standing at attention. There was a disturbed look in his face, a tremor
in his voice.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he repeated, "there is--some one here to see
you."

"Some one?" Tallente repeated impatiently.

Robert leaned a little forward. The effort at lowering his voice only
made his hoarse whisper sound more agitated.

"A police inspector, sir, from Barnstaple, is waiting in the study."



CHAPTER IV

Mr Inspector Gillian of Barnstaple had no idea of denying his
profession. He had travelled over in a specially hired motor-car, and
he was wearing his best uniform. He rose to his feet at Tallente's
entrance and saluted a little ponderously.

"Mr. Andrew Tallente, sir?" he enquired.

Tallente silently admitted his identity, waved the inspector back to his
seat--the one high-backed and uncomfortable chair in the room--and took
an easy-chair himself.

"I have come over, sir," the man continued, "according to instructions
received by telephone from Scotland Yard. My business is to ask you a