BOTH PROFESSOR BLINKWELL and the Thurlows chose to return to England by the Calais-Dover route, which was the more convenient for night travelling, owing to the ferry service which had recently been instituted. They could go to bed on the train in France, and wake up to a sight of the English fields.

They all three had diverse reasons for some satisfaction of mind, and the sea was calm. They slept well.

The ambassador, on 'phoning M. Samuel to inform him, with some bluntness of speech, that he had decided not to remain in France, had found this intimation received without protest, and even some apologetic regret for the experience that he had had. He mentioned that the Prefecture had ordered the arrest of Mr. Kindell, as though that were conclusive evidence that he had committed the crime. Mr. Thurlow said that it would take a lot to convince him that Kindell would be guilty of such an act, and M. Samuel replied that new evidence had come into the hands of the police, which the young man would find it very hard to explain. "Our methods here," he had said, as though mentioning an evident superiority over those of the Anglo-Saxon races, "usually drag out the truth, when we've got such a start as we have here."

Mr. Thurlow, though less than convinced, saw additional cause for satisfaction that he would not be further involved. Kindell was a relative. He could scarcely have refused assistance, had it been asked. But it had been offered and refused; and he had been inclined to make a grievance of that! Perhaps Irene was right. Perhaps Kindell's motive for silence really had been consideration for them. The idea almost reconciled him to the presence of that infernal valise which Irene had insisted on bringing. After all, he was doing something for the fellow, and at some risk to himself, though he did not think it was much. If Kindell meant that he should sign off on those terms, well, it might have been worse than that!

Irene was more worried for Kindell's welfare, and anxious as to what ordeal he might have to face from the French police, but she could not believe that he was in serious danger of conviction for a murder of which she was certain that he could not have been guilty.

Trouble he was certainly in, but she had some confidence that he would be equal to finding his way out. And whatever anxiety she might feel, she was less distressed than she would have been had he not given her (as she supposed) an opportunity to atone for the way in which she had left him that afternoon. There should be no doubt of the valise being safely delivered! She would take it herself.

Professor Blinkwell had, perhaps, the most absolute peace of mind. for which he may have had the best cause.

He felt a degree of confidence almost equal to that of the ambassador and his daughter that the valise would pass the Customs without inspection, though he had a better knowledge of the risk it ran, and the trouble which would follow if it should engage the attention either of the Customs or the police. But, in any case he need have no personal fear. It was Gustav who would be questioned - Kindell, or perhaps the Thurlows, who would be under suspicion. What on earth would it be to do with him?

And there was some satisfaction in having left the scene, and the country, of the murder of one who had certainly been a particular enemy of his, without having been drawn, even remotely, into the orbit of the crime. But then, who knew of that enmity? He was not even sure that M. Samuel had known that it was he whom he pursued. If he had, it had become improbable that he had shared his knowledge with others, or surely the police would have paid more subsequent attention to him! So it was reasonable to think. But the murder had made it additionally desirable that he should get safely away, and particularly that he should have no further connection with that of which the Thurlows had so obligingly taken charge.

His anticipation proved to be no more sanguine than was justified by the event. He had the satisfaction of observing the Thurlows leave Victoria station in their own car, piled with luggage, among which he had no doubt that the valise was unobtrusively included. Evidently no untoward incident had delayed them at the Customs. Actually, the ambassadorial privilege had prevailed, and their baggage, as they would have called it, had not been inspected at all.

Professor Blinkwell called a taxi, and was soon enjoying the pleasant comfort of a late breakfast at his own table.

It was a meal at which Mrs. Blinkwell, whose occupation, if any, was that of a professional invalid, did not appear, but Myra was there. And though the Professor was blessed (as he would have agreed) with an incurious wife, his niece was somewhat more in his confidence, and more alert to circumstances, in her lazy way.

Breakfast came first with her. But, her plate being well supplied, curiosity had its turn.

"What's this," she asked, "about someone being found dead in Mr. Thurlow's room?"

"What, indeed?" her uncle echoed. "Am I to conclude that Kindell confided to you upon the boat?"

She looked at him with an irritation which had some cause, but a long experience of his conversational methods controlled her reply, "He didn't tell me anything. All I know is from last night's papers."

"Which I have not seen."

"But I expect you know more of what happened than got into them."

"On the contrary, I may know less. . . . What did they say?"

"They said a detective officer had been found killed in Mr. Thurlow's suite in the hotel. . . . They made quite a splash."

"I expect they would. . . . Did they mention Mr. Kindell at all?"

"No. What was it to do with him? I was going to tell you that he gave me the slip at Dover. He stayed in the Customs House, and I didn't see him get on to the train. I was afraid something might have gone wrong about the parcel he was bringing for me, but, if there was, I heard nothing more about it, so he didn't give us away."

"He told me that he had very little difficulty in dealing with that matter."

"You've seen him since you got in?"

"No. I saw him in Paris before I left yesterday."

Myra stared at that. "But you can't have done. He came over with me."

"He went back that night."

"Why on earth did he do that?"

"He went at the request of the police. . . . They thought the murder should be explained."

"But what was it to do with him?"

"That's what they want to find out."

"But - but that's absurd. He must have left before it happened."

"They seem to think differently. He was arrested yesterday afternoon."

Myra, whose feelings, unless for her own comfort or safety, were not easily roused, looked both troubled and bewildered.

"I could tell them that's nonsense."

"Which I must insist that you do not. We must not be mixed up in it at all."

Myra saw the prudence of this. Her protest was weak. She began, "But if - - " and her voice fell.

"You need not trouble about him. He told me that he was in no way concerned, and, if that be so, his danger cannot be great. . . . But there is something that you can do."

Hearing this, Myra did not look pleased. Her thoughts went to the parcel she had entrusted to him. Probably it might now be in the hands of the police. Did her uncle want her to claim it from them?

He saw the rebellion in her eyes, and read her thoughts as though they had been spoken aloud.

"Myra," he said, in a voice of patient remonstrance, "try not to be a bigger fool than you can't help. Do I ever ask you to do dangerous things? The parcel you gave to Kindell was opened by the Customs, and made no trouble at all. But the fact that it was opened gave me valuable information about Kindell, concerning whom I had been seriously misled."

"You mean he was letting us down?"

"On the contrary, I mean he wasn't. . . . But I'm not asking you to think. There's something you can do without that being necessary."

Myra still looked mutinous. She cared little for her uncle's sarcasms, to which she was well used, but she cared much for her own lazy comfort, and for the maintenance of a satisfactory distance from the police, which she knew was not the invariable experience of all members of the gang which he so adroitly controlled.

Unfortunately, the assurance of that lazy comfort came from the one who, from time to time, required her to undertake the dubious enterprises from which her caution if not her conscience sullenly rebelled.

It was true that obedience, intelligently though reluctantly given, had so far resulted in the immunity which he had assured her that she would have. But would it always be so? She saw danger now to be nearer than she had ever known it before.

Yet the professor's confusing half-explanation regarding the parcel with which she had been so reluctant to be concerned gave her some reason to rebuke her doubts. Had it really been of an entirely innocent character, and its only purpose to test Kindell's own character? It was so like her uncle to contrive such a scheme and to decline to say the explanatory word which would have relieved her of half her fears!

"You don't want me to claim the parcel?"

"Certainly not. If you should be questioned concerning it which you need not anticipate, as it could only occur if Kindell should give you away, which is, for several reasons, highly improbable, you will repudiate knowing anything about it. Should you be shown the articles it contained, you will say, with absolute truth, that you have never seen them before. I may tell you that they are of such a nature that you will be readily believed. . . . But he has said that he knew nothing of them, and you will find he will stick to that. . . .

"It is in regard to a parcel of greater value that you can help me now and in an entirely innocent way, the safety of which even you will be able to see. I want you to go to Mrs. Collinson in the next hour - it is a position in which the only risk lies in delay, and even that risk is not yours - and tell her that the Thurlows have brought a parcel over for Kindell, and have been given her address to which to deliver it.

"She must take it in, and then telephone Braithwaite, who will fetch it without delay. I shall have prepared him for that.

"If any questions should be asked on its delivery, she must make it appear natural that he should have given her address. She can be his aunt, if she will."

Myra listened to these instructions in a natural bewilderment. Kindell was accused of a murder for which he could have no conceivable motive. He was arrested. He had taken charge, not this time of an innocent package, but of the illicit drugs which it had been so necessary, and had suddenly become so difficult to get out of Paris, and through the peril of the English Customs. He had asked the Thurlows to bring it. And, finally, he had given not his true address, but that of one of their own gang, for its delivery! . . . She was to believe all that. And she knew that to ask for explanations was almost certainly to be rebuffed, or to be answered in some enigmatic way, by which her confusion would be increased.

"I thought," she said, "that you made it a rule that nothing should ever be done which would bring Mrs. Collinson under

suspicion.

"So I have. . . . That is precisely why she is useful now. . . . And can you not see that it was necessary to give the Thurlows an address such as Kindell might naturally use?"

"Yes. I suppose it was. But I don't understand now. . . ."

"And there is no reason why you should. But if you lose time, you may be late, which you must not risk."

"Shall I 'phone her first?"

"No. It is highly unlikely that she would be overheard. But it is a risk which there is no reason to run. There is no probability that the delivery will be made in haste. It is improbable that it will be today. But probability is not enough. I prefer to be sure."

Myra rose at that, and with as much expedition as it was natural to her to use she put on her hat, summoned a taxi, and proceeded to the address which was on the label which Irene had transferred to her own bag.

The hour being still early, and Mrs. Collinson being a lady of an indolence which even Myra could not rival, she was at home, but, having breakfasted in bed, was in process of dressing. They were known to each other, but not with the degree of intimacy which puts all ceremony aside, and so Myra must wait.

When the lady appeared, Myra came straight to the point, losing no time, as she was afterwards able to say in her own defence, to which there was no reply.

She had, in fact, a dislike for Mrs. Collinson which probably had its origin in a similarity of slothful selfishness which either could condone in herself rather than tolerate in another. She had no inclination to say more than was required by the errand on which she came.

"Professor Blinkwell," she began, "wants you to undertake something rather different from what you've been doing. There's a Mr. Kindell who has been told to give this as his address, and there's almost certain to be some luggage corning for him today or tomorrow. It won't be a lot. Just a suitcase, or something

like that.

"All you have to is to take it in as though you expect it, and then 'phone Dulwich 7171 - I've got it written down here for you, but it's best burnt - to say that you want the dressmaker to call as possible, and a lady giving the name of Bryant will fetch it away."

Mrs. Collinsn looked worried. "I thought," she said, "that it was understood - - "

"Yes. That you should not be required to do anything to draw suspicion in your direction. You know how strictly we've kept to that. And that makes it quite safe now."

"Of course, it's - - "

"It's always best not to know. . . . But you can be sure Professor Blinkwell wouldn't ask you to run any risk. Your banking facilities are too valuable for that. . . . And then knowing him as you do . . ."

Mrs. Collinson considered that, and her face cleared. She was one of those who unavoidably - knew that Professor Blinkwell controlled the gang, which few who took the major risks of their illicit traffic were permitted to do. What they did not know they could not disclose. And she was one of those who transmitted funds. She had no other activity. No, he would not be likely to involve her in any risk, which would destroy her usefulness, and might even lead to his own betrayal. She said cautiously, "If I do this I shan't be asked to again?"

"No. I don't suppose so."

"I hope that will be clear. Will there be any carriage to pay?"

"No. I should think not. Not much, anyhow."

"It isn't anything from abroad?"

"Oh, no! But its owner told you that he might send you such a case to take care of for him any time if he were going abroad."

"What name did you say?"

"Kindell. . . . William Kindell."

"I seem to have heard that name somewhere." Mrs. Collinson looked puzzled, and then as though recollection came, and was succeeded by fear: "Isn't that the name - - "

"Mr. Kindell has been very stupidly arrested by the Paris police. All the world knows that. But it's nothing to do with . . . what interests us. And, in any case, he's quite innocent. I shouldn't wonder if he's released by now."

Mrs. Collinson showed no satisfaction as she listened to these assurances. She naturally concluded that Kindell was one of the gang, and had been actively engaged in the smuggling side of the business, when, whether guilty of murder or not, he had fallen into the hands of the Paris police. Thinking that, she became one more of those who were misinterpreting the risks they ran.

Myra had a fear that she was to meet with refusal, and perhaps be blamed by her uncle for the degree of frankness she had shown. And yet how could she have avoided that?

But Mrs. Gollinson reflected that ?800 of a total income of less than ?1000 came from the financial services she rendered. A refusal might risk it all. Further, she had a shrewd thought that as the valise had already been directed to her, to refuse it might lead to an investigation which would involve her in more risk than there would be in taking it in.

"Very well," she said. "I'm sure Professor Blinkwell knows what he's about. But it's not a thing you must expect me to do again."

Myra rose, with a feeling of relief at her success, making her almost sincere in the cordiality of her parting words. She saw, with satisfaction, that Mrs. Collinson, after glancing again at the slip of paper she held, put it into the fire. It was an easy number to remember. "Bryant," she said, "yes, Bryant."

Myra came away feeling that it had taken a long time, but she had done well.

As she left the gate, a large car approached. Irene was beside the driver. She was looking out. The eyes of the two women met.

Irene turned to her companion. She said something to him, and the taxi quickened speed as it passed the house.

Myra stopped the next taxi she met, and went home. Her uncle was out. When he came back in the evening, she told him what had occurred.

He said little. What was there to say? He could not blame Myra. He certainly would not have wished Irene to see her coming out of that gate. But it was an event of uncertain importance. Probably none. Unless, of course. . . . He left the matter till the next morning. Then he passed the word to a subordinate, who 'phoned Mrs. Collinson, and learnt that the dress for Mrs. Bryant had arrived safely.