Something of what had happened he told the doctor. That gentleman was smiling happily as he listened. Labar diagnosed him as a fighter by temperament, who would enjoy a rough and tumble struggle far more than he enjoyed administering pills.

They passed a side turning, and the doctor nudged Labar with his elbow. “There’s your Rolls,” he said. “Your men are evidently still here. The lodge gates are quarter of a mile up. What do I do?”

“Drive right by them till we are out of sight,” said Labar. He had turned up his coat collar and was leaning well back in the car. “Then I’ll get out and take a look round. They won’t be expecting me back.”

Ware obeyed his instructions. At a bend in the road some distance beyond the lodge he pulled up. Labar got down and scribbling hastily in his notebook tore out a page. “If anyone comes along give ’em that,” he said. “Ask ’em to telephone it as quickly as possible. It’s a message to the local police.”