The hump discarded, and the grey wig fitted carefully to his head in such a manner that not even a pinch of his own curly locks could be seen beneath it, he adorned his cheeks with a pair of _crépu_-hair whiskers, donned the flannel vest and the velvet coat previously mentioned, slipped his feet into the carpet slippers, placed a pair of smoked glasses upon his nose, and declared himself ready to proceed about his business. The man who would have known him for Simon Carne would have been as astute as, well, shall we say, as the private detective--Klimo himself. "It’s on the stroke of twelve," he said, as he gave a final glance at himself in the pier-glass above the dressing-table, and arranged his tie to his satisfaction. "Should any one call, instruct Ram Gafur to tell them that I have gone out on business, and shall not be back until three o’clock." "Very good, sir." "Now undo the door and let me go in." Thus commanded, Belton went across to the large wardrobe which, as I have already said, covered the whole of one side of the room, and opened the middle door. Two or three garments were seen inside suspended on pegs, and these he removed, at the same time pushing towards the right the panel at the rear. When this was done a large aperture in the wall between the two houses was disclosed. Through this door Carne passed, drawing it behind him. In No. 1, Belverton Terrace, the house occupied by the detective, whose presence in the street Carne seemed to find so objectionable, the entrance thus constructed was covered by the peculiar kind of confessional box in which Klimo invariably sat to receive his clients, the rearmost panels of which opened in the same fashion as those in the wardrobe in the dressing room. These being pulled aside, he had but to draw them to again after him, take his seat, ring the electric bell to inform his housekeeper that he was ready, and then welcome his clients as quickly as they cared to come. Punctually at two o’clock the interviews ceased, and Klimo, having reaped an excellent harvest of fees, returned to Portchester House to become Simon Carne once more. Possibly it was due to the fact that the Earl and Countess of Amberley were brimming over with his praise, or it may have been the rumor that he was worth as many millions as you have fingers upon your hand that did it; one thing, however, was self-evident, within twenty-four hours of the noble earl’s meeting him at Victoria Station, Simon Carne was the talk, not only fashionable, but also of unfashionable London. That his household were, with one exception, natives of India, that he had paid a rental for Portchester House which ran into five figures, that he was the greatest living authority upon china and Indian art generally, and that he had come over to England in search of a wife, were among the smallest of the _canards_ set afloat concerning him.