Michael Brixan had had sent down to him from town a heavy suitcase, which contained precious little clothing. He was busy with its contents for half an hour, when the boots of the hotel announced the arrival of the motorcycle that had been hired for him.

With a canvas bag strapped to his back, he mounted the machine, and was soon clear of the town, swerving through the twisting lanes of Sussex until he arrived at the Dower House, behind which he concealed his machine.

It was eleven o’clock when he crossed the fields to the postern gate, on the alert all the time for the soft-footed Bhag. The postern was closed and locked⁠—a contingency for which he was prepared. Unstrapping his bag, he took therefrom a bundle of rods, and screwed three together. To the top he fastened a big, blunt hook, and, replacing the remainder of the rods, he lifted the hook till it rested on the top of the high wall, tested its stability, and in a few seconds had climbed his “ladder” and had jumped to the other side.

He followed the path that he had taken before, keeping close to the bushes, and all the time watching left and right for Penne’s monstrous servant. As he came to the end of the hedge, the hall door opened and two men came out. One was Penne, and for a moment he did not recognize the tall man by his side, until he heard his voice. Mr. Sampson Longvale!

“I think she will be all right. The wounds are very peculiar. It looks almost as if she had been scratched by some huge claw,” said Longvale. “I hope I have been of assistance, Sir Gregory, though, as I told you, it is nearly fifty years since I engaged in medical work.”

So old Longvale had been a doctor! Somehow this news did not surprise Michael. There was something in the old man’s benevolence of countenance and easy manner which would have suggested a training in that profession, to one less analytical than Michael Brixan.

“My car will take you down,” he heard Sir Gregory say.

“No, no, thank you; I will walk. It is not very far. Good night, Sir Gregory.”

The baronet growled a good night and went back into the dimly-lit hall, and Michael heard the rattle of chains as the door was fastened.

There was no time to be lost. Almost before Mr. Sampson Longvale had disappeared into the darkness, Michael had opened his canvas bag and had screwed on three more links to his ladder. From each rod projected a short, light, steel bracket. It was the type of hook-ladder that firemen use, and Michael had employed this method of gaining entrance to a forbidden house many times in his chequered career.

He judged the distance accurately, for when he lifted the rod and dropped the hook upon the sill of the little window, the ladder hung only a few inches short of the ground. With a tug to test the hook, he went up hand over hand, and in a few seconds was prying at the window sash. It needed little opening, for the catch was of elementary simplicity, and in another instant he was standing on the step of a dark and narrow stairway.

He had provided himself with an electric torch, and he flashed a beam up and down. Below, he saw a small door which apparently led into the hall, and, by an effort of memory, he remembered that in the corner of the hall he had seen a curtain hanging, without attaching any importance to the fact. Going down, he tried the door and found it locked. Putting down his lantern, he took out a leather case of tools and began to manipulate the lock. In an incredibly short space of time the key turned. When he had assured himself that the door would open, he was satisfied. For the moment his work lay upstairs, and he climbed the steps again, coming to a narrow landing, but no door.

A second, a third and a fourth flight brought him, as near as he could guess, to the top of the tower, and here he found a narrow exit. Listening, after a while he heard somebody moving about the room, and by the sound they made, he supposed they wore slippers. Presently a door closed with a thud, and he tried the handle of the wicket. It was unlocked, and he opened it gently a fraction of an inch at a time, until he secured a view of the greater part of the chamber.

It was a small, lofty room, unfurnished with the exception of a low bed in one corner, on which a woman lay. Her back was toward him, fortunately; but the black hair and the ivory yellow of the bare arm that lay on the coverlet told him that she was not European.

Presently she turned and he saw her face, recognizing her immediately as the woman whose face he had seen in the picture. She was pretty in her wild way, and young. Her eyes were closed, and presently she began crying softly in her sleep.

Michael was halfway in the room when he saw the handle of the other door turn, and, quick as a flash, stepped back into the darkness of the landing.

It was Bhag, in his old blue overall, a tray of food in his great hands. He reached out his foot and pulled the table toward him, placing the viands by the side of the bed. The girl opened her eyes and sank back with a little cry of disgust; and Bhag, who was evidently used to these demonstrations of her loathing, shuffled out of the room.

Again Michael pushed the door and crossed the room, unnoticed by the girl, looking out into the passage⁠—not six feet away from him, Bhag was squatting, glaring in his direction.

Michael closed the door quickly and flew back to the secret staircase, pulling the door behind him. He felt for a key, but there was none, and, without wasting another second, he ran down the stairs. The one thing he wished to avoid was an encounter which would betray his presence in the house.

He made no attempt to get out of the window, but continued his way to the foot of the stairs, and passed through into the hall. This time he was able to close the door, for there were two large bolts at the top and the bottom. Pulling aside the curtain, he stepped gingerly into the hall. For a while he waited, and presently heard the shuffle of feet on the stairs and a sniff beneath the door.

His first act was to ensure his retreat. Noiselessly he drew the bolts from the front door, slipped off the chain and turned the key. Then, as noiselessly, he made his way along the corridor toward Sir Gregory’s room.

The danger was that one of the native servants would see him, but this he must risk. He had observed on each of his previous visits that, short of the library, a door opened into what he knew must be an anteroom of some kind. It was unlocked and he stepped into complete darkness. Groping along the wall, he found a row of switches, and pulled down the first. This lit two wall-brackets, sufficient to give him a general view of the apartment.

It was a small drawing-room, apparently unused, for the furniture was sheeted with holland, and the fire-grate was empty. From here it was possible to gain access to the library through a door near the window. He switched off the light, locked the door on the inside, and tried the shutters. These were fastened by iron bars and were not, as in the case of the library, locked. He pulled them back, let the blind up, and gingerly raised a window. His second line of retreat was now prepared, and he could afford to take risks.

Kneeling down, he looked through the keyhole. The library was illuminated, and somebody was talking. A woman! Turning the handle, he opened the door the fraction of an inch, and had a view of the interior.

Gregory Penne was standing in his favourite attitude, with his back to the fire, and before him was a tray of those refreshments without which life was apparently insupportable. Seated on the low settee, drawn up at one side of the fireplace, was Stella Mendoza. She was wearing a fur coat, for the night was chilly, and about her neck was such a sparkle of gems as Michael had never seen before on a woman.

Evidently the discussion was not a pleasant one, for there was a heavy scowl on Gregory’s face, and Stella did not seem too pleased.

“I left you because I had to leave you,” growled the man, answering some complaint she had made. “One of my servants is ill and I brought in the doctor. And if I had stayed it would have been the same. It’s no good, my girl,” he said harshly. “The goose doesn’t lay golden eggs more than once⁠—this goose doesn’t, at any rate. You were a fool to quarrel with Knebworth.”

She said something which did not reach Michael’s ears.

“I dare say your own company would be fine,” said Penne sarcastically. “It would be fine for me, who footed the bill, and finer for you, who spent the money! No! Stella, that cat doesn’t jump. I’ve been very good to you, and you’ve no right to expect me to bankrupt myself to humour your whims.”

“It’s not a whim,” she said vehemently, “it’s a necessity. You don’t want to see me going round the studios taking any kind of job I can get, do you, Gregory?” she pleaded.

“I don’t want to see you work at all, and there’s no reason why you should. You’ve enough to live on. Anyway, you’ve got nothing against Knebworth. If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t have met me, and if you hadn’t met me, you’d have been poorer by thousands. You want a change.”

There was a silence. Her head was drooped, and Michael could not see the girl’s face, but when she spoke, there was that note of viciousness in her voice which told him her state of mind.

“You want a change too, perhaps! I could tell things about you that wouldn’t look good in print, and you’d have a change too! Get that in your mind, Gregory Penne! I’m not a fool⁠—I’ve seen things and heard things, and I can put two and two together. You think I want a change, do you⁠—I do! I want friends who aren’t murderers⁠—”

He sprang at her, his big hand covering her mouth.

“You little devil!” he hissed, and at that instant somebody must have knocked, for he turned to the door and said something in the native dialect.

The answer was inaudible to Mike.

“Listen.” Gregory was speaking to the girl in a calmer tone. “Foss is waiting to see me, and I’ll discuss this little matter with you afterwards.”

He released her, and, going to his desk, touched the spring that operated the mechanism of the secret door that led to Bhag’s quarters.

“Go in there and wait,” he said. “I’ll not keep you longer than five minutes.”

She looked suspiciously at the door which had suddenly opened in the panelling.

“No,” she said, “I’ll go home. Tomorrow will do. I’m sorry I got rough, Gregory, but you madden me sometimes.”

“Go in there!”

He pointed to the den, his face working.

“I’ll not!” Her face was white. “You beast, don’t you think I know? That is Bhag’s den! Oh, you beast!”

His face was horrible to see. It was as though all the foulness in his mind found expression in the demoniacal grimace.

Breathless, terrified, the girl stared at him, shrinking back against the wall. Presently Gregory mastered himself.

“Then go into the little drawing-room,” he said huskily.

Mike had time to switch out the lights and flatten himself against the wall, when the door of the room was flung open and the girl thrust in.

“It is dark!” she wailed.

“You’ll find the switches!”

The door banged.

Michael Brixan was in a dilemma. He could see her figure groping along the wall, and stealthily he moved to avoid her. In doing so he stumbled over a stool.

“Who’s there?” she screamed. “Gregory! Don’t let him touch me, Gregory!”

Again the piercing scream.

Mike leapt past her and through the open window, and, the sound of her shrill agony in his ears, fled along the hedge. Swift as he was, something sped more quickly in pursuit, a great, twittering something that ran bent double on hands and feet. The detective heard and guessed. From what secret hiding-place Bhag had appeared, whether he was in the grounds at the moment Mike jumped, he had no time even to guess. He felt a curious lightness of pocket at that moment and thrust in his hand. His pistol was gone. It must have fallen when he jumped.

He could hear the pad of feet behind him as he darted at a tangent across the field, blundering over the cabbage rows, slipping in furrows, the great beast growing closer and closer with every check. Ahead of him the postern. But it was locked, and, even if it had not been, the wall would have proved no obstacle to the ape. The barrier of the wall held Michael. Breathless, turning to face his pursuer, in the darkness he saw the green eyes shining like two evil stars.