GUY TRENHOLM helped Miriam into his powerful roadster and then, with a murmured word of apology, slipped back into his bungalow. Miriam waited patiently, unmindful of his prolonged absence and thankful for the opportunity of rest undisturbed. Her ideas were confused--chaotic. The thirteen messages which she and Trenholm had just decoded were ringing in her head, but, try as she would, she could think of no solution to the enigma. The Law of Chance had indeed plunged her into an impenetrable mystery. Trenholm's voice at her elbow caused her to start slightly. "I am extremely sorry to have been so long," he said, taking his place behind the steering wheel. "Pablo," to the Filipino, who had followed him from the front door and was clinging frantically to the collars of the police dogs in his endeavor to keep them out of the car, "let no one enter the house. If any one calls on the telephone, tell them I am at Abbott's Lodge." The next instant the roadster had glided into the highway, and with Trenholm's impatient foot on the accelerator, was making record time in its dash for Abbott's Lodge. Pablo was busy going about his work, whistling shrilly, when a heavy knock on the side door interrupted him. Answering it, he found a man in chauffeur's livery just about to implant a heavy kick on the panels by way of emphasis. "Your mastair, where is he?" demanded Pierre, and Pablo's back stiffened at his insolent manner. "None of your business," he retorted, and slammed the door. The heavy bombardment of knocks which followed was stopped by Alexander Nash's appearance on the scene. He had waited in the Nash limousine, but the sound of conflict stirred him to action. His voice, raised in anger, caused Pablo to glance through the pantry window, and at sight of the clergyman, he at once opened the side door. "What is eet?" he asked blandly, ignoring Pierre utterly. "Did some one knock?" "I wish to see Sheriff Trenholm at once," stated the clergyman. "Tell him that Doctor Nash is here." "He is away." "Oh!" Nash looked a trifle nonplussed, then asked briskly, "Where will I find him?" Pablo paused, in his turn, for reflection. Trenholm had stated very clearly that should any one call him by telephone he, Pablo, was to say that he was to be found at Abbott's Lodge. Trenholm, however, had specified a telephone call only, and not a caller in person, therefore, according to Pablo's reasoning, he could not divulge the whereabouts of his master to Nash. "He gone out," he replied, assuming a stupid air and lack of English, which he spoke remarkably well, except for a distinct accent. "No tell where go." Nash's disappointment was obvious. "Think again!" he begged, and jingled some loose coins in his pocket suggestively. But Pablo's total lack of expression proved more exasperating than enlightening. "Come, where is the sheriff?" "I dunno," Pablo shrugged. "Maybe he come back to dinner, maybe not. Want to wait in your car?"