"Thank you, inspector," he said. "Lady Mary would never understand that I sought only to save her from compromising herself. I am glad that the letters are in such safe hands as yours." "But they're not!" cried Sheffield, leaping excitedly to his feet. Gruffness had come into his voice, which the other ascribed to excitement. "How so?" An expression of blank wonderment was upon the politician's face. "Because I never had them! Because I've never had a scrap of anything in black and white! Because I've been tied up in an old tool-shed in a turnip field for the past half-hour! And because the man who marched through my silly troop a while ago and came in here and got back I don't know what important evidence--_was Severac Bablon_!" It was a verbal thunderbolt. Mr. Belford sat with his eyes upon the detective's face--speechless. And now he perceived minor differences. The difference in voice he already had noted: now he saw that the eyes of the real Inspector Sheffield were many shades lighter than those of the spurious; that the red face was heavier and more rounded. It was almost incredible, but not quite. He had seen Tree play Falstaff, and the art of Severac Bablon was only a shade greater. "He's had months to study me!" explained the detective tersely. Then: "I'm stopping at the 'Golden Tiger,' in the village. I'd been over the ground in daylight, and I sent the men along first. They were round the house by half-past seven. Just as I turned the corner out of the High Street a big grey car overtook me; out jumped two fellows and had a jiu-jitsu hold on in a second! They gagged me and tied me up inside, all the time apologising and hoping they weren't hurting me! They drove me to this shed and left me there. It was five minutes to nine when one of them came back and untied my hands, giving himself a start while I undid the rest of the knots. Here I am! Where's Severac Bablon?" The Right Hon. Walter Belford became the man of action again. He pulled out his watch. "Twenty-five minutes since he left the house," he said. "But he may not have taken the road at once." He rang. "Truman," he cried to the footman, "the limousine ready--immediately! This way, inspector!" Off he went through the Circular Study, Sheffield following. At the door Mr. Belford paused--and turned back. He bent over his writing-table, searching for his own careful enlargement of Severac Bablon's photograph. Severac Bablon had not taken it with him, nor had he returned to the room. But it was gone! "Rome divided! Treason in the camp!" he said, _sotto voce_. Then, aloud: "This way, inspector!" The tower of Womsley Old Place is a conspicuous landmark, to be seen from distant points in the surrounding country, and visible for some miles out to sea.