicated to his captive to sit in one of the deep-seated chairs.