It appeared that early the previous morning, young Archie Brookes had called and the two men were closeted together for over a couple of hours. Simmons had followed his usual tactics of applying his ear to the keyhole, but they were on their guard, and spoke in such low tones that he could not catch a word. After the young man had left, Sir George came out and ordered the valet to fill a good-sized portmanteau with clothes; he had in his hand a bag which, no doubt, contained all the money and everything of portable value in the flat. He explained briefly that he was going abroad for some months, and had given his solicitors instructions to dispose of the furniture and contents, and sub-let the flat. He handed Simmons a written character and—wonderful to relate—gave him three months’ wages in lieu of notice. A taxi was called, and the chauffeur given instructions to drive to Charing Cross station. It was pretty evident that Sir George, to use the valet’s graphic expression, had “done a bunk.” Simmons had not noticed the number of the taxi, but even if he had taken this precaution, it was not likely to have given Lane much assistance. A practised campaigner like this well-born rogue would be clever enough to conceal his tracks; he had already his plans cut and dried to evade pursuit. The valet had come round this morning to clear up things a bit, and after he had done that he was to post his own key to Sir George’s solicitors. The scoundrel had enjoyed a long start, and by now was clear away. It was not worth while wasting time over him. Mr. Morrice had shown by his manner that he was sick and tired of the whole matter, and wished to shut it out of his recollection. To a wealthy man such as he, the recovery of a portion of the stolen money was a matter of comparative unimportance. So Lane decided that he would go no further in what might be termed the side-issue of the Deanery Street mystery. But second thoughts induced him to look up his old friend MacKenzie at Scotland Yard. What was the motive of the baronet’s sudden departure? Of course, he would have learned from Mrs. Morrice or Alma Buckley that his game was up in that direction. Did he dread the vengeance of the financier, or were other causes at work? MacKenzie received him with his accustomed cordiality. “Well, how are you getting on with the case you told me about?” Lane informed him that it had ended successfully from a professional point of view: he had proved his client’s innocence and found the real criminal. Lane did not proffer the name of that real criminal, nor did MacKenzie ask it. They were confidential with each other up to a point, but a certain etiquette was always preserved. “I went round to the flat of our friend, Sir George Clayton-Brookes, this morning and learned that he had left in a violent hurry. I was sorry, as I wanted to have a little talk with him. Seems something ‘fishy’ about this sudden flight.”