that is the danger which haunts me." Van Heerden was uneasy, and he had lost the note of calm assurance which ordinarily characterized his speech. "There is sufficient evidence there to spoil everything."
"There is that," breathed Milsom, "it was madness to go on. You have all the stuff you want, you could have closed down the factory a week ago."
"I must have a margin of safety—besides, how could I do anything else? I was nearly broke and any sign of closing down would have brought my hungry workers to Krooman Mansions."
"That's true," agreed the other, "I've had to stall 'em off, but I didn't know that it was because you were broke. It seemed to me just a natural reluctance to part with good money."
Further conversation was arrested by the sudden stoppage of the car. Van Heerden peered through the window ahead and caught a glimpse of a red lamp.
"It is all right," he said, "this must be Putney Common, and I told Gregory to meet me with any news."
A man came into the rays of the head-lamp and passed to the door.
"Well," asked the doctor, "is there any trouble?"
"I saw the green lamp on the bonnet," said Gregory (Milsom no longer wondered how the man had recognized the car from the score of others which pass over the common), "there is no news of importance."
"Where is Beale?"
"At the old man's hotel. He has been there all day."
"Has he made any further visits to the police?"
"He was at Scotland Yard this afternoon."
"And the young lady?"
"One of the waiters at the hotel, a friend of mine, told me that she is much better. She has had two doctors."
"And still lives?" said the cynical Milsom. "That makes four doctors she has seen in two days."
Van Heerden leant out of the car window and lowered his voice.
"The Fräulein Glaum, you saw her?"
"Yes, I told her that she must not come to your labora-
