"You see," continued Lyall ; "it means that somewhere in London there is an UNKNOWN SPY who knows as much about my movements as I do myself. It must be obvious to even the meanest intelligence that he is fully aware of my intentions regarding the Duchess of Renburgh's jewels. It is or ought to be equally obvious that he has already notified the police of my intentions or perhaps I ought to say our intentions. otherwise why should he warn me? And again, why has he warn me and not the others? But chiefly, who the devil is he?" The cold, chill note had gone out of Lyall's voice. His easy assumption of casual detachment fell away and he uttered the last words with a rasping asperity. "I've been thinking matters over very closely this morning," he went on, "and I've come to the conclusion that here, I'm this warning is a clue to the biggest mystery we have ever known. here is a connecting link with something that has been gnawing at my thoughts for weeks." He br

Mercia halfway through a rippling medley of sharps and naturals stopped with a jerk, her white fingers poised daintily above the keys. "What was that?" she said in a puzzle voice to herself. What had seemed just like an unmistakable bump had just sounded in the next room. She thought something must have fallen over but one can never tell with a half a dozen servants busy about the house. They make such queer noises at times, shifting furniture about and doing the myriad things that only servants seem to find necessary to do. "That you dad?" she called. And no answering hail came from the next room. "Dad are you there?" she called again rising from her stool. And there was silence in the study. Mercia ran in. Her father was lying prone on the floor, his face buried in the thick pile of the carpet almost suffocating. "mummy come quickly," she cried through the door. "Dad has fainted quickly phone the doctor.