“You’re almost clever,” said Meadows, “and I don’t profess to be a match for you. But there are three men in this town who are! I’ll be frank with you, Oberzohn. I want to put you where I can give you a fair trial, in accordance with the law of this country, and I shall resist, to the best of my ability, any man taking the law into his own hands. But whether you’re innocent or guilty, I wouldn’t stand in your shoes for all the money in Angola!” “So?” said the doctor politely. “Give up this girl, and I rather fancy that half your danger will be at an end. I tell you, you’re too clever for me. It’s a stupid thing for a police officer to say, but I can’t get at the bottom of your snake. They have.” The old man’s brows worked up and down. “Indeed?” he said blandly. “And of which snake do you speak?” Meadows said nothing more. He had given his warning: if Oberzohn did not profit thereby, he would be the loser. Nobody doubted, least of all he, that, in defiance of all laws that man had made, independent of all the machinery of justice that human ingenuity had devised, inevitable punishment awaited Oberzohn and was near at hand. _Chapter XXI_ _The Account Book_ IT was five o’clock in the morning when the mud-spattered Spanz dropped down through the mist and driving rain of the Chiltern Hills and struck the main Gloucester Road, pulling up with a jerk before Heavytree Farm. Manfred sprang out, but before he could reach the door, Aunt Alma had opened it, and by the look of her face he saw that she had not slept that night. “Where is Digby?” he asked. “He’s gone to interview the Chief Constable,” said Alma. “Come in, Mr. Gonsalez.” Leon was wet from head to foot: there was not a dry square centimetre upon him. But he was his old cheerful self as he stamped into the hall, shaking himself free of his heavy mackintosh. “Digby, of course, heard nothing, George.” “I’m the lightest sleeper in the world,” said Aunt Alma, “but I heard not a sound. The first thing I knew was when a policeman came up and knocked at my door and told me that he’d found the front door open.” “No clue was left at all?” “Yes,” said Aunt Alma. They went into the drawing-room and she took up from the table a small black bottle with a tube and cap attached. “I found this behind the sofa. She’d been lying on the sofa; the cushions were thrown on the floor and she tore the tapestry in her struggle.” Leon turned the faucet, and, as the gas hissed out, sniffed. “The new dental gas,” he said. “But how did they get in? No window was open or forced?” “They came in at the door: I’m sure of that. And they had a woman with them,” said Aunt Alma proudly. “How do you know?” “There must have been a woman,” said Aunt Alma. “Mirabelle would not have opened the door except to a woman, without waking either myself or Mr. Digby.” Leon nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Obviously,” he said.