which they had contrived to get to themselves, they exchanged looks.
"This is a queer business, Copplestone!" said Gilling. "It strikes me it's going to be a big one, too. And—it's coming to a point round Squire Greyle."
"Do you think your man will have tracked him?" asked Copplestone.
"It will be the first time Swallow's ever lost sight of anybody if he hasn't," answered Gilling. "He's a human ferret! However, I wired to him just before we left, telling him to meet me at King's Cross, so we'll get his report. Oh, he'll have followed him all right—I don't imagine for a moment that Greyle is trying to evade anybody, at this juncture, at any rate."
But when—four hours later—the train drew into King's Cross—and Gilling's partner, a young and sharp-looking man, presented himself, it was with a long and downcast face and a lugubrious shake of the head.
"Done!—for the first time in my life!" he growled in answer to Gilling's eager inquiry. "Lost him! Never failed before—as you know. Well, it had to come, I suppose—can't go on without an occasional defeat. But—I'm a bit licked as to the whole thing—unless your man is dodging somebody. Is he?"
"Tell your tale," commanded Gilling, motioning Copplestone to follow him and Swallow aside.
"I was up here in good time this afternoon to meet his train," reported Swallow. "I spotted him and his man at once; no difficulty, as your description of
