"Terrible bad she is, and cryin' out for 'ee, m'am."

In the midst of this confusion appeared a veiled and cloaked figure, apparently belonging to Mrs. Barraclough, who nervously flapped hands and hastened, surrounded by a babbling mob of servitors, toward the nearest window.

It did not occur to Barraclough's enemies to offer any resistance to this general exodus, their attention was absorbed by the bedroom door, which had shut with a snap and the click of a key. They waited just long enough for the party of cackling females to get out of the room and down the path, then rushed at the door with foot and shoulder. It stood up longer than might have been expected, but Bolt's weight was more than ordinary woodwork could withstand. The lock burst--the headings split and it fell inward with a crash.

Standing by the window, waving a knotted handkerchief to a disappearing car was Mrs. Barraclough. She scarcely wasted a glance upon the intruders.

"d.a.m.nation--done!" roared Harrison Smith, as the truth dawned upon him.

In a solid block they swung round to find themselves staring down the black barrel of a service revolver held dead rigid in the hands of Jane.

"Hands above your heads, please," she insisted.

"And if you'll first wait till dear Anthony turns the bend of the lane,"

cooed Mrs. Barraclough, "I'll go through their pockets and take away any nasty things I may find there. You put the roses in the car, Jane?"

"He's got it all right," came the answer.

"Dear roses," said Mrs. Barraclough, sentimentally.

CHAPTER 28.

SAND.

A panel is not beaten into shape by force but by recurrent blows, light and accurate, and by the same c.u.mulative process, Van Diest and his colleagues sought to shape the will of Richard Frencham Altar to their intention.

The fact that their effort had so far failed in no way discouraged the belief that eventually it would succeed. There was no doubt in their minds but that in time he would be brought to speak, but Cranbourne's unexpected disclosure that the opposition knew of their captive's whereabouts robbed them of their most valuable a.s.set. Time, so to speak, was no longer to be relied upon and they were compelled to resort to a more expeditious method.

True it would be easy to remove the captive elsewhere but easy matters are apt to go wrong on performance. A clue might be provided where at present no clue existed. If Torrington brought a charge it would be based on hypothetical evidence and come to nothing. On the other hand unpleasant suspicions would certainly be aroused and neither Van Diest nor Hipps greatly desired to attract the attentions of the Police.

If Barraclough could be persuaded to disclose the secret all would be well. He would be generously rewarded not only for his confidence but also for a guarantee to disclose none of the privations to which he had been subjected. The affair would end in an atmosphere of sweet accord.

Torrington's crowd would be knocked out of business and a spirit of peace and harmony would descend like a benison upon the hard working trio.

Could any solution be more satisfactory, but there was a fly in the ointment. Barraclough's resolution strengthened with adversity, he kept his tongue behind locked teeth and said precisely nothing.

At nine o'clock that night the Dutchman's big Rolls Royce delivered him and Ezra Hipps at Laurence's abode and Laurence himself came out to meet them.

"Well?" said Hipps.

But Laurence shook his head.

"Nothing doing at present."

"Has he had any food?"

"Not today. He's weak enough in all conscience."

"Sleep?"

"d.a.m.n little. He dropped off two or three times and I got the chaps to spray him with cold water. That kept him lively. Blayney and Parker are sleeping in the room now and taking shifts to watch him at night.

Awfully sorry, you two, but I've done my best."

"I'll get right up," said Ezra P. Hipps. "Say, Auriole'll be along presently. Tell her to stand by. She may come in useful."

He marched heavily up the stairs and entered Richard's room.

Blayney was on duty sprawling watchful on a camp bed, his elbows propped on a kit bag.

"Get out, you," said Hipps, and the man obeyed. Then he turned to Richard.

The last few days had wrought a desperate change in his looks. Caverns had sunk in his cheeks and his eyes were ringed with black. That he stood in earnest need of a shave heightened the pallor of brow and temples.

He was seated, cramped rather, in an upright chair with chin down. His left hand beat a tattoo on the table top and he sucked the thumb of his right hand like a badly trained child at a make-belief meal.

"Taste good?" asked Hipps. "If I'd known you'd a fancy that way I'd have brought along a soother."

Richard removed his thumb and said, "Go to h.e.l.l!" very distinctly.

Hipps walked a few paces toward him and remarked:

"Still pretty fresh, I see."

"Leaking badly, but still afloat," came the reply.

"Durn me! but you're a sound citizen, Bud. I respect sand but I despise a fool."

"All right you do," mumbled Richard sleepily.

"Pretty tired?"

"Not sufficiently wide awake to listen to your talk, d.a.m.n you!"

The American smiled nastily.

"Maybe not, but this is a case of having to. Say! ever been in one of those big machine shops and seen a giant flywheel swizzling round at three hundred revs. a minute? Guess you wouldn't be gink enough to put out a hand and try to stop it. Never saw any machine yet that develops more power than I can."

Richard shrugged a shoulder; it was too great an effort to shrug both of them.

"And I guess you ain't going to stop the fly-wheel of my destiny."

"You've had a sample," he replied with a touch of spirit.

Hipps came a step closer and hooked his foot round a leg of Richard's chair.

"Know anything about the third degree?" he demanded.