necessarily slow--after that, Jimmie Dale took chances, and, once on the country roads of Long Island, the big, powerful car tore through the night like a greyhound whose leash is slipped. A half hour passed--Jimmie Dale's eyes shifting occasionally from the gray thread of road ahead of him under the glare of the dancing lamps, to the road map spread out at his feet, upon which, from time to time, he focused his pocket flashlight. And then, finally, he slowed the car to a snail's pace--he should be very near his destination--that very ultra-exclusive subdivision of Charleton Park Manor. On either side of the road now was quite a thickly set stretch of wooded land, rising slightly on the right--and this Jimmie Dale scrutinised sharply. In fact, he stopped for an instant as he came opposite to a wagon track--it seemed to be little more than that--that led in through the trees. "If it's not too far from the seat of war," commented Jimmie Dale to himself, as he went on again, "it will do admirably." And then, a hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale nodded his head in satisfaction--he was passing the rather ornate stone pillars that marked the entrance to Charleton Park Manor, and on which the initial promoters of the subdivision, the real-estate people, had evidently deemed it good advertising policy to expend a small fortune. Another hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale turned his car around and returned past the gates to the wagon track again. The road was deserted--not a car nor a vehicle of any description was in sight. Jimmie Dale made sure of that--and in another instant Jimmie Dale's own car, every light extinguished, had vanished--he had backed it up the wagon track, just far enough in for the trees to screen it thoroughly from the main road. Nor did Jimmie Dale himself appear again on the main road--until just as he emerged close to the gates of Charleton Park Manor from a short cut through the woods. Also, he was without his ulster now, and the slouch hat had replaced the motor cap. Jimmie Dale, in the moonlight, took stock of his surroundings, as he passed in at a businesslike walk through the gates. It was a large park, if that name could properly be applied to it at all, and the houses--he caught sight of one set back from the driveway on the right--were quite far apart, each in its own rather spacious grounds among the trees. "The second house on the right," her letter had said. Jimmie Dale had already passed the first one--the next would be Markel's then--and it loomed ahead of him now, black and shadowy and unlighted. Jimmie Dale shot a glance around him--there was stillness, quiet everywhere--no sign of life--no sound. Jimmie Dale's face became tense, his lips tight--and he stepped suddenly from the sidewalk in among the trees. 

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