“I’m fond of Collins, Borkins,” he said abruptly.  “We’ve known each other a long time.  I shouldn’t like anything to happen to the chap while he’s in my service, that’s all.  Get out now and make enquiries in every direction.  Have Dimmock go down to the village.  And ransack every public house round about.  If you can’t find any trace of him—­” his lips tightened for a moment, “then I’ll fetch in the police.  I’ll get the finest detective in the land on this thing, I’ll get Cleek himself if it costs me every penny I possess, but I’ll have him traced somehow.  Those devilish flames are taking too heavy a toll.  I’ve reached the end of my tether!”

He waved Borkins out with an imperious hand, and went on with his dressing, his heart sick.  What if Collins had met with the same fate as Dacre Wynne?  What were those fiendish flames, anyhow, that men disappeared completely, leaving neither sight nor sound?  Surely there was some brain clever enough to probe the mystery of them.

“If Collins doesn’t turn up this morning,” he told himself as he shaved with a very unsteady hand, “I’ll go straight up to London by the twelve o’clock train and straight to Scotland Yard.  But I’ll find him—­damn it, I’ll find him.”

But no trace of James Collins could be found.  He was gone—­completely.  No one had seen him, no one but Borkins had known of his probable journey across the Fens at night-time, and Borkins excused himself upon the plea that Collins hadn’t actually said he was going that way.  He had simply vanished as Dacre Wynne had vanished, as Will Myers and all that long list of others had vanished.  Eaten up by the flames—­and in Twentieth Century England!  But the fact remained.  Dacre Wynne had disappeared, and now James Collins had followed him.  And a new flame shone among the others, a newer, brighter flame than any before.  Merriton saw it himself, that was the devilish part of it.  His own eyes had seen the thing appear, just as he had seen it upon the night when Dacre Wynne had vanished.  But he didn’t shoot at it this time.  Instead, he packed a small bag, ran over and said good-bye to ’Toinette and told her he was going to have a day in town, but told her nothing else.  Then he took the twelve o’clock train to town.  A taxi whisked him to Scotland Yard.

CHAPTER X

—­AND THE LADY

And this was the extraordinary chain of events which brought young Merriton into Mr. Narkom’s office that day while Cleek was sitting there, and on being introduced as “Mr. Headland” heard the story from Sir Nigel’s lips.

As he came to the last “And no trace of either body has ever been found,” Cleek suddenly switched round in his chair and exclaimed: