“It would indeed,” the Professor remarked, “be an interesting circumstance—­an interesting psychological circumstance, if I might put it that way—­if Craig, the arch-criminal, the man who has seemed to us so utterly devoid of all human feeling, should really have toiled in this manner to set free his captor.”

“Interesting or not,” Quest observed, “I’d like to know whether it was Craig or not.  I understand there were about a dozen unrecognisable bodies found.”

The nurse, who had left the room for a few minutes, returned with a small package in her hand, which she handed to French.  He looked at it in a puzzled manner.

“What can that be?” he muttered, turning it over.  “Addressed to me all right, but there isn’t a soul knows I’m here except you people.  Will you open it, Miss Laura?”

She took it from him and untied the strings.  A little breathless cry escaped from her lips as she tore open the paper.  A small black box was disclosed.  She opened the lid with trembling fingers and drew out a scrap of paper.  They all leaned over and read together:—­

    “You have all lost again.  Why not give it up?  You can never win.

    “THE HANDS.”

Lenora was perhaps the calmest.  She simply nodded with the melancholy air of satisfaction of one who finds her preconceived ideas confirmed.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed softly.  “I knew it at the depot.  Craig’s time has not come yet.  He may be somewhere near us, even now.”

She glanced uneasily around the ward.  Quest, who had been examining the post-mark on the package, threw the papers down.

“The post-mark’s all blurred out,” he remarked.  “There’s no doubt about it, that fellow Craig has the devil’s own luck, but we’ll get him—­we’ll get him yet.  I’ll just take a stroll up to police head-quarters and make a few inquiries.  You might come with me, Lenora, and Laura can get busy with her amateur nursing.”

“I shall make inquiries,” the Professor announced briskly, “concerning the local museum.  There should be interesting relics hereabouts of the prehistoric Indians.”

3.

A man sat on the steps of the range cook wagon, crouching as far back as possible to take advantage of its slight shelter from the burning sun.  He held before him a newspaper, a certain paragraph of which he was eagerly devouring.  In the distance the mail boy was already disappearing in a cloud of dust.

    “FAMOUS CRIMINOLOGIST IN ALLGUEZ

“Sanford Quest and his assistants, accompanied by Professor Lord Ashleigh, arrived in Allguez a few days ago to look for John Craig, formerly servant to the scientist.  Craig has not been seen since the accident to the Limited, a fortnight ago, and by many is supposed to have perished in the wreck.  He was in the charge of Inspector French, and was on his way to New York to stand his trial for homicide.  French was taken to the hospital, suffering from concussion of the brain, but is now convalescent.”

The man read the paragraph twice.  Then he set down the paper and looked steadily across the rolling prairie land.  There was a queer, bitter little smile upon his lips.