“It is too late to talk about mistakes,” said Lizzy brusquely, and led the way. “We’ve found the place, that is something. Not that it looks as if it is worth finding.” They came at last to the big black gate and the forbidding wall. “Shall we ring or knock?” asked his lordship. “There’s a car inside--do you hear it?” Lizzy compromised by kicking on the wood. Her foot was raised to kick a second time, when there came from the house a woman’s scream, so vibrant with fear that Selwyn’s blood seemed to turn to ice and his knees touched together. At that moment the gates burst open with a crash, almost knocking them down, and the bonnet of a car showed. “There’s a woman in the car,” screamed Lizzy, but the roar of the engines drowned her voice. Chapter Thirty-three Mr. Chesney Praye was a welcome visitor. He had parked his machine in the forecourt, and now, sitting before the small wood fire, was warming his chilled hands, for the night had turned unusually cold and he had come at full speed across the windy downs. “Br-r-r!” he said, as he held his hands before the blaze. “And this is what they call an English summer! I’ll be glad to get back to India.” “Do you think of going?” “I may. Everything depends----” “You were lucky to find me in,” said the doctor, putting glasses on the table. “Why?” asked the other, in surprise. “I thought you wouldn’t leave this abode of peace, at any rate not now.” Briefly the doctor related the cause of his excursion and Chesney looked serious. “Is there any likelihood of Dorn coming back?” he asked. Tappatt’s merriment reassured him. “He’s back! In fact, he is practically under this roof!” Chesney sprang to his feet. “What the devil do you mean?” he asked roughly. “Sit down. There’s nothing to be alarmed about. He is behind a two-inch door, with handcuffs on his wrists and a pain in his head that will take a lot of moving. I’d have telephoned, only I don’t trust the exchange.” And then he told the visitor of his encounter with Dorn. “It was a question of foresight, and I saw farthest,” he said. “It is as good as a bottle of sparkling wine to match your brain against the mind of a man like that, to look ahead and see what he will do in given circumstances, and to counter and recounter his plans. Somebody had to come out on top--he or I. He failed to take an elementary precaution--the veriest amateur would have known that, if his attention was distracted for a moment, I’d doctor his drink; and it was absurdly simple. I don’t even take the credit for it. He played so completely into my hands.” Chesney pursed his lips. “Has he recovered from the drug?” he asked, a little apprehensively. Tappatt nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve had quite an interesting conversation with him through the door. There’s a little spyhole that makes it easy to exchange pleasant badinage. Captain Michael Dorn is a pretty sick man at this moment.”