"Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?" he demanded fiercely.

All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed, Desmond noted, all, that is, save Mrs. Malplaquet who lay cowering on the settee.

Mortimer had pulled out his super-Mauser; No. 13, who was guarding the door, had a revolver in his hand, and Behrend, as has been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his Browning.

Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman's knife in his hand..

"Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!" he snarled at Mortimer, "and tell us wot's the little gime, will yer! Come on, egpline!"

With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the stranger to Desmond.

"I think it is up to the twins to explain," he said almost nonchalantly, "suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrived so surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?"

Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang and possibly, as far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer was perfectly calm. Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise more than in that moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towards the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he dared into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was not afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by the sickening feeling that he was going to be beaten, that the gang were going to slip through his fingers after all... and he was powerless to prevent it.

He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped from custody; for there was no disguise about this pale, fl.u.s.tered creature who had the cowed look of a hunted man in his eyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get his motorcycle; for he surely would have known that the villa would be the first place to which the police would follow him up.

Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If--it was a very big if--Bellward's flight were discovered promptly, the police might be expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him.

Bellward must have come straight there; for he had not even taken the very elementary precaution of shaving off his beard. That made Desmond think that he must have escaped some time that evening after the barbers' shops were closed.

With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to come. In a very little while, he told himself, the truth must come out. His only chance was to try and bluff his way out of this appalling dilemma and above all, at all costs--this was the essential fact which, he told himself, he must keep steadfastly before his eyes--not to lose sight of Mortimer whatever happened.

Bellward's voice--and its tones showed Desmond what an accomplished mime Crook had been--broke the silence.

"I have nothing to explain," he said, turning from the sofa where he had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs.

Malplaquet, "this is my house. That is sufficient explanation for my presence here, I imagine. But I confess I am curious to know what this person"--he indicated Desmond--"is doing in my clothes, if I mistake not, giving what I take to be a very successful impersonation of myself."

Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle of light thrown by the lamp.

"I don't know what you all think," he said firmly, "but it seems to me singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when there is a stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of this gentleman in breaking into my house by my private door, wearing my clothes, if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize the danger of admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind."

"Quite right," agreed Behrend, nodding his head in a.s.sent.

"You have had one singular surprise to-night already," Desmond resumed, "in the matter of the jewel which our respected leader was about to show us: if you recollect, our friend was only prevented from giving us the explanation which he certainly owed us over his little hoax by the arrival, the most timely arrival, of his confederate..."

"Confederate?" shouted Mortimer, "what the devil do you mean by that?"

"Yes, confederate," Desmond repeated. "Max, Behrend, Mrs.

Malplaquet, all of you, look at this wretched fellow"--he pointed a finger of scorn at Bellward--"trembling with fright at the role that has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our midst, to give his accomplice the tip to clear out before the police arrive."

"Stop!" exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caught his hand.

"We'll hear you in a minute!" he said.

"Let him finish!" said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain ominous quietness in her tone that startled Desmond.

As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listening very intently.

"Doubtless, this double of mine," continued Desmond in a mocking voice, "is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewel which has required our beloved leader to devote so much of his time to a certain charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a man like this," and he pointed to Mortimer disdainfully with his hand, "a man who puts you in the fighting line while he amuses himself in the rear, are you going to let this false friend, this bogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends, my advice to you, if you don't want to have another and yet more disagreeable surprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is not here for the purpose of selling us all!"

He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the same time looking round the group at the faces of the spies to see how his harangue had worked upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he could see, were on his side; No. 13 was obviously, undecided; Mortimer and Bellward were, of course, against him; Mrs.

Malplaquet sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down, giving no sign.

"It's high time..." Mortimer began violently but Mrs. Malplaquet put up her hand and checked him.

"Better hear Bellward!" she said softly.

"I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence," he said, "either here or outside. I only know that I escaped from the escort that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton Prison this evening and that the police are hard on my track. I have delayed too long as, it is. Every one of us in this room, with the exception of the traitor who is amongst us"--he pointed a finger in denunciation at Desmond--"is in the most imminent peril as long as we stay here. The rest of you can please yourselves. I'm off!"

He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open.

Behrend sprang forward.

"Not so fast," he cried. "You don't leave this room until we know who you are!"

And he covered him with his pistol.

"Fool!" exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold of the secret door, "do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him, Minna," he said to Mrs. Malplaquet, "and for Heaven's sake, let us be gone!"

Mrs. Malplaquet stood up.

"This is Basil Bellward," she said, "see, he's wearing the ring I gave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now," she cried, raising her voice shrilly, "before we go, kill that man!"

And she pointed at Desmond.

Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through the opening in the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the garden. Without any warning Mortimer swung round and fired point-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to spring at the other and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing from the deafening report of the pistol in the confined s.p.a.ce, with the acrid smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at Mortimer's throat, hoping to bear him to the ground before he could shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash of gla.s.s and a loud report. Someone cried out sharply "Oh!" as though in surprise and fell p.r.o.ne between him and his quarry; then he stumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on the head. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body that twitched a little and then lay still.

Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman crying--long drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering note. He had a dull, hard pain in his head which felt curiously stiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to the woman's sobbing, so tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared to wonder what it signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency and he opened his eyes to learn the cause of it.

His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic, ogre-like face, as huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask.

Beside it was a light, a brilliant light, that hurt his eyes.

Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone, said:

"Well, how are you feeling?"

The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But he was rather surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came from his own lips, curiously enough:

"Fine!"

So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this phenomenon. This time the ogre-like face came into focus, and Desmond saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him.

"That's right," said the man, looking very intently at him, "feel a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a mouthful of brandy... I've got it here!"

Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the gla.s.s that the other held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very cold. His collar and shirt were unb.u.t.toned, and his neck and shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the wailing of the woman.

"Corporal," said the man bending over him, "just go and tell that old hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go out of the house if she can't be quiet!"

Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the library. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire with his boot, turned at the doctor's summons and left the room.