“Of course,” said the detective, “the newspaper man got all this information through the treachery of one of the party. I should like to get hold of that traitor. He would be a useful man to know.” In this the astute gentleman from London betrayed his extremely limited knowledge of the Society of Jesus. There are no traitors in that vast corporation. Sidney and Captain Pharland rode home together, leaving the two detectives to find their way to Brayport Station. They rode in silence, for the Captain was puzzled, and his companion was intensely anxious. Sidney Carew was beginning to realise that the events of the last three days had a graver import than they at first promised to conceal. The now celebrated article in the _Beacon_ opened his eyes, and he knew that the writer of it must have paid very dearly for his daring. It seemed extremely probable that the head and hands which had conceived and carried out this singular feat were both still for ever. Vellacott's own written tribute to the vast powers of the Jesuits, and their immovable habit of forcing a way through all obstacles to the end in view, was scarcely reassuring to his friends. Sidney knew and recognised the usual fertility of resource possessed by his friend; but against him were pitted men of greater gifts, of less scruple, and of infinitely superior training in the crooked ways of humanity. That he should have been so long without vouchsafing word or sign was almost proof positive that his absence was involuntary; and men capable of placing fire-arms into the hands of a maddened mob were not likely to hesitate in sacrificing a single life that chanced to stand in their path. As the young fellow rode along, immersed in meditation, he heard the sound of carriage-wheels, and, looking up, recognised his own grey horse and dog-cart. Mr. Bodery was driving, and driving hard. On seeing Sidney he pulled up, somewhat recklessly, in a manner which suggested that he had not always been a stout, middle-aged Londoner. “Been telegraphed for,” he shouted, “by the people at the office. Government is taking it up. Just time to catch the train.” And the editor of the _Beacon_ disappeared in a cloud of dust. The Vicomte d'Audierne was thus left in full possession of the field. CHAPTER XIX FOUL PLAY