“’Oh most powerful and prescient Unknown, before whom the greatest of the Atlanteans prostrate themselves.  That was in the Beginning, that is now and always will be.  I conjure thee by the magic symbols of the club-foot, the hand with the fingers clenched, and the bat, in this the magical year of Kefana, to extend to me thy wonderful powers of healing.  Rena Vadoola Hipsano Eik Deoo Barrinaz.’”

The lisping voice ceased, and, with a convulsive start, the policeman came to himself.

“Hulloa!” he said, in his natural gruff tones, rubbing his eyes.  “I must have ‘dropped off.’  Who are you?  What are you doing in the Park at this time of night?”

“We’ve been watching you!” Hamar said.  “It is a bit of a phenomenon to see a London bobby asleep on his beat.”

“And to hear him talking in his sleep too,” Curtis added.

“I didn’t know I was talking,” the policeman muttered.  “It all comes of being too many hours on duty.  What have you got those note-books out for?  Not been taking down anything about me, have you?”

“Show us out of the Park and you’ll hear no more about it,” Hamar said.

“And we’ll give you half a sovereign into the bargain,” Kelson chimed in.

“Follow me then,” the policeman said.  “I’ll take you to one of the side entrances.”

“Matt!” Hamar exclaimed as they passed the tree behind which Lilian Rosenberg was hiding, “I smell scent—­and what is more I recognize it.  It is Violette de mer—­the scent that—­Rosenberg uses!  You were with her this evening!”

“I swear I wasn’t!” Kelson replied.  “I bought some scent in Regent Street this afternoon.”

“Humph,” Hamar grunted.  “I have my doubts.”

They walked on in silence till they came to a small iron gate, where the policemen left them, whilst he went to the lodge for the keys; and all the while Kelson was in terror, lest Hamar should catch sight of Lilian Rosenberg, who had kept close behind them, and was now standing, but a few yards away, trying to conceal her identity and escape notice.

But the policeman on his return with the keys called out to her, and Kelson, fearing that she might be either taken in charge for loitering there, in apparently suspicious circumstances, or made to remain in the Park all night—­neither of which contingencies he could possibly permit—­at once came forward, and explained that she was a friend of his.

The policeman was satisfied.  The sight of another half-sovereign had rendered him more than polite, and, without saying a word, he let them all out together.

The moment they were in the street, Hamar turned on Kelson, white with passion.

“So,” he said, “I was right after all—­liar! fool!  You would risk all our lives for a few hours’ flirtation with this silly girl.”

“If it’s only flirtation, Leon, what does it matter?” Curtis interposed.  “For goodness’ sake shut up wrangling and let’s get home.  I’m starving.”