Monty Newton dragged himself home, a weary, angry man, and let himself in with his key. He found the footman lying on the floor of the hall asleep, his greatcoat pulled over him, and stirred him to wakefulness with the toe of his boot.

“Get up,” he growled. “Anybody been here?”

Fred rose, a little dazed, rubbing his eyes.

“The old man’s in the drawing-room,” he said, and his employer passed on without another word.

As he opened the door, he saw that all the lights in the drawing-room were lit. Dr. Oberzohn had pulled a small table near the fire, and before this he sat bolt upright, a tiny chessboard before him, immersed in a problem. He looked across to the newcomer for a second and then resumed his study of the board, made a move⁠ ⁠…

“Ach!” he said in tones of satisfaction. “Leskina was wrong! It is possible to mate in five moves!”

He pushed the chessmen into confusion and turned squarely to face Newton.

“Well, have you concluded these matters satisfactorily?”

“He brought up the reserves,” said Monty, unlocking a tantalus on a side table and helping himself liberally to whisky. “They got Cuccini through the jaw. Nothing serious.”

Dr. Oberzohn laid his bony hands on his knees.

“Gurther must be disciplined,” he said. “Obviously he has lost his nerve; and when a man loses his nerve also he loses his sense of time. And his timing⁠—how deplorable! The car had not arrived; my excellent police had not taken position⁠ ⁠… deplorable!”

“The police are after him: I suppose you know that?” Newton looked over his glass.

Dr. Oberzohn nodded.

“The extradition so cleverly avoided is now accomplished. But Gurther is too good a man to be lost. I have arranged a hiding-place for him. He is of many uses.”

“Where did he go?”

Dr. Oberzohn’s eyebrows wrinkled up and down.

“Who knows?” he said. “He has the little machine. Maybe he has gone to the house⁠—the green light in the top window will warn him and he will move carefully.”

Newton walked to the window and looked out. Chester Square looked ghostly in the grey light of dawn. And then, out of the shadows, he saw a figure move and walk slowly towards the south side of the square. “They’re watching this house,” he said, and laughed.

“Where is my young lady?” asked Oberzohn, who was staring glumly into the fire.

“I don’t know⁠ ⁠… there was a car pulled out of the mews as one of our men ‘closed’ the entrance. She has probably gone back to Heavytree Farm, and you can sell that laboratory of yours. There is only one way now, and that’s the rough way. We have time⁠—we can do a lot in six weeks. Villa is coming this morning⁠—I wish we’d taken that idol from the trunk. That may put the police on to the right track.”

Dr. Oberzohn pursed his lips as though he were going to whistle, but he was guilty of no such frivolity.

“I am glad they found him,” he said precisely. “To them it will be a scent. What shall they think, but that the unfortunate Barberton had come upon an old native treasure-house? No, I do not fear that.” He shook his head. “Mostly I fear Mr. Johnson Lee and the American, Elijah Washington.”

He put his hand into his jacket pocket and took out a thin pad of letters. “Johnson Lee is for me difficult to understand. For what should a gentleman have to do with this boor that he writes so friendly letters to him?”

“How did you get these?”

“Villa took them: it was one of the intelligent actions also to leave the statue.”

He passed one of the letters across to Newton. It was addressed “Await arrival, Poste Restante, Mosamedes.” The letter was written in a curiously round, boyish hand. Another remarkable fact was that it was perforated across the page at regular intervals, and upon the lines formed by this perforation Mr. Johnson Lee wrote.

“Dear B.,” the letter ran, “I have instructed my banker to cable you £500. I hope this will carry you through and leave enough to pay your fare home. You may be sure that I shall not breathe a word, and your letters, of course, nobody in the house can read but me. Your story is amazing, and I advise you to come home at once and see Miss Leicester.

The notepaper was headed “Rath Hall, January 13th.”

“They came to me today. If I had seen them before, there would have been no need for the regrettable happening.”

He looked thoughtfully at his friend. “They will be difficult: I had that expectation,” he said, and Monty knew that he referred to the Three Just Men. “Yet they are mortal also⁠—remember that, my Newton: they are mortal also.”

“As we are,” said Newton gloomily.

“That is a question,” said Oberzohn, “so far as I am concerned.”

Dr. Oberzohn never jested; he spoke with the greatest calm and assurance. The other man could only stare at him.

Although it was light, a green lamp showed clearly in the turret room of the doctor’s house as he came within sight of the ugly place. And, seeing that warning, he did not expect to be met in the passage by Gurther. The man had changed from his resplendent kit and was again in the soiled and shabby garments he had discarded the night before.

“You have come, Gurther?”

“Ja, Herr Doktor.”

“To my parlour!” barked Dr. Oberzohn, and marched ahead.

Gurther followed him and stood with his back to the door, erect, his chin raised, his bright, curious eyes fixed on a point a few inches above his master’s head.

“Tell me now.” The doctor’s ungainly face was working ludicrously.

“I saw the man and struck, Herr Doktor, and then the lights went out and I went to the floor, expecting him to shoot.⁠ ⁠… I think he must have taken the gracious lady. I did not see, for there was a palm between us. I returned at once to the greater hall, and walked through the people on the floor. They were very frightened.”

“You saw them?”

“Yes, Herr Doktor,” said Gurther. “It is not difficult for me to see in the dark. After that I ran to the other entrance, but they were gone.”

“Come here.”

The man took two stilted paces towards the doctor and Oberzohn struck him twice in the face with the flat of his hand. Not a muscle of the man’s face moved: he stood erect, his lips framed in a half-grin, his curious eyes staring straight ahead.

“That is for bad time, Gurther. Nobody saw you return?”

“No, Herr Doktor, I came on foot.”

“You saw the light?”

“Yes, Herr Doktor, and I thought it best to be here.”

“You were right,” said Oberzohn. “March!”

He went into the forbidden room, turned the key, and passed into the super-heated atmosphere. Gurther stood attentively at the door. Presently the doctor came out, carrying a long case covered with baize under his arm. He handed it to the waiting man, went into the room, and, after a few minutes’ absence, returned with a second case, a little larger.

“March!” he said.

Gurther followed him out of the house and across the rank, weed-grown “garden” towards the factory. A white mist had rolled up from the canal, and factory and grounds lay under the veil.

He led the way through an oblong gap in the wall where once a door had stood, and followed a tortuous course through the blackened beams and twisted girders that littered the floor. Only a halfhearted attempt had been made to clear up the wreckage after the fire, and the floor was ankle-deep in the charred shreds of burnt cloth. Near the far end of the building, Oberzohn stopped, put down his box and pushed aside the ashes with his foot until he had cleared a space about three feet square. Stooping, he grasped an iron ring and pulled, and a flagstone came up with scarcely an effort, for it was well counter-weighted. He took up the box again and descended the stone stairs, stopping only to turn on a light.

The vaults of the store had been practically untouched by the fire. There were shelves that still carried dusty bales of cotton goods. Oberzohn was in a hurry. He crossed the stone floor in two strides, pulled down the bar of another door, and, walking into the darkness, deposited his box on the floor.

The electric power of the factory had, in the old days, been carried on two distinct circuits, and the connection with the vaults was practically untouched by the explosion.

They were in a smaller room now, fairly comfortably furnished. Gurther knew it well, for it was here that he had spent the greater part of his first six months in England. Ventilation came through three small gratings near the roof. There was a furnace, and, as Gurther knew, an ample supply of fuel in one of the three cellars that opened into the vault.

“Here will you stay until I send for you,” said Oberzohn. “Tonight, perhaps, after they have searched. You have a pistol?”

“Ja, Herr Doktor.”

“Food, water, bedding⁠—all you need.” Oberzohn jerked open another of the cellars and took stock of the larder. “Tonight I may come for you⁠—tomorrow night⁠—who knows? You will light the fire at once.” He pointed to the two baize-covered boxes. “Good morning, Gurther.”

“Good morning, Herr Doktor.”

Oberzohn went up to the factory level, dropped the trap and his foot pushed back the ashes which hid its presence, and with a cautious look round he crossed the field to his house. He was hardly in his study before the first police car came bumping along the lane.