'My subtle friend,' Mr. Kessner continued, setting his glass down empty, 'is now wondering why you were asked to join it.' 'Not at all,' Lavendale replied. 'The fame of Mr. Courlander is well known to me.' Their host for a single moment seemed disturbed. He recovered himself, however, almost immediately. 'Mr. Courlander,' he went on, 'as I have told you was once my secretary. Since then, for a brief space of time, he became a criminologist. Disgusted with the coarse tendencies of crime as practised in more modern cities he abandoned that profession to become what I might call a diplomatic detective. He is the terror of our loose-living public men and our ambitious but dishonest politicians.' 'Our friend's career in America,' Lavendale remarked dryly, 'must of necessity be a strenuous one!' Mr. Kessner for a moment smiled. There was no effort of humour about the gesture. It was simply a slow, sideways parting of the lips, an index of thoughts travelling backwards along a road lined with grotesque memories. He drew a heavy gold pencil from his pocket and signed the bill. Then he rose to his feet. 'We will take our coffee outside,' he suggested. 'Afterwards, if it meets with your approval, I have a box at one of the music halls--I am not sure which.' They lingered only a few minutes over their coffee. While they sat there, however, Mr. Kessner's secretary, a middle-aged man with gold spectacles and abstracted manner, brought in a note. Mr. Kessner opened it, read it carefully and tore it into small pieces. He rose, a few minutes later, joined his secretary, who was waiting on the outskirts of the little group, and walked with him twice down the entrance hall. Then he returned. 'The car is waiting,' he announced, 'if you are ready. Won't you, my Machiavellian young friend,' he added, glancing at the scraps of paper which he had left upon the coffee table, 'try and put those fragments together? I promise that you would find them interesting--more intrigue, and a very interesting one, I can assure you.' Lavendale found it hard to forgive himself later for the impulse which prompted his answer. The temptation, however, was irresistible. 'I have no need to put them together to know the source of your message,' he replied. 'No?' Mr. Kessner remarked politely, as he lingered for a moment over adjusting Suzanne's coat. 'There are a good many millions of people in London, are there not? Shall I give you a hundred thousand to one against naming the writer?' 'In dollars, if you like,' Lavendale replied carelessly. 'I won't take your money, but I'll start, then, with Baron Niko Komashi.' Mr. Kessner, who had half turned away, watching the result of his attentions to Suzanne, became suddenly motionless. His lips were a little parted, he seemed almost paralysed. When he turned slowly around there was a new look in his eyes. Courlander, on the other hand, did not attempt to restrain an exclamation of wonder.