“Mastertons gunsmiths sold last July pair of Browning automatics identical with that found on Parrish to Jeekes who paid with Parrish’s cheque.” The message was signed “Manderton.” At that moment a man wearing a black bowler hat and a heavy frieze overcoat came hurrying out of the hotel. “Mr. Greve!” he cried as Robin, who was back in the driving-seat, was releasing the brake. “Did you have the wire from the Yard saying I was coming?” he asked. “Probably I beat the telegraph, though. I came by air!” Then he tipped his hat respectfully at Herr Schulz. “This is Detective-Inspector Manderton, of Scotland Yard, sir,” said Robin. The big man beamed a smile of friendly recognition. “Mr. Manderton and I are old friends,” he said. “How are you, Manderton? I didn’t expect you to recognize me in these duds ...” “I’d know you anywhere, sir,” said the detective with unwonted cordiality. “Have you got your warrant, Manderton?” asked Herr Schulz. “Aye, I have, sir,” replied the detective. “And I’ve a colleague from the Dutch police who’s going along with me to effect the arrest ...” “Jeekes, eh?” “That’s the party, sir, charged with wilful murder.... This is Commissary Boomjes, of the Rotterdam Criminal Investigation Department!” A tall man with a short black beard had approached the car. It was decided that the whole party should proceed to the Villa Bergendal immediately. Manderton sat next to Robin and the Dutch police officer perched himself on the footboard. “And where did you pick _him_ up, I’d like to know?” whispered Manderton in Robin’s ear with a backward jerk of the head, as they glided through the brightly lit streets. “D’you mean the doctor?” asked Robin. “No, your other friend!” “Miss Trevert had a letter to him. Something in the Secret Service, isn’t he?” Mr. Manderton snorted. “‘Something in the Secret Service,’” he repeated disdainfully. “Well, I should say he was. If you want to know, Mr. Greve, he’s the head!” CHAPTER XXVI. THE FIGURE IN THE DOORWAY The rain was coming down in torrents and the night was black as pitch when, leaving the lights of Rotterdam behind, the car swung out on to the main road leading to the Villa Bergendal. Thanks to a powerful headlight, Robin was able to get a good turn of speed out of her as soon as they were clear of the city. As they slowed down at the gate in the side road Herr Schulz tapped him on the shoulder. “Better leave the car here and put the lights out,” he counselled. “And Miss Trevert should stay if the doctor here would remain to look after her ...” “You think there’ll be a scrap?” whispered the doctor. “With a man like Marbran,” returned the Chief, “you never know what may happen ...” “Zere will be no faight,” commented the Dutch police officer in lugubrious accents, “my vriends, ve are too laite ...”