Silence fell once more. From somewhere down the road, in the direction of Richmond, was wafted a faint tinkling sound. Oppner heard Alden moving. "I'll have to leave you for a minute," said the detective. "Don't be scared if Martin comes back." Without waiting for a reply, Alden departed. Mr. Oppner heard him brushing against the bushes in passing. Crouching there uncomfortably, and looking out across the road to the gateway of The Cedars, Oppner saw a singular thing, a thing that made him wonder. He saw Alden run swiftly across from the gap in the fence by which they had entered their hiding-place, to the gate opposite. He saw him run in. Then he disappeared. Whilst Oppner was thrashing his brains for a solution to this man[oe]uvre, a faint rattling sound drew his gaze down the hill. Someone was approaching on a bicycle! Almost holding his breath, he watched. Nearer came the rider, and nearer. Immediately before the gate of The Cedars he dismounted. He was a telegraph messenger. At that moment Alden came strolling out, smoking his cigar and pulling on a pair of gloves. "Hullo, boy!" he said; his voice was clearly audible to the listening Oppner. "Got a wire for me? I've been expecting it all the evening." The boy opened his wallet, but with some hesitation. "Dr. Phillips," continued Alden, "that right?" The boy hesitated no longer. "Phillips, yes, sir," he said, and handed the telegram to Alden. With a nonchalant air which excited Mr. Oppner's admiration, Alden walked to a lamp some little distance away, tore open the yellow envelope, and read the message. "All right, boy," he said. "No reply. Here, catch!" He tossed the boy a coin, and with a touch of genius which showed him to be a really great detective, halted a moment, scratched his chin, and as the boy again mounted his bicycle, re-entered the gate of The Cedars. "That's real cute!" murmured Oppner. The boy having ridden off, Alden slipped warily out on to the road, ran across, and was lost to view. Presently a rustling in the bushes told of his return to Oppner's side. "It's from Sheard," whispered the detective. "Our man must have written him further particulars, same as he said he'd do. It just reads: 'Detained. S.' But it was handed in at Fleet Street, and I haven't any doubt who sent it." "He's smart, is Sheard," said Mr. Oppner. "He smelled trouble, or maybe he got wise to us----" _"Sss!"_ "That you, Martin?"--from Alden. "All right. Everybody seems to be posted. They're all finely out of sight, too." "Good. The newspaper man isn't coming. See me get the wire?" "Yes. I wonder if the rest will come." "Hope so. I don't want to have to open the ball, because until some visitors have gone in we haven't got any real evidence that Severac Bablon is there himself." "Quiet," said Martin. A measured tread proclaimed itself, drew nearer, and a policeman passed their hiding-place. When the regular footsteps had died away again: