“To tell the truth, Mr. Cox, I shall be here for the next three evenings. A bit of luck has come my way. Sir George is going into the country to-morrow morning, and won’t be back till Friday. He isn’t taking me with him, and I don’t know where’s he’s going. No letters or telegrams are to be forwarded.” “A bit queer he doesn’t want his valet with him, isn’t it?” “I think so,” replied Mr. Simmons with a knowing expression. “A very dark horse is our respected and wealthy baronet! If he’s going to a swagger country house he takes me fast enough. But it’s not the first time by half a dozen that he’s sloped off like this by himself. He’s after something that he doesn’t want anybody else to know about, you bet. A very queer fish, Mr. Cox.” So Sir George would be away for a few days; that would just suit Lane’s plans. He must open the campaign with the not too scrupulous valet as soon as possible, but not to-night. “Look out for me to-morrow evening then, Mr. Simmons. I like this little place, it’s very snug and quiet, and I have very much enjoyed my chats with you. Good-night. Sure you won’t have another before you go?” But the acquisitive valet had that delicacy in him that he declined further hospitality; he had already done himself very well at his companion’s expense, and was perhaps fearful of trespassing too greatly on his good nature. The next evening they were again in their quiet corner, and Lane opened the ball a few minutes after they had exchanged greetings. “Now, Mr. Simmons, I am going to be quite frank with you. I didn’t come here by accident. I got to know—it doesn’t matter how—that you were Sir George’s valet, that you frequented this place. If you are so inclined, you are just the man to give me help in a little job I’m after. I’m a detective by profession; here is my card with my name and address. If you have any doubts about the truth of my assertion, I will take you down to Shaftesbury Avenue now and convince you by ocular proof.” Mr. Simmons scrutinized the card carefully; he was a shrewd and wary fellow, and not one to be easily taken in. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Cox, or rather Mr. Lane, to give you your true name, I had a sort of suspicion all along that you were a ’tec and wanted something out of me. I’ve never seen you in this place before, and you’ve given me a lot of drinks and wouldn’t take one back. Now, sir, if I may speak without offence, a man who meets a stranger doesn’t do all the paying without a motive. Well, sir, let’s come to business. What can I do for you—of course, with safety to myself, and if I do it, what do I get out of it?” A business-like fellow, a bit of a rogue, in a noncriminal way no doubt! But it was always easier to deal with a rogue than a fool in matters of this kind. There would be no beating about the bush. Lane briefly explained what he wanted. He wished to examine Sir George’s pass-book; if that was not available, his paying-in slips. Did the valet know where he kept them?