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shoulder—“nothing of that sort.”
    They were standing by the window; the dusk was beginning to fall, and the gas had not yet been lit. He got so far, when of a sudden a pane of glass, on a level with Tillizini’s head, splintered with a crash. It seemed to splinter three times in rapid succession, and simultaneously from without came a thick staccato “ Crack! crack! crack! ”

IV. —THE “RED HAND” DRAW BLANK
    SIR RALPH FELT THE whiz of bullets as they passed him, heard the smash of the picture they struck on the opposite wall, and jumped back, white and shaking. Tillizini reached out his hand and thrust the girl back to cover with one motion.
    In an instant he was down on his knees, crawling quickly to the window. He reached up his hands, threw up the sash, and leant out suddenly. For a second he stood thus, and then a jet of flame leapt from his hand, and they were deafened with the report of his Browning. Again he fired, and waited. Then he turned, and came back to them, a beatific smile illuminating his face.
    â€œYou were saying,” he said calmly, “that these things do not happen in England?”
    His voice was even and unshaken. The hand that raised a spotless white handkerchief to wipe a streak of blood from his forehead, did not tremble.
    â€œWhat happened?” asked Sir Ralph, in agitation. “It must have been a poacher or something. Those beggars hate me!”
    â€œPoachers do not use Mauser pistols,” said Tillizini quietly. “If you take the trouble to dig out the bullets from your wall, which I am afraid is somewhat damaged, you will discover that they bear no resemblance whatever to the pellets which, I understand, filled the cartridges of your friends. No,” he smiled, “those shots were not intended for you, Sir Ralph. They were very much intended for me.”
    He looked wistfully out of the window.
    â€œI’m afraid I didn’t hit him,” he said. “I saw him fairly distinctly as he made his way through the trees.”
    â€œWho was it?” asked Sir Ralph anxiously.
    Tillizini looked at him with an expression of slyness.
    â€œWho was it?” he answered, deliberately. “I think it was the Italian who sent William Mansingham to your house to receive a packet.”
    â€œBut from whom?” asked Sir Ralph.
    â€œThat we shall know some day,” replied the other, evasively.
    Sir Ralph went down to the railway station to meet Tillizini and to see him off. He was consumed with curiosity as to the result of the interview which he had granted the detective.
    Whether he had the right of instructing the warders of the local gaol to admit Tillizini was a moot point; but since the Italian had such extraordinarily wide powers deputed to him by the Home Office, it was probable that the interview would have taken place even without Sir Ralph’s permission.
    The Chairman had hinted that it would be graceful, if not decent, for Tillizini to see the prisoner in his presence, but the Italian had artistically overlooked the suggestion.
    It was five minutes before the train left that Tillizini sprang out of the fly which brought him to the station entrance. He was smoking a long, thin cigar, and was, as Sir Ralph judged, tremendously pleased with himself, for between his clenched teeth he hummed a little tune as he strode through the booking-hall on to the platform.
    â€œWell?” asked the Chairman, curiously, “what had our friend to say for himself?”
    â€œNothing that you do not know,” replied the other, brightly. “He merely repeated the story that he told in the dock about my mysterious fellow-countryman. He gave me one or two details, which were more interesting to me than they would be to you.”
    â€œSuch as?” suggested Sir Ralph.
    â€œWell,” Tillizini hesitated. “He told me that his instructor had informed him that the packet would be small enough to put in