Walking briskly to the gate in the high wall, he opened it, passed around a very neat little lawn, and stood in the porch of 70A. As he glanced about for bell or knocker, and failed to find either, the door was opened quietly by a tall man in black--an Arab. "I have important business with Mr. Sanrack," said Harborne quietly, and handed the Arab a card which simply bore the name: "Mr. Goodson." "He is not at home, but expected," replied the man, in guttural English. "Will Mr. Goodson await?" "Yes," said Harborne, "if Mr. Sanrack won't be long." The Arab bowed, and conducted him to a small but cosy room, furnished simply but with great good taste--and withdrew. Harborne congratulated himself. The simple and direct, if old-fashioned, methods were, after all, the best. It was a very silent house. That fact struck him at once. Listen intently as he would, no sound from within could he detect. What should be his next move? He stepped to the door and looked out into the hall. This was rather narrow, and, owing to the presence of heavy Oriental drapings, very dark. It would suit his purpose admirably. Directly "Mr. Sanrack" came in he would spring upon him and get the handcuffs fast, then he could throw open the front door, if there had been time for anyone to reclose it, and summon assistance with his whistle. He himself must effect the actual arrest--single-handed. He cared nothing who came upon the scene after that. He placed the handcuffs in a more convenient pocket, and buttoned up his double-breasted blue serge coat. Sheffield was certain to be Superintendent before long; and it only required one other big case, such as this, to insure Harborne's succession to an Inspectorship. From thence to the office vacated by Sheffield was an easy step for a competent and ambitious man. How silent the house was! Harborne glanced at his watch. He had been waiting nearly five minutes. Scarce another two had elapsed--when a brisk step sounded on the gravel. The detective braced himself for a spring. Would he have the Arab to contend with too? No. A key was slipped into the well-oiled lock. The door opened. With something of the irresistible force of a charging bull, Detective-Sergeant Harborne hurled himself upon his man. Human strength had been useless to oppose that attack; but by subtlety it was frustrated. The man stepped agilely aside--and Harborne reclosed the door with his head! That his skull withstood that crashing blow was miraculous; but he was of tough stock. Perhaps the ruling passion helped him, for dazed and dizzy as he was, he did the right thing when his cunning opponent leapt upon him from behind. He threw his hands above his shoulders and grasped the man round the neck--then--slowly--shakily--his head swimming and the world a huge teetotum--he rose upon his knees. Bent well forward, he rose to his feet. The other choked, swore, struck useless blows, but hung limply, helpless, in that bear-like, awful grip.