The man lounging in the shadow heard a faint whistle. It was the signal agreed upon. The man Felton ran across the street and boldly rang the bell. It was only then that Florence missed the ever present butler. She hesitated, then sent Susan to the door. "I must see Mr. Jones upon vitally important business." "He has gone out," said Susan, and very sensibly closed the door before Felton's foot succeeded in getting inside. It was time to act. He ran around to the rear. The ladder convinced him that Jones had tricked him. He was wild with rage. He was over the wall in an instant. Away down the back street his eye discovered his man in full flight. He gave chase. As he came to the first corner he was nearly knocked over by a man coming the other way. "Who are you bumping into?" growled Felton. "Not so fast, Felton!" "Who the devil are you?" The stranger made a sign which Felton instantly recognized. "Quick! What has happened?" "Jones has the million and is making his getaway. See him hiking toward the water front?" The two men began to run. There followed a thrilling chase. Jones engaged a motorboat and it was speeding seaward when the two pursuers arrived. They were not laggard. There was another boat and they made for it. [Illustration: JONES ENGAGED A MOTOR BOAT] "A hundred if you overtake that boat," said Felton's strange companion. Felton eyed him thoughtfully. There was something familiar about that voice. Great plumes of water shot up into the air. It did not prove a short race by any means. It took half an hour for the pursuer to overhaul the pursued. "Is that Jones?" "Yes." Felton fired his revolver into the air in hopes of terrifying Jones' engineer; but there was five hundred dangling before that individual's eyes. "Let them get a little nearer," shouted the butler. The engineer let down the speed a notch. The other boat crept up within twenty yards. Jones sought a perfect range. He would have to find this spot again. "Surrender!" yelled Felton. In reply Jones raised the precious box and deliberately dropped it into the sea. Then he turned his automatic upon his pursuers and succeeded in setting their boat afire. All this within the space of an hour. During dinner that night (there was now a cook) Jones walked about the dining-table, rubbing his hands together from time to time. "Jones," said Florence, "why do you rub your hands like that?" "Was I rubbing my hands, Miss Florence?" he asked innocently. CHAPTER VI "Did you get the range?" asked the countess, when that night Braine recounted his adventure.