Mrs. Naylor led the way to the lower regions, unconscious that not three but seven men were following her, the last four with rubber-soled boots.

She had scarcely taken a step along the pa.s.sage at the foot of the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs, when her arms were gripped from behind and a pad held over her mouth. She struggled against the sweet-smelling sickly fumes; then the relaxing of her limbs told that she had temporarily left for realms where Mr. Naylor was not.

The bas.e.m.e.nt was composed of a kitchen, immediately on the right of the stairs, and a breakfast-room, the entrance to which lay a few paces along the pa.s.sage. At the end of the pa.s.sage was a door leading into the area.

Without a sound the men divided themselves, one went to the area door, two remained by the kitchen door, where Susan could be heard clattering crockery, whilst the other four stood outside the door leading to the breakfast-room. One of them gently turned the handle; it was locked.

He made a signal to the two men at the kitchen door. One quietly entered.

A moment later Susan looked up with a start to find herself gazing down the barrel of an automatic pistol, whilst before her eyes was presented a card on which was printed, "Come and make the signal to get the door of the breakfast-room open, otherwise you will be shot."

For a fraction of a second she hesitated, then a strange light flashed into her eyes, suggestive half of cunning, half of relief, and with an understanding nod she walked to the breakfast-room door. One of the men placed her in such a position that she would not be in the way of the entrance of the others when the door was opened.

Very deliberately she knocked and paused--knock--knock--knock, pause, knock--knock.

They waited breathlessly. The sound of a key being cautiously turned was presently heard. A moment after a line of white appeared beside the green paint of the door, as it was slowly and cautiously opened.

Then a score of things seemed to happen at once. The waiting men threw themselves into the room, the man at the end of the pa.s.sage dashed out into the area, he who had been left at the kitchen-door rushed into the back-yard and whistled.

The breakfast-room was in total darkness; but for the brilliant electric torches carried by the a.s.sailants. For a moment there was wild confusion, a shot was fired and then all was quiet.

"Got him, Thompson?" It was Malcolm Sage who spoke; but from a physical substance that was not Malcolm Sage.

"Got them and it, sir," was the response.

"Are you hit?"

"Only in the arm, sir. Nothing to write home about," was the cheery response.

"Here, switch on the light someone," said Malcolm Sage, and a moment after there was a click and a three-lamp electrolier burst into light.

"Get a window open, Thompson; thrust all that greenery stuff out,"

cried Malcolm Sage.

"Right, sir."

With the aid of the fire-irons, Mr. Montagu Naylor's little greenhouse was soon demobilised and lay a heap of ruins in the area.

"That's better," murmured Malcolm Sage. "What a stink!"

He then turned to an examination of the room. The window had been blocked up with a sort of gla.s.s case, on which shelves had been built and flower-pots placed. This had the effect not only of cutting off all communications from outside except from the door; but of preventing anyone from seeing into the room. The atmosphere of the place was heavy and foetid, as the only means of ventilation was the door. There were three pallet-beds, a table and several chairs.

Malcolm Sage shuddered at the thought of living week after week under such conditions. He turned to his prisoners.

On the floor lay two men, handcuffed, each with a member of the staff of Department Z. sitting contentedly on his chest. One was foaming at the mouth with suppressed fury, the other, a heavily-built fellow, lay apathetic. In a corner upon one of the pallet-beds sat a man looking about him in a dazed fashion.

"It's all right, Mr. Dene," said Malcolm Sage. "We'll attend to you in a minute." Then turning to Thompson he said, "Get these fellows up into the car. Keep the two women here under guard. Then we'll see to your arm."

"Right, sir," said Thompson.

The arrival of three closed motor-cars outside "The Cedars" had aroused some interest among the residents of Apthorpe Road. The absence of flowers from the lamps and the b.u.t.tonholes of the chauffeurs negatived the idea of a wedding, and three cars were scarcely necessary to take Mr. Naylor's small household for a holiday.

A group of neighbours and errand boys gathered outside Mr. Naylor's gate. The windows opposite and on each side were manned in force.

Presently the onlookers were astonished to see two handcuffed men half carried, half dragged out of the house and hurried into the first car.

They were followed by two more of the men who, a few minutes before, had been engaged in picking up Mr. Naylor's path. As soon as they were in the car, these men proceeded to fetter their two prisoners.

Apthorpe Road gasped its astonishment.

In the breakfast-room Malcolm Sage drew a chair up to the man seated on the bed, seemingly quite unconscious of what was happening. Leaning forward he lifted one of his eyelids, then turned to the others who stood round.

"Dope," was all he said.

There was an angry murmur from the others. For a moment Malcolm Sage sat looking at the wasted form of what once might have been John Dene of Toronto. Then he turned to Thompson, quite unrecognisable as the foreman gas-mechanic, whose arm was being bandaged with a field-dressing.

"Take him in one of the cars to Sir Bryllith Riley, and explain. He's expecting you. Do exactly as he orders. Take Rogers with you, and then get your wound seen to."

Sir Bryllith Riley was the great specialist in nervous disorders, who had made a special study of the drug habit. Without a word Thompson left the room, followed two of the "workmen," who had raised the patient to his feet. Then half leading, half carrying they took him from the room.

The crowd of spectators, which had been considerably reinforced, received its second thrill that morning at the sight of a short st.u.r.dily built man, apparently drunk, being helped into the second car.

They noticed that he blinked violently in the sunlight, and those who were near enough saw that his eyes were watering profusely. One or two of the more observant observed that he stumbled as he entered the taxi, and would have fallen but for those supporting him. The second car immediately drove off.

A few minutes later two more men left "The Cedars" and entered the third car, which with the first then drove off, leaving Mr. Naylor's residence in the charge of the "survey" men and two of the "workmen."

In the back-garden James was having a meal--it was to be his last.

"I should like a smoke, chief. I left my pipe behind," said one of the men in the third car, as he took from his pocket a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and proceeded to put them on.

"Here, try one of these," and a gold-mounted cigar case was pa.s.sed towards him, a case that seemed strangely out of keeping with the corduroys of the owner.

"Well, it's been a happy day," said Malcolm Sage, as he proceeded to light the cigar Colonel Walton had given him.

"I hope the other fellows have got their lot," said the Chief of Department Z., as the car ran into the High Road.

"Trust them," was the answer. "Finlay wouldn't let Naylor escape him.

I should like to know what they're saying at the Tower," he added a moment later.

From half-past twelve until nearly two that day, the officials at the Tower were kept busily occupied in receiving guests. The appet.i.te for lunch of the officer of the guard was entirely spoiled.

"Where the deuce are we going to put them all," he asked of one of his N.C.O.'s.

The man shook his head helplessly.

"It might be a Rowton's lodging-house," grumbled the officer, as he made the twenty-third entry in what he facetiously called the "Goods Received Book." "d.a.m.n the war!"

III

"Well, Thompson," remarked Colonel Walton with a smile, "you have earned----"