“At the local police-station, I expect,” the Professor replied.  “My brother is a magistrate, of course, and he would see that proper arrangements were made.  There he is at the hall door.”

The carriage drew up before the great front, a moment or two later.  Lord Ashleigh came forward with outstretched hands, the genial smile of the welcoming host upon his lips.  In his manner, however, there was a distinct note of anxiety.

“Edgar, my dear fellow,” he exclaimed, “I am delighted!  Welcome back to your home!  Mr. Quest, I am very happy to see you here.  You have heard the news, of course?”

“We have heard nothing!” the Professor replied.

“You didn’t go to Scotland Yard?” Lord Ashleigh asked.

“We haven’t been to London at all,” Quest explained.  “We got on the boat train at Plymouth, and your brother managed to induce one of the directors whom he saw on the platform to stop the train for us at Hamblin Road.  We only left the boat two hours ago.  There’s nothing wrong with Craig, is there?”

Lord Ashleigh motioned them to follow him.

“Please come this way,” he invited.

He led them across the hall—­which, dimly-lit and with its stained-glass windows, was almost like the nave of a cathedral,—­into the library beyond.  He closed the door and turned around.

“I have bad news for you both,” he announced.  “Craig has escaped.”

Neither the Professor nor Quest betrayed any unusual surprise.  So far as the latter was concerned, his first glimpse at Lord Ashleigh’s face had warned him of what was coming.

“Dear me!” the Professor murmured, sinking into an easy-chair.  “This is most unexpected!”

“We’ll get him again,” Quest declared quickly.  “Can you let us have the particulars of his escape, Lord Ashleigh?  The sooner we get the hang of things, the better.”

Their host turned towards the butler, who was arranging a tray upon the sideboard.

“You must permit me to offer you some refreshments after your journey,” he begged.  “Then I will tell you the whole story.  I think you will agree, when you hear it, that no particular blame can be said to rest upon any one’s shoulders.  It was simply an extraordinary interposition of chance.  There is tea, whisky and soda, and wine here, Mr. Quest.  Edgar, I know you’ll take some tea.”

“English tea for me,” the Professor remarked, watching the cream.

“Whisky and soda here,” Quest decided.

Lord Ashleigh himself attended to the wants of his guests.  Then, at his instigation, they made themselves comfortable in easy-chairs and he commenced his narration.