“Gurther must be disciplined,” he said. “Obviously he has lost his nerve; and when a man loses his nerve also he loses his sense of time. And his timing—how deplorable! The car had not arrived; my excellent police had not taken position . . . deplorable!” “The police are after him: I suppose you know that?” Newton looked over his glass. Dr. Oberzohn nodded. “The extradition so cleverly avoided is now accomplished. But Gurther is too good a man to be lost. I have arranged a hiding-place for him. He is of many uses.” “Where did he go?” Dr. Oberzohn’s eyebrows wrinkled up and down. “Who knows?” he said. “He has the little machine. Maybe he has gone to the house—the green light in the top window will warn him and he will move carefully.” Newton walked to the window and looked out. Chester Square looked ghostly in the grey light of dawn. And then, out of the shadows, he saw a figure move and walk slowly towards the south side of the square. “They’re watching this house,” he said, and laughed. “Where is my young lady?” asked Oberzohn, who was staring glumly into the fire. “I don’t know . . . there was a car pulled out of the mews as one of our men ‘closed’ the entrance. She has probably gone back to Heavytree Farm, and you can sell that laboratory of yours. There is only one way now, and that’s the rough way. We have time—we can do a lot in six weeks. Villa is coming this morning—I wish we’d taken that idol from the trunk. That may put the police on to the right track.” Dr. Oberzohn pursed his lips as though he were going to whistle, but he was guilty of no such frivolity. “I am glad they found him,” he said precisely. “To them it will be a scent. What shall they think, but that the unfortunate Barberton had come upon an old native treasure-house? No, I do not fear that.” He shook his head. “Mostly I fear Mr. Johnson Lee and the American, Elijah Washington.” He put his hand into his jacket pocket and took out a thin pad of letters. “Johnson Lee is for me difficult to understand. For what should a gentleman have to do with this boor that he writes so friendly letters to him?” “How did you get these?” “Villa took them: it was one of the intelligent actions also to leave the statue.” He passed one of the letters across to Newton. It was addressed “Await arrival, Poste Restante, Mosamedes.” The letter was written in a curiously round, boyish hand. Another remarkable fact was that it was perforated across the page at regular intervals, and upon the lines formed by this perforation Mr. Johnson Lee wrote. “Dear B.,” the letter ran, “I have instructed my banker to cable you £500. I hope this will carry you through and leave enough to pay your fare home. You may be sure that I shall not breathe a word, and your letters, of course, nobody in the house can read but me. Your story is amazing, and I advise you to come home at once and see Miss Leicester.