“Who is this young lady?” he asked, pointing to Kate.

“This is the Miss Harston whom we came to rescue, and for whom no doubt the blow was intended which killed this unhappy girl.”

“Perhaps, sir,” said the inspector to Tom, “you had better take her up to the house.”

“Thank you,” said Tom, and went off through the wood with Kate upon his arm.  On their way, she told him how, being unable to find her bonnet and cloak, which Rebecca had abstracted, she had determined to keep her appointment without them.  Her delay rendered her a little late, however; but on reaching the withered oak she heard voices and steps in front of her, which she had followed.  These had led her to the open gate, and the lighting of the lantern had revealed her to friends and foes.  Ere she concluded her story Tom noticed that she leaned more and more heavily upon him, until by the time that they reached the Priory he was obliged to lift her up and carry her to prevent her from falling.  The hardships of the last few weeks, and this final terrible and yet most joyful incident of all, had broken down her strength.  He bore her into the house, and laying her by the fire in the dining-room, watched tenderly over her, and exhausted his humble stock of medical knowledge in devising remedies for her condition.

In the meantime the inspector, having thoroughly grasped the major’s lucid narrative, was taking prompt and energetic measures.

“You go down to the station, Constable Jones,” he ordered.  “Wire to London, ’John Girdlestone, aged sixty-one, and his son, aged twenty-eight, wanted for murder.  Address, Eccleston Square and Fenchurch Street, City.’  Send a description of them.  ’Father, six feet one inch in height, hatchet-faced, grey hair and whiskers, deep-set eyes, heavy brows, round shoulders.  Son, five feet ten, dark-faced, black eyes, black curly hair, strongly made, legs rather bandy, well dressed, usually wears a dog’s head scarf-pin.’  That ought to do!”

“Yes, that’s near enough,” observed the major.

“Wire to every station along the line to be on the look-out.  Send a description to the chief constable of Portsmouth, and have a watch kept on the shipping.  That should catch them!”

“It vill,” cried Von Baumser confidentially.  “I’ll bet money dat it vill.”  It was as well that the German’s sporting offer found no takers, otherwise our good friend would have been a poorer man.

“Let us carry the poor soul up to the house,” the inspector continued, after making careful examination of the ground all round the body.

The party assisted in raising the girl up, and in carrying her back along the path by which she had been brought.

Burt tramped stolidly along behind with the remaining policeman beside him.  The Nihilist brought up the rear with his keen eye fixed upon the navvy, and his knife still ready for use.  When they reached the Priory the prisoner was safely locked away in one of the numerous empty rooms, while Rebecca was carried upstairs and laid upon the very bed which had been hers.