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Spider

<h5>WHO WAS CAUGHT IN THE TRAP.</h5> Vernon had his doubts as to the success of Mr. Dimsdale's scheme. The Spider, as the authorities very well knew, was a wary individual, and in all dealings with his victims had been careful to provide for his own safety. He certainly met them at duly-appointed places, disguised as an old woman or a young man, as a navvy or as a foreigner; but none of those he intimidated dared to call in the police. The reason was that The Spider invariably advised them beforehand by letter that his accomplice held the evidence of the secrets for which they were being blackmailed, and that any proceedings being taken would result in the publication of these by cards being sent to their friends and relatives and acquaintances. It therefore can easily be guessed that no one had the courage to lay the rogue by the heels. But, as it appeared, The Spider had, in Mr. Dimsdale, stumbled on a man who was not averse to his secret being known. Vernon wondered what the ex-police-commissioner had done that he should have one at all, and looked forward eagerly to being told. Dimsdale was such a very respectable old gentleman, and so very open in his speech and actions and entire life, that it seemed incredible he should conceal anything. However, as The Spider had learned in some extraordinary way, he did possess some secret, and therefore was being threatened. It was lucky for Dimsdale in particular and the public at large that he cared so little for the revelation of whatever shady doings he had been concerned in, since by trapping The Spider an end would be put to the dangerous career of this social pest. Whatever Mr. Dimsdale's secret might be, he well deserved to be forgiven for the service which he was rendering to everyone. But it was questionable, in Vernon's opinion, if The Spider would meet his victim in a house filled with company, where there was every chance of a hue and cry being raised. Certainly the scamp, well protected by mask and domino, would be able to mingle with the company unobserved. Even if unmasked, he could not be discovered, other than as an uninvited guest, since no one knew his actual appearance. And then he might choose to come as a cabman or a chauffeur or as a waiter at the supper. Of course, if he kept the appointment in the library his identity would be proved beyond all doubt when he made his blackmailing demand. This, The Spider, although confident, for the usual reason, of the silence of Dimsdale, might not choose to risk, since many people being in the bungalow, he might be overheard. Vernon looked at the whole affair as a somewhat forlorn hope, until he, three or four days later, received a letter from Mr. Dimsdale. The old gentleman wrote that The Spider had agreed to meet him in the library at "Rangoon" at eleven o'clock in the evening, and requested he, Vernon, to enter the room earlier, so that he could be concealed behind the screen. "I have not," Mr. Dimsdale went on to say, "advised the police, as it is unnecessary for us to talk until we have trapped our bird. But once he is in your grip he will see the folly of resistance, and will probably agree to walk quietly to the Hampstead Police Station. Failing that, we can shout for assistance, of which, it is obvious, there will be plenty to hand. But, you will understand that I wish to effect the capture as quietly as possible, so as not to alarm my guests." In the latter part of his letter Dimsdale stated that Maunders had been calling at the bungalow during his--the writer's--last interview with Vernon. He was, in fact, round the corner of the house, nearest to the library when Vernon stepped out of the French window. Dimsdale had found him there on the verandah in the company of the girls, and had promptly told him that he was not wanted, in his usual peppery way. There had been a row, as Maunders had been grossly insolent, but Miss Hest--a very capable girl, as Mr. Dimsdale wrote--had induced him to depart. Confirmation of this report was received by Vernon from Maunders himself, when the two met by chance in Piccadilly. "The old man was most insolent," complained Maunders indignantly; "There is no crime in loving Ida, so far as I can see." "Since you love Miss Corsoon, and only run after Ida for her money, I think Mr. Dimsdale has every reason to forbid you the house," said Vernon drily. "Oh, rot. I know what I'm about. As to forbidding me the house, I received an invitation to the masked ball on Monday, and I'm going." "Ida only extorted permission from her father to ask you. If you're a gentleman you will not go to be received on sufferance." Maunders chuckled coolly. "Ida won't receive me in that way," said he with superb insolence, "as she really loves me, and the old gentleman doesn't matter. I love Lucy, but she has no money, so I expect I shall have to sacrifice myself by marrying Ida." "If Mr. Dimsdale will allow you," chafed Vernon. "Oh, he won't; but Ida can defy him." "If she does she will lose her fortune." "That remains to be seen," said Maunders airily. "Hang old Dimsdale, what objection can he have to me?" "Your aunt might tell you," said Vernon significantly. The blood rushed to Maunders' cheek, and he looked searchingly at his friend, but not agreeably. "What do you mean?" "I mean that I can only consent to take you into partnership if you succeed in capturing The Spider," said Vernon slowly and somewhat evasively. "Who is The Spider?" "I think you know, if not from the newspapers, then from Mrs. Bedge." Maunders looked at the ground. "So old Dimsdale told you?" "Yes. He wished to enlist my services on behalf of your aunt to capture this blackmailing beast." "Oh; and do you intend to?" "No. I intend to leave the capture to you." Maunders opened his eyes. "But, my dear chap, I know nothing about The Spider, as you call this man, to say nothing of detective business." "Yet you wish to become Nemo's partner," said Vernon, very drily. "See here, Maunders, it's no use beating about the bush. I shan't take you as my partner unless you catch this man and so prove your capability." "And suppose I tell everyone who Nemo is?" asked Maunders with an ugly look. "You can do so if you like," rejoined Vernon coolly, "for then there will be no Nemo. I shall simply leave England and seek my fortune in Africa. And, after all, I don't see why you should refuse this test. It's to your own advantage that he should be caught, unless you want your aunt to pay five thousand pounds." "Bosh! What The Spider says is a lie." "I daresay; but it won't be pleasant for Mrs. Bedge to know that her friends receive cards stating you are her natural son." "It's an infernal lie," raged Maunders, the blood flushing his cheek and making him look handsomer than ever. "I am not a bit like my aunt in any way. It is true that her sister was my mother, but I take after my father." "Constantine Mavrocordato!" "Dimsdale told you that; he seems to have imparted a lot of my private affairs to you," observed Maunders acidly. "They are quite safe with me as Nemo. I don't use my private discoveries to blackmail people." "Do you believe this lie of The Spider's?" "No, I don't, for one moment. Mrs. Bedge is a good, kind woman, far too good for you, Maunders. She has brought you up and educated you, and allows you money, and altogether has behaved like a trump. For her sake, if not for the sake of becoming my partner in a paying business, you ought to hunt out this brute who asperses her fair fame." The other man stared again at his neat boots. "I'm not such a rotter as you think, Vernon," he said, in a voice filled with feeling; "and, of course, I appreciate my aunt's kindness. We'll let the partnership business stand over for the present. I give you my word that I shan't tell a soul you are Nemo. Also, I'll go to work on my own, and see if I can't catch The Spider. He's not going to get five thousand pounds of my money if I can help it." "Your aunt's money," corrected Vernon gently. "It will be mine some day," said Maunders with a shrug; "but you can see that I have some conscience, badly though you think of me." "I don't think so very badly of you," replied Vernon hurriedly and somewhat untruthfully, "you have your good points, Constantine, but you are so given over to pleasure that you stop at nothing to gratify it." "I stop on the right side of the law, however," retorted Maunders, again becoming his callous self, after the momentary softening. "There will be no chance of Nemo catching me. Well, good-day. I'll do what I say, and perhaps when I meet you at the ball, I'll have something to tell you." "You intend to go, then, in spite of Dimsdale's behaviour?" "Yes, I do," said Maunders doggedly; "and I intend to marry Ida with her thousands a year. So now you know." And he walked off abruptly, leaving Vernon to congratulate himself that he no longer had a dangerous rival in the affections of Lucy Corsoon. "Though I don't believe old Dimsdale will consent to the marriage with Ida," thought Vernon, as he resumed his interrupted walk. During the few days that still remained until the night of the masked ball, Vernon saw nothing of Maunders or of Martin Dimsdale. But on the Monday morning, when having luncheon in the triclinium of the Athenian Club, Colonel Towton made his appearance. He glanced round the room, and catching sight of Vernon, walked up to his table. "'Day," he said in his sharp, military way. "I'll join you here, if you have no objections." "Delighted, Colonel," replied Vernon, and passed along the menu. He wondered why Towton was making such a palpable advance towards friendship, for, as a rule, he was somewhat stiff, with a reserved manner, after the way of army men. The Colonel seemed to be in no hurry to explain, but fixed his eyeglass to examine the card, and order his luncheon. He was a tall, slim, dry-looking man, perfectly groomed and perfectly dressed and perfectly master of himself. In spite of his forty-five years, his close-cropped hair and smartly-twisted moustache were without a grey hair. Dark and knightly-looking, with alert eyes of Irish blue, he looked as juvenile as any of his subalterns. He was one of those men who ripen young, so to speak, and who remain in that condition for the rest of their lives. Towton was an admirable soldier, with several letters after his name, and it was a pity---as everyone said--that he had retired so early from the army. He should certainly have remained in order to attain to the rank of a general. But it was generally known that family reasons connected with the inheritance of a Yorkshire estate had necessitated the Colonel sending in his papers. Outside his profession he was not talented, but had a considerable fund of common sense, which is a rarer commodity than people imagine. "I want to have a private talk with you, Vernon," said the Colonel, after he had selected his dish. "Luckily there's no one within earshot." He glanced round the room to note that he and his companion were isolated in a secluded corner. "You don't mind my having a private talk, do you?" he jerked, staring through his eyeglass and twisting his moustache. "I am at your service," said Vernon, wondering what was coming. "I am going to be rather personal, both as regards your affairs and my own," went on Towton very directly and honestly. "Rather odd in a man who is a mere acquaintance, eh?" "Not at all," said Vernon politely; "I can only repeat that I am at your service, Colonel." "Fact is, I wouldn't say a word, but that I know you're a good sort; plenty of chaps say that. And again," Towton unfolded his napkin rather nervously, for him, "you are a great friend of the Dimsdales." "Yes, I am," acknowledged Vernon, guessing somewhat of the business which had brought the Colonel to his table. "And a friend of young Maunders." "We were at school together." "And a friend of the Corsoons," pursued Towton, distinctly ill at ease, as if he felt that he was taking a liberty. "See here, Colonel," remarked his companion straightly; "I guess what you are driving at from your coupling of those names. May I speak out?" "Yes." Towton nodded away the waiter who had brought his soup. "You are in love with Miss Dimsdale, and Maunders is paying her attentions." "Quite so. May I add, on my part, that you are in love with Miss Corsoon, and that the same gentleman is your rival?" Vernon nodded and pushed away his empty plate. "I think we have cleared the ground for action," he said significantly. "I am obliged to you for your candour," said Towton courteously; "and I knew from your reputation that you would meet me half-way. It is not easy for an elderly man, such as I am, to speak of his love for a young girl. But as I am devoted to her, and you are devoted to Miss Corsoon, it seemed to me that we might join forces against that handsome young scamp, who is playing fast and loose with the affections of both the girls. On this ground, I ventured to take the liberty of speaking to you on so private a subject." "I am very glad that you did so, Colonel. Our united actions may be of great service to the ladies in question. Maunders----" He hesitated generously. "I know," interrupted Towton abruptly, "that young gentleman's reputation is as bad as yours is good. Even if I did not love Miss Dimsdale, I should feel justified in doing my best to save her from that scamp. You can tell him that I said so, if you like." "What? Give our plans away to our common enemy," said Vernon jokingly. "That would scarcely be wise. Maunders is as clever as the devil." "And as unscrupulous. But let us be frank. Which of these girls does he love, in your opinion?" "What love he can spare from himself he gives to Miss Corsoon; but he is after Miss Dimsdale's fortune." "I thought so. She is infatuated with him, worse luck. And Miss Corsoon?" "She and I understand one another," said Vernon with some reserve. "I am not afraid of Maunders in that quarter, although he has good looks and a great charm of manner. We are talking of very delicate matters, Colonel." "I know we are; I know we are." Towton flicked his napkin irritably. "Ladies' names shouldn't be mentioned between gentlemen. I am rather a Turk in that respect; but as this young gentleman will make both of them miserable, and is a thorn in your flesh as in mine, we must between ourselves put delicacy on one side. What do you propose to do?" "I don't know," said Vernon, crumbling his bread dismally. "Lady Corsoon certainly will not let her daughter marry a poor man such as I am. What are your plans, Colonel?" "I don't know," repeated Towton, equally dismally. "Miss Dimsdale is crazy about Maunders, and will not cast a glance at me. The father is on my side, however, so I have some chance." "You may take it as certain," said Vernon with decision, "that Dimsdale will never consent to his daughter becoming Mrs. Maunders." "She may defy him." "There is that possibility, certainly." "Hang him," muttered Towton, referring to Maunders. "Why can't he marry Miss Hest and have done with it." "Miss Hest has neither the money nor the looks to attract such a gay spark." "Oh, come now, she's a handsome girl." "Not in Maunders' way. He likes a weak woman, whom he can bully; and Miss Hest is much too firm and managing a wife for him to risk. By the way, are you going to the ball to-night?" "Yes." Towton's face lighted up with ridiculous pleasure. "It may give me a chance to----" "No, don't propose, Colonel. You will only be refused. Take my advice, and wait for a week or so. Maunders may be out of your way by that time!" "What do you mean, exactly?" "I am not at liberty to say. But I advise you to wait." Towton played with his bread and cheese. "All right," he said at length. "I place myself in your hands, although I am hanged if I can see what you mean." "Well," confessed Vernon, rising, "to tell you the truth, I am not very sure myself what I do mean. But I have a kind of instinct that if both of us play a waiting game, Maunders will get the cold shoulder." "From Ida--I mean from Miss Dimsdale?" "Yes, and from Miss Corsoon. Come into the pinacotheca and smoke." The two conspirators went there and discussed the matter further. As Vernon had confessed, he had no clear idea in his mind as to why he advised the Colonel to wait. But, in some vague way, he fancied that this business of The Spider might occupy Maunders' time and prevent his paying his usual attentions to Lucy and Ida. In that case both the girls would probably feel offended. Then Vernon intended to bring them together in some as yet unthought-of way, so that they might mutually discover how Maunders was courting both of them indiscriminately. Lucy, of course, in any case would have nothing to do with the young man; but Ida's pride, taking fire, might induce her, on making this discovery, to listen to the Colonel's wooing. Everything in Vernon's brain was vague and undecided, but he faintly felt that if events happened in some such way Maunders might be eliminated as a stumbling block. All these possibilities, however, being still in the clouds, he did not reveal them to Towton. The conversation in the pinacotheca resolved itself into the two men consoling one another regarding their doubtful love affairs. Arranging to meet at the masked ball, they parted on more than friendly terms and with quite a feeling of intimacy. This was natural, considering what they had been discussing. But the proposed meeting at "Rangoon" never came off. The unexpected happened, as Vernon might have guessed it would. But, with all his experience of life, he was never so much astonished as when a telegram was handed in at his rooms with the name of Lucy Corsoon attached. "Come to No. 34, Waller Street, West Kensington," ran the wire, "at nine o'clock. Trouble with M.----L. Corsoon." "Now what the deuce does this mean?" Vernon asked himself. Undoubtedly the letter "M." referred to Maunders, since there was no one else with that initial to cause trouble. But what the trouble might be, or why carefully-guarded Lucy Corsoon should be in West Kensington it was hard to say. Lady Corsoon rarely let her daughter out of her sight, and on this night both were due at "Rangoon" to enjoy the masked ball. But, as Vernon rapidly reflected, there could be only one reply to so urgent a wire, and that was to stand on the doorstep of No. 34, Waller Street, West Kensington, at the appointed hour. He glanced at his watch. It was after eight, so he had only time to drive from Bloomsbury to his destination. Vernon, for obvious reasons connected with his income, lived in old-fashioned rooms in that middle-class district, and was more comfortable than if he had lived in Mayfair, both as regards space and rent. His domino and mask were lying on a chair, ready to be slipped into a brown leather bag. He had intended to drive in a taxi to Hampstead, because of the bag, as it was too much trouble to carry it by train, since in that case his journey would be broken. As he was thinking what was best to be done, the landlady's husband, who acted as his valet, came with the information that the cab was at the door. Vernon made up his mind at once to act the part of a knight-errant, in spite of being due at the ball, and, without troubling about the domino and mask, put on his overcoat. Unless something serious was wrong--and the telegram gave little information--he could return, get the bag and drive on to the ball. But if Lucy was in dire trouble he would not go at all to "Rangoon." Mr. Dimsdale would have to manage with The Spider as best he could. Always provided that that astute individual walked into the trap, which was doubtful. All the way to West Kensington Vernon puzzled his brains as to what could be the matter, and why Lucy Corsoon should be in a West Kensington house. Ridiculous as it seemed, he entertained the idea that she might have been kidnapped by Maunders, and had contrived to send the wire to the lover upon whom she could rely. But then Maunders--as he had said--always kept on the right side of the law, and kidnapping was an indictable offence. But if he had acted thus rashly, as Vernon reflected with a thrill, he was simply playing into his rival's hands. "If I rescue Lucy, Lady Corsoon will certainly let me marry her out of gratitude," thought the young man. However, the whole affair was so mysterious that until he saw Lucy there was little chance of a reasonable explanation. He therefore possessed his soul in patience until he arrived in Waller Street. Here he sprang out, and telling the cabman to wait, ran up the steps of a semi-detached house of the suburban villa residence style. The night was brilliant with moonlight, so he easily saw the number on the glass over the door, and also the long, dull street of similar houses. It was some minutes before the appointed time, but that mattered very little. There seemed to be no light in the house, and Vernon wondered more than ever why Lucy should be in so unusual a locality. Shortly the sound of light footsteps was heard, and a light appeared, against which the numerals on the glass above the door stood out black and distinct. Then the door itself was opened cautiously, and the white face of a woman looked out. "Is Miss Corsoon here?" asked Vernon abruptly. "Are you Mr. Vernon?" questioned the woman in a frightened whisper. "Yes. I received a wire from----" "Come in, come in," breathed the woman, and held the door open sufficiently for Vernon to slip in. "I am so glad you've come," she went on, still below her breath, and apparently much afraid. "It's as much as my life's worth to admit you. But the poor young lady----" "Is she here?" "Yes. They've got her in the cellar below. Only because she cried so much did I dare to send that telegram to you, and----" "What the devil does it all mean?" demanded Vernon fiercely and gruffly. "Hush, hush! Don't raise your voice. Follow me on tip-toe. They will hear." "Who are they?" asked Vernon softly, and obeying. But all the woman said was "Hush, hush!" So, wondering at this strange adventure, which seemed genuine enough, the young man went after the woman down some wooden stairs which led from the hall to the basement. As he followed he saw by the light of the candle which his guide carried that the hall was dusty and unfurnished. She led him along a dark passage and opened an end door with an air of mystery. "The young lady there," she said softly, and handing him the light. "Take the candle, and for heaven's sake don't say that I betrayed them." "Them? Who?" asked Vernon imperatively. She clutched his arm. "They'll hear you," she whispered, pointing upward, and pushed him towards the open door. "She's drugged--in there." Vernon uttered a loud ejaculation, which made his guide shiver, and stepped into the dark room, holding the candle above his head. The next moment the door closed quickly behind him. He turned sharply, but already the key had clicked crisply in the lock. He was a prisoner. "And it's a plant; a plant," cried Vernon in a cold fury. "I'm trapped." He certainly was, for there was no sign of the girl who had been supposed to send the telegram. All the terror and whispering of the woman had been a comedy to inveigle him into his prison. The place was a small kitchen, dusty and forlorn and unfurnished. There were no plates on the rack or on the shelves of the open cupboard, and no fire in the rusty grate. The room had not been occupied for many a long day, as the roof and corners were thick with dust and cobwebs. An iron-barred window glimmered straight before Vernon, and there was a small door near it. Through this he went, to find himself in a tiny scullery also lighted dimly by an iron-barred window. The door through which he had entered was fast locked, and he had no means of opening it. There was no doubt that he was a prisoner, decoyed to this lonely, unfurnished house by means of the false telegram. "What the deuce does it all mean?" Vernon asked himself, and sat down on the dusty floor to think out his position. To save his dress clothes he made a cushion of his light overcoat, and sat on it, hugging his knees, with the candle beside him. The position was dismal enough, and decidedly mysterious, as he confessed. "What does it mean?" he repeated mentally. The next instant the obvious answer flashed into his mind. "The Spider," cried Vernon, leaping to his feet and addressing the bare walls. "Yes, this must be The Spider's trickery." And the more he thought of it the more certain he felt that he had, at the first blow, hit the right nail on the head. In some way The Spider had learned of the arranged trap, and had sent the wire purporting to come from Lucy Corsoon as a decoy. It had proved only too successful, and now here he was safely locked up in an underground room with no chance of escape, while Mr. Dimsdale, at "Rangoon," was left to face the ingenious scoundrel alone. "But that's all right," Vernon soliloquised, as he sat down again. "If I am not on the spot other people are, and when The Spider makes his demand, Mr. Dimsdale will probably raise the alarm. The Spider is not so clever as I thought." This was poor comfort. The Spider, at all events, had been clever enough to ensnare a private detective who prided himself on his astuteness. One trap had been set by Mr. Dimsdale, and here was another set by The Spider, out of which it was impossible to escape. The bars of the windows were too strong to twist, the door was too stout to break down, so there was nothing for it but to wait. It was impossible that he could be kept in his dungeon for ever, and sooner or later he would be released. Besides, someone would have to bring him food, and if it was the white-faced woman who had so cleverly led him into the trap, Vernon promised himself grimly that he would seize her at the first opportunity and make her aid his escape. Finally, the taxi was still at the door, and the driver might become sufficiently alarmed if his fare did not reappear to speak to the nearest policeman. It was ridiculous that a man should be captured in guarded London in such a way. Vernon was angry with himself for having been tricked. But until the abrupt closing of the door he had never suspected that anything was wrong. Meanwhile, he guessed that The Spider, having got him out of the way, was keeping his appointment with Dimsdale in the library. It was not probable that the blackmailing would succeed, as Dimsdale was quick-tempered, and as likely as not would simply seize the creature when he demanded his money, shouting meanwhile for assistance. Vernon wished that he was at his appointed post behind the screen; but he comforted with the reflection that Dimsdale would be able to deal with the matter unassisted. So far as he was concerned, being helpless, he could do nothing but wait. For the next hour or so--he did not pay much attention to the time--Vernon wondered how The Spider came to know of Dimsdale's trap, and how he had so cleverly laid his own. The blackmailer seemed to know everybody's business, as his profession required, so in some way he had managed to learn of Vernon's love for Miss Corsoon. Only such a message from such a girl would have lured the lover into such a predicament, and The Spider had not only been clever enough to know this, but had been clever enough to utilize his knowledge. For the moment--it was a wild thought, and passed in a flash--Vernon wondered if Constantine Maunders had anything to do with the matter. But the idea was ridiculous, since The Spider was attempting to blackmail Mrs. Bedge, which Maunders certainly would not countenance. But if not Maunders, who could it be? Certainly Dimsdale might have talked to someone else about the proposed trap, since he was extremely frank and injudicious in his speech. Vernon resolved to question him on this point when next they met, and hoped from his reply to learn who had lured him to No. 34, Waller Street, West Kensington. Having arrived at this conclusion, he rested his head on the overcoat and tried to sleep, since it was foolish to waste his strength in beating his wings against the prison bars. After a time, so tired was his brain with hard thinking, that he actually fell asleep. How long the sleep lasted he did not know, but he woke from a troubled dream with the idea that he heard soft retreating footsteps. The candle was burnt to the socket and the room was extremely dark, so Vernon sat up in a confused way, trying to recall his position. With alert ears he hearkened for the presumed footsteps, but as there was no sound save his own laboured breathing, he decided that he had been dreaming. It was lucky that he had a box of lucifers in his pocket, for the lighting of one enabled him to see the time. His watch revealed that it was one o'clock in the morning, and as he had arrived at nine he must have been imprisoned for four hours. His limbs felt stiff as he rose to his feet, and with a yawn he stretched himself. "I can't stay here all night," he muttered desperately. "I'll try what shouting will do;" and shout he did with all the power of his lungs, only to receive no response. Feeling that he was losing both time and temper, Vernon groped his way in the thick darkness towards the door. Gripping the handle he gave it an angry, despairing twist. To his surprise the door proved to be open. Apparently the footsteps he had thought dream-sounds were real, and his prison door had been quietly unlocked at the moment of his awakening. Picking up his overcoat, he felt his way along the passage and up the stairs and into the front hall--slow work in the gloom of an unknown locality. There was no noise to be heard, although he held his breath to listen. So far as he could judge, the house was empty. Finally, intent upon getting assistance, he tried the handle of the front door, and found that there was no difficulty in getting clear. In two minutes he was in the quiet street, looking up and down for a policeman. The road being isolated and the hour late, there was neither vehicle nor pedestrian to be seen, nor did any light gleam from the windows of the silent houses. Vernon shivered in the cold breath of the night, then walked swiftly up the street to seek assistance. Shortly he found a burly constable at the corner, and breathlessly detailed all that had happened to that somewhat sceptical officer. A shrill whistle brought another policeman to the spot, and with the two Vernon returned to No. 34, the door of which he had left ajar. This somewhat convinced the officers, and they took his name and address, promising to search the house, and also to watch it. Vernon himself, on fire to reach Hampstead and to learn what had occurred, could not wait to see what discoveries might be made. The policemen wished to detain him, but finally he got away, and raced towards the more public part of West Kensington to find a cab. As luck would have it, he picked up a belated taxi that had just taken home a fare. The chauffeur demurred about driving out so far as Hampstead, but a treble price promptly offered overcame his scruples, and in a short time Vernon was spinning towards his much-wished-for destination. All the way he was trying to conjecture how The Spider had contrived to overhear the arranging of the trap, for he must have done so, else there would have been no reason for the imprisonment. But by this time Vernon's brain was weary, and he fell into a dose. When he woke the taxi had pulled up with a jerk, and he found himself on the Heath before the gate of "Rangoon." With a sudden spasm of fear he noted that a policeman was standing at the entrance, apparently on guard. Stumbling out of the cab, Vernon staggered towards the man. "I have come to Mr. Dimsdale's ball," he said hurriedly. "It's over, sir," said the policeman, touching his helmet. "Over--so early!" "Early in the morning, sir, you mean. But the fact is, there's trouble." "Trouble!" Again a cold chill struck Vernon. "Yes, sir, and the ball came to an end." "Mr. Dimsdale?" "Dead, sir. Murdered, as you might say." "Dead!" echoed Vernon, quite dazed. "Strangled," said the policeman bluntly. <h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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