“Yes, he has got his key; he always carries it with him. But I could put the inside latch up, making some plausible excuse for doing so, and while I was going to the door you could put things straight and escape into my room, hide there and be smuggled out as soon as we got a chance. What do you think of that?” “Quite ingenious,” was the approving answer. No doubt the fellow would have developed a very pretty talent in the domain of “crookdom” if he had been properly trained by a qualified professor. “Quite ingenious,” repeated Lane; “but I think I can manage it in a way that will avert any danger from yourself if accidents should happen. Now here is my plan. I will explain it as briefly as possible. You won’t appear in the matter at all.” Mr. Simmons heaved a sigh of relief. He looked at his new friend with an air of admiration; he felt he was in the presence of a master mind. The detective lucidly explained his scheme. “You meet me at the bottom of the street to-morrow evening at seven o’clock, and hand me the key of the flat. You come on here, I join you in five minutes; we have met here as usual for a chat. I’m in a hurry; I stay with you a quarter of an hour, then hasten off on the plea of having to attend to some urgent business. I go on to the flat, take care that nobody is about, put the key in the door, enter Sir George’s room and do my business. You will sit here for an hour with your pals, then you will leave and meet me, say, in the buffet of Victoria Station, when I will hand you back your key.” “It sounds all right,” said Mr. Simmons, still speaking dubiously. “But what happens if Sir George ‘cops’ you, and you can’t meet me at Victoria?” “I’m coming to that, although there’s not the smallest probability that Sir George will ‘cop’ me. If he does, I think I shall have to say something to him that will prevent him from giving me in charge. But whatever happens, all that can be proved against you is indiscretion—mind you, rather unpardonable in a man of your years, but still only indiscretion. So you tumble to it now?” “I think I’m getting an inkling; but you might explain it fully. You are a clever chap, and you make things seem so clear.” “You met a very plausible stranger in a certain pub. Give the name to show good faith. Your friends can prove they have seen us talking together. You got rather pals; he stood you a lot of drinks. On this particular evening he gave you a little too much, perhaps put something in it to make you stupid, and while you were losing your wits, picked your pocket of the key and rushed round to the flat, leaving you to recover yourself. So remember, after I leave you to-morrow evening, to be a little foolish in your manner for half an hour or so.” “Excellent,” cried Mr. Simmons in genuine admiration. “By jingo, you are a knock-out; you think of everything. To-morrow evening, just at the bottom of the street; afterwards here. Now, what do you think of something on account—say a ‘tenner.’”