automatic into Harley's hand as the latter stood up again.
"What do we do now?" asked Harley.
"Search the house," was the reply. "Everything coloured you see, shoot, unless I say no."
"Miss Abingdon?"
"She's safe. Follow me."
Straight up two flights of stairs led Nicol Brinn, taking three steps at a stride. Palpably enough the place was deserted. Ormûz Khân's plans for departure were complete.
Into two rooms on the first floor they burst, to find them stripped and bare. On the threshold of the third Brinn stopped dead, and his gaunt face grew ashen. Then he tottered across the room, arms outstretched.
"Naîda," he whispered. "My love, my love!"
Paul Harley withdrew quietly. He had begun to walk along the corridor when the sound of a motor brought him up sharply. A limousine was being driven away from the side entrance! Not alone had he heard that sound. His face deathly, and the lack-lustre eyes dully on fire, Nicol Brinn burst out of the room and, not heeding the presence of Harley, hurled himself down the stairs. He was as a man demented, an avenging angel.
"There he is!" cried Harley—"heading for the Dover Road!"
