drove to the station in a fly.

He had never once removed those grey suede gloves, though the day was so hot, for on the up-platform the man in the straw hat was still idling behind him.  A number of people were waiting for the train, and I, discerning Mr Dawnay's intention of travelling, entered the booking-office and bought a ticket for Exeter.

At last the London express came roaring into the station, when the man whom I was there to meet quickly entered a first-class corridor compartment, and while I remained vigilant, I saw the mysterious watcher enter a carriage a little way behind.  Then, just as the train was leaving, I sprang into the compartment next that of Mr Dawnay.

I allowed the train to travel for about ten minutes, and as we slowly ascended the steep incline to Stony Coombe, between Totnes and Newton Abbot, I passed along the corridor and entered the compartment of the fugitive.

His quick, wary eyes were upon me in an instant, and I saw him start visibly in alarm, as I shut the door behind me leading to the corridor.

"I believe," I exclaimed next moment, "that you are Mr Arthur Dawnay?"

In an instant—before, indeed, I was aware of it—I found myself looking down the big barrel of a heavy Browning pistol.

"Well?" asked the man with the red tie, without moving from his seat, yet covering me with his weapon. "And what if I am, eh?"

Upon his face was a hard, evil grin, and I saw that he certainly was not a man to be trifled with.

"You think you've cornered me this time, eh?" he said in a hard, dry voice. "But raise a finger, and, by Gad! I'll put a bullet through you. So you'd best own yourself beaten, and let me slip out at Newton Abbot. Understand?"

Then, next moment, the train unfortunately entered the tunnel, and we were plunged in complete darkness.

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE SIGN OF THE GLOVES.

Those moments of security seemed hours as I sat there with the pistol turned upon me. Truly his was a strange greeting.

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