"My master is out," he said, as he opened the door to find Mr. White standing on the mat. He was about to close the door again, but the detective planted his foot against the jamb. "Your master is not out," he answered. "I saw him come in a minute since. Tell him Mr. White wants to see him." Smith's dignity was superb. "My master may be hin," he cried, "but 'e told me to say 'e was hout to callers." The aspirates supplied emphasis. "Tell him what I say at once," and Mr. White gave him his best "accessory-after-the-crime" glance. "I don't see why I should," snarled Smith, but the squabble ended when Bruce's voice was heard-- "Show him in, Smith, but admit nobody else." With an air of armed neutrality Smith ushered the representative of Scotland Yard into the library. "You're not looking very well, sir," said White, his round eyes fixed on Bruce with all their power. "Was it to ask about my health that you came?" "No, sir, not exactly. But I haven't seen you for quite a while, and as we are both interested in the same matter I thought I would look you up and compare notes." Bruce was annoyed by the interruption. He wanted to think, not to be bothered by official theories. He looked hard at Mr. White, wondering whether he should tell him all he knew and wash his own hands clear of the investigation in future. But there was a second picture before his eyes. He saw Phyllis Browne's face, not as it was that day at the Tir aux Pigeons, but with the light of happiness in it, with the joyousness of requited and undisturbed love, with the glow reflected from dancing waves, and the tremulous smile of innocent pleasure. It was hard to believe that such a woman could place her heartfelt trust in a man who was possibly a cold-blooded murderer. Such a combination was unnatural and horrible. Already Bruce was beginning to doubt the evidence of his analytical senses. Mr. White meanwhile flattered himself by the thought that the other was trying to read his thoughts by looking at him fixedly. "I have been away from home," said Bruce at last. "I had occasion to go to the South of France." "I thought so. I was sure of it. How do you manage always to get ahead of us?" Mr. White was enthusiastic in his admiring divination. "You have heard about Sydney H. Corbett?" said the barrister, still keeping that inscrutable, calculating gaze upon the policeman. "Yes. I am on his track. We may be slow, but we are sure in Scotland Yard. May I ask what luck you have had, sir?" "In what respect?" "As if you didn't go to Monte Carlo to find Corbett yourself! Really, Mr. Bruce, the scent is too hot this time. You might as well give a 'View halloa' if you have seen him." "Seen Sydney H. Corbett, you mean?" "That is the gentleman."