"All in the day's work," said d.i.c.k. "But not, thank G.o.d! in to-night's."

And when he had carried his audience past Todsmoor station,

"That's all," he said. "Can't I go home to bed now, superintendent?"

But the bearded stranger intervened.

"One of your clever young officers, I presume," he said to Finucane.

"I wish to G.o.d he were, Sir Gregory," replied the superintendent.

"A clever, and, I gather, somewhat high-handed amateur. The young lady, I hope, is safe."

"She is, Sir Gregory--thanks entirely to the extraordinary rapidity of Mr. Richard Bellamy's intuition and action," said Finucane, speaking with unruffled respect, which yet did not hide, nor was intended to hide, a note of reproof. "Without him the Department would have been too late for the show. As it is, we are acting effectively--on information supplied by Mr. Bellamy."

Now d.i.c.k stood in no awe of potentates, and he liked his superintendent.

"It was my luck to be on the spot," he said. "There's nothing more in it."

"Pardon me if I differ from you, Mr. Bellamy," said Sir Gregory. "There is this more in it: if the police had been given your opportunities they would not have limited their action to the rescue of this unfortunate young lady, but would have devoted themselves also to the recovery of what is, for the country--I might almost say for the world--of vastly greater importance. You are possibly aware that a sample of a new drug of great potentiality for good and ill was the object of the outrage which led to the abduction."

The great man's beard and the great man's manner annoyed d.i.c.k Bellamy, stimulating him even through his shroud of somnolence.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned; then looked up at Sir Gregory.

"I don't know who you are, my good man," he said, "nor why you come barging into this. What more d'you want? Your Napoleon of crime is in the oubliette, two of his dastard accomplices are in clink at Todsmoor, three more are being tracked to their doom in Bayswater, two are dead----"

Here d.i.c.k produced from inner pockets a small white packet and an envelope.

"And these," he concluded, "are the dope and the book-o'-the-words."

Both Finucane and Sir Gregory started forward as if to take possession, but d.i.c.k drew back.

"No," he said, "I didn't go looting for my country's sake, nor the world's. I just happened to pick up two little things belonging to a friend of mine." And, turning, he put the Ambrotox and the formula into Caldegard's hand, smiling his crooked smile.

"That's the lot," he murmured, and laid his head on his arms, folded upon the table.

An uncomfortable pause was broken by the entrance of a constable with a card.

"Gentleman wishes to know if Mr. Richard Bellamy is here," he said to the superintendent.

But d.i.c.k did not move.

His brother bent over him.

"The boy's fast asleep," he said.

Finucane pa.s.sed the card to Randal.

"'George Bruffin,'" he read out. "Better ask him up, superintendent, if you don't mind."

Sir Gregory had been feeling himself pushed aside. He had taken the sow, it seemed, by the wrong ear. And now, the great Bruffin and his millions!

George came in, ponderous and unsmiling; picked out the superintendent at once, and thanked him gruffly for admission to the "sanctum"; a word which George chose to please him--and succeeded.

Sir Gregory pressing himself forward, Finucane was obliged to mumble an introduction.

George replied vaguely, saying, "Oh, ah--yes, of course!"

And then, his eye falling on Randal, he came alive.

"You're d.i.c.k's big brother," he said.

"I can't help that," responded Randal, holding out his hand.

"Some people do have all the luck," said George. Then, looking down at the sleeper, he continued: "My car's outside. My wife's waiting till I bring him. You'd better come with us, Sir Randal, and help us tuck him up in bed."

Sir Gregory tried again.

"Game to the last!" he said, joining the group; "but not, I suppose, very robust. Evidently a case of complete nervous exhaustion."

Caldegard had spoken little since d.i.c.k's entrance. He now rose as if shot from his chair by a spring, and spoke with a vigour that reminded Randal of their youth.

"Five hundred miles--driving your own car in the dark! Climb the side of a house. Break in--save one woman from being knifed by another. Fight five armed men with your fists and boots. Knock out four of them. Run a mile, dragging a girl--from a man chasing you, and shooting at you with a revolver. Kill a murderer with a murderess's dagger. Nurse a girl with an attack of hysteria. Drive a coach, humbug a woman, a parson, a railway porter, a guard and a station-master. Kill a man armed with that steel-clawed thing there, steal a car, knock a man off a train, and bring home the exhausted woman alive and your chief enemy drunk and a prisoner--do all that without sleep for thirty-six hours, Sir Gregory; then, if you can drop off to sleep like that, instead of having your head packed in ice and babbling pink spiders and blue monkeys, you may call your const.i.tution cast-iron. All exhaustion is nervous, Sir Gregory, and the man who can stand the biggest dose of it is the strongest man."

"Oh, from that point of view--yes--of course," bleated the bearded politician.

But George covered his final discomfiture.

"I wish you'd tell me your name, sir," he said to Caldegard.

Caldegard told him.

"Thought so," exclaimed George, almost with enthusiasm. "We have the immense pleasure of looking after Miss Caldegard. My wife won't be happy unless you come round with me and feast your eyes on what she says is the prettiest sight in London--Miss Caldegard asleep."

This time the father's countenance did him justice.

Finucane told his wife that night that he had at last seen an old man perfectly happy.

The potentate saw that flash of glory, and put himself "on-side."

He went round to Caldegard, and saying, "Let me congratulate you," took the hand offered him, and went out.

"Nothing in this meeting became him like----" began Randal.

But Caldegard cut him short.

"He meant it, Randal," he said.