Hardly had he done this, and while the last vibration of the bell still quivered in the atmosphere, than the figure of a man sauntered aimlessly across the open space. As he came nearer, Vass saw that he wore a long overcoat and a soft hat. The man passed and re-passed him, glancing carelessly in his direction; then he asked, in a pleasant voice, for a cigarette light, which Vass obliged him with in silence. As the match spurted and flared, Vass noted that the stranger had a black beard, and, with a chill, realised that he was in the presence of the double assassin. "You received my letter?" said the man abruptly, with a glance round. "Yes. I am here to answer it; but I don't know why you wish to see me." "I'll tell you; come and sit here." And the man walked towards two chairs, which were almost directly in front of the trees behind which Torry and his assistants were hiding. By the very irony of Fate, the wretch had walked directly into the trap set for him by the law. "Isn't it rather public here," said Vass, sitting down beside the stranger. "No. Who can suspect two people sitting quietly together--not the most suspicious policeman. But now for business. I want that money." "What money?" said Vass, pretending ignorance. "You know; the money given to you by the woman at Cleopatra's Needle." "The murdered woman?" "Shut up," growled the man between his teeth, "or you'll be in the same box. I want that money. I perilled my life to get it, and I intend to have it." "Suppose I don't give it up." "Then I'll accuse you as having killed the man and woman. You cannot defend yourself against my evidence." "But, you wretch, it is you who are the assassin." "I may admit as much to you," sneered the man, "as you don't know who I am, and never will." "Won't I!" Vass flung himself on top of the miscreant and overset him, chair and all, on the ground. The man muttered an oath, and pulled out a long knife; but before he could use it Torry had rushed forward with his two men and Darrel. In the twinkling of an eye the man was disarmed and prone on his back. He cursed horribly, and whimpered between his curses. "Fetch a light here," cried Torry, "and we'll learn who this murderer is." Darrel slipped the slide back of a dark lantern, and turned the blaze full on their prisoner. He was dark-haired and black-bearded, and looked more like a shaggy wild bear than a man. "I don't know him," said Frank to Torry. "You will in a moment," cried Torry. "I'll swear it is Leighbourne." "Leighbourne!" repeated Vass, trembling violently. "Himself--see!" Torry dexterously whipped off a false beard and wig. Then he sprang to his feet with a wild cry of amazement. In the white-faced and baffled scoundrel, who was now in the clutches of the law, he saw not Frederick Leighbourne as he had expected, but--of all men--Roderick Blake! CHAPTER XXVI CONCLUSION