“No, sir,” the boots replied, “both were youngish men, with dark moustaches.  They wore heavy coats, and were in an open car.  They came from York way, and had evidently driven some distance.”

“You saw nothing of what went on at their mysterious meeting?”

“Well, sir, the fact is, when I had had my suspicions aroused, I crept out into the yard, and found that I could see into the lounge through the chink between the blind and the window.  They were all seated round the table, the head of which had been taken by the gentleman who had arrived from London with the lady.  He seemed to be chairman, and he talked in a low, deliberate, and very earnest tone, being listened to with greatest interest.  He evidently related something which amazed them.  Then a map, or plan, was placed upon the table, and each examined it in turn.  Afterwards two photographs were produced by Mr. Winton and handed around the assembly.  Each man looked long and steadily at the pictures ­both were of women.  The young lady present refused to take any part in the discussion, and I noticed that she passed on the photographs without comment ­without even glancing at them.”

“Did she appear to be present there against her will?” I asked breathlessly.

“No, not exactly.  She seemed very friendly with all the gentlemen.  The two foreigners were strangers to her ­for she was introduced to them.”

“By name?”

“Yes, sir.  Miss Sonia Poland.”

I bit my lip.  Had she already dropped my name, and was now passing under an alias?

“Sonia Poland!” I echoed.  “Was it for the purpose of concealing her identity from the foreigners, do you think?” I asked.

“No, sir.  Because Winton and his companion addressed her as Sonia Poland when she arrived.”

“And you believed it to be her real name?”

“I suppose it is, sir,” was the man’s reply, for I fear my manner somewhat mystified him.

“Well, and what further did you see at this early morning consultation?” I asked, mindful that his curiosity had no doubt been aroused by sight of something sparkling in the strange visitor’s hand.

“The gentleman called Mr. Lewis wrote out a paper very carefully and handed it round.  Every one signed it ­except the lady.  They asked her to do so, but she protested vigorously, and the matter was not pressed.  Then the photograph of a man was shown to the two foreigners, and the lady tried to prevent it.  Curiously enough, sir, I caught a good sight of it ­just a head and shoulders ­and the picture very much resembled you yourself, sir!”

“Me!” I cried.  “And they showed it to the two young foreigners ­eh?”

“Yes, sir.  One of them took it and put it into his pocket.  Then the mysterious Mr. Lewis, as chairman of the meeting, seemed to raise a protest.  The two foreigners gesticulated, jabbered away, and raised their shoulders a lot.  I dearly wish I could have made out a word they said.  Unfortunately I couldn’t.  Only I saw that in Mr. Lewis’s face was a look of fierce determination.  They at first defied him.  But at last, with great reluctance, they handed back the photograph, which Mr. Lewis himself burned on the fire.”

“He burned my photograph!”

“Yes, sir.  I think it was yours, sir ­but of course I can’t be quite positive.”

“And what else?”

“Mr. Winton said something, whereupon all of them glanced at the door and then at the window.  One of the foreigners came to the window, but did not notice that there was a slight crack through which I could see.  Then he turned the key in the door.  After he had returned to his chair, the man who had arrived with Mr. Winton took from his pocket something that shone.  My heart beat quickly.  It was a diamond necklet ­the object I had seen in his hand earlier.  He passed it round for the admiration of the others, who each took it and closely examined it beneath the light ­all but the young lady.  She was standing aside, near the fireplace, watching.  Now and then she placed her hand to her forehead, as though her brain were weary.”

“And after that?”

“After the necklet had been passed round the elder of the two foreigners wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief and placed it in his pocket.  Then Mr. Lewis gave them a long address, emphasizing his words with his hand, and they listened to him without uttering a word.  Suddenly Mr. Winton sprang up and wrung his hand, afterwards making what appeared to be some highly complimentary remarks, for Mr. Lewis smiled and bowed to the assembly, who afterwards rose.  Then the young lady rushed up to Mr. Lewis and implored him to do something, but he refused.  She stood before him, pale-faced and determined.  Her eyes seemed starting from her head.  She seemed like one horrified.  But he placed his hand tenderly upon her shoulder, and uttered some quick low words which instantly calmed her.  Very shortly after that the party broke up, and the door was re-opened.  The two foreigners hurriedly swallowed a liqueur-glass of brandy each, and then, passing into the yard, wished their companions adieu and drove away in their car ­in the direction of London.”

“Carrying with them the diamond necklet which the other man had brought there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what became of the young lady?” I inquired very anxiously.

“She first had a long and private conversation with the gentleman named Winton ­the bald-headed man.”

This, it will be remembered, was the person whose description tallied exactly with that of her father.

“They went outside together,” said the boots, “out into the yard, and there conversed alone in half-whispers.  Afterwards they rejoined the others.  Mr. Lewis seemed very annoyed with her; nevertheless, after a cup of tea each, about half-past five the four of them got into the car in which Winton had arrived and drove away in the direction of Grantham.  Winton gave me a sovereign for myself ­an unusually generous gift, I can assure you, sir,” he laughed.

“And now what is your own opinion concerning them?” I asked.

“Why, there can only be one opinion, sir ­that they are wrong ’uns.  I felt half a mind to tell Mr. Pearson, the police-constable who lives across in Water Lane, but I didn’t like to without consulting somebody.  And I didn’t want to wake up the manageress.”

“Ah! and it may now be too late, Cross,” said the lady in question, who had been standing by all the time.  Then, addressing me, she said ­

“The whole affair seemed most mysterious, sir, therefore I went round and saw the inspector of police this morning, and told him briefly of our strange visitors.  I’m rather glad they’re gone, for one never likes unpleasantness in a hotel.  Yet, of course, the fault cannot be that of the hotel-keeper if he takes in an undesirable.”

“Of course not.  But what view did the inspector hold?”

“Inspector Deane merely expressed the opinion that they were suspicious persons ­that’s all.”

“So they seem to have been,” I remarked, without satisfying her as to who I really was.  My story there was that I had business relations with Mr. Lewis, and had followed him there in the hope of catching him up.

We were in the manageress’s room, a cosy apartment in the back of the quaint old hostelry, when a waitress came and announced Inspector Deane.  The official was at once shown in, whereupon he said abruptly ­

“The truth is out, Miss Hammond, regarding your strange visitors of last night.”  And he glanced inquiringly at myself.

“You can speak openly before this gentleman,” she said, noticing his hesitation.

“The fact is, a circular-telegram has just been sent out from Scotland Yard, saying that by the express from Edinburgh due at King’s Cross at 10.45 last night the Archduchess Marie Louise, niece of the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria, was a passenger.  She had been staying at Balmoral, and travelled south in a special saloon.  When the luggage came to be collected a dressing-case was missing ­it evidently having been stolen in transit by somebody who had obtained access to the saloon while on the journey.  The corridor was open between York and London, so that the restaurant could be reached, and it is believed that the thief, or thieves, managed to pass in unobserved and throw the bag out upon the line to some confederate awaiting it.  The bag contained a magnificent diamond necklet ­a historic heirloom of the Imperial family of the Hapsburgs ­and is valued at fifty thousand pounds!”

“And those people who met here were the thieves!” gasped the manageress, turning instantly pale.

“Without a doubt.  You see, the Great Northern main line runs close by us ­at Essendine.  It may be that the thieves were waiting for it near there ­waiting for it to be dropped out in the darkness.  All the platelayers along the line are now searching for the bag, but we here are certain that the thieves spent the night in Stamford.”

“Not the thieves,” I said.  “The receivers.”

“Exactly.”

“But the young foreigner has it!” cried the boots.  “He and his friend set off for London with it.”

“Yes.  They would reach London in time to catch one of the boat-trains from Victoria or Charing Cross this morning, and by this time they’re safely out of the country ­carrying the necklet with them.  Ah!  Scotland Yard is terribly slow.  But the delay seems to have been caused by the uncertainty of Her Highness as to whether she had actually brought the dressing-case with her, and she had to telegraph to Balmoral before she could really state that it had been stolen.”

“The two men, Douglas Winton and his friend, came here in a motor-car,” I remarked.  “They had evidently been waiting somewhere near the line, in order to pick up the stolen bag.”

“Without a doubt, sir,” exclaimed the inspector.  “Their actions here, according to what Miss Hammond told me this morning, were most suspicious.  It’s a pity that the boots did not communicate with us.”

“Yes, Mr. Deane,” said the man referred to, “I’m very sorry now that I didn’t.  But I felt loath to disturb people at that hour of the morning.”

“You took no note of the number of either of the three cars which came, I suppose?”

“No.  We have so many cars here that I hardly noticed even what colour they were.”

“Ah!  That’s unfortunate.  Still, we shall probably pick up some clue to them along the road.  Somebody is certain to have seen them, or know something about them.”

“This gentleman here knows something about them,” remarked the manageress, indicating myself.

The inspector turned to me in quick surprise, and no doubt saw the surprise in my face.

“I ­I know nothing,” I managed to exclaim blankly, at once realizing the terrible pitfall into which I had fallen.

“But you said you knew Mr. Lewis ­the gentleman who acted as president of that mysterious conference!” Miss Hammond declared, in all innocence.

“I think, sir,” added the inspector, “that the matter is such a grave one that you should at once reveal all you do know.  You probably overlook the fact that if you persist in silence you may be arrested as an accessory.”

“But I know nothing,” I protested; “nothing whatever concerning the robbery!”

“But you know one of the men,” said Cross the boots.

“And the lady also, without a doubt!” added the inspector.

“I refuse to be cross-examined in this manner by you!” I retorted in anger, yet full of apprehension now that I saw myself suspected of friendship with the gang.

“Well, sir, then I regret that I must ask you to walk over the bridge with me to the police-station.  I must take you before the superintendent,” he said firmly.

“But I know nothing,” I again protested.

“Come with me,” he said, with a grim smile of disbelief.  “That you’ll be compelled to prove.”