“Yes,” he replied. “And I followed you back to town, and to this hotel. Afterwards I tried to find out your name, and who you were, but failed. I hope you will forgive me, Mr. Blenkiron; but I should like you to know I followed you at Hopford’s request.” The three burst out laughing. “So you, Blenkiron,” Hopford exclaimed, “are the rascal whose identity has so puzzled us! Really, this is amusing.” Whisky was produced, and soon all three were on the best of terms. “Have you heard the latest about the house with the bronze face?” Blenkiron asked presently. “No, what?” Hopford answered eagerly. “Alix Stothert, Camille Lenoir, and a girl of quite good family, and well-known in Society--I am not at liberty to tell you her name--and several others were arrested there about six o’clock this evening for being accomplices in attempted blackmail. In connection with the blackmail charge any number of people we know are likely to be involved. The names of three you will, I expect, guess at once.” “J. and Co.” Blenkiron nodded. “By Jove, how splendid!” Hopford exclaimed. “Who told you all this, George?” “The Commissioner of Police himself, so the information is accurate enough.” Hopford sprang to his feet. “May I use your telephone?” he asked, as he walked quickly towards the door. “Come and stand by me and I’ll dictate the whole story through right away!” “Hopford, sit down!” Blenkiron shouted imperatively, pointing to the chair from which the lad had just risen. “Not a word of what I have told you is to appear in the press until I authorize it. Not a word! Do you understand?” “But the other papers will get it,” Hopford exclaimed, with his hand on the door handle. “They won’t. That I promise you. The Commissioner of Police, an intimate friend of mine, told me while I was dining with him to-night that the whole affair is to be kept out of the papers until the entire gang has been arrested. If you print a line now you will defeat the ends of justice by warning the unarrested accomplices, and so, probably, enabling them to escape. I mean what I say, Hopford. Preston, Miss Hagerston, Johnson and Mrs. Hartsilver will be here soon--I telephoned asking them to come as I had, I said, something important to tell them. There will be supper, so you and your friend had better stay.” Hopford reflected. “Have you room for yet one more at supper?” he asked suddenly. “Major Guysburg, a friend of Preston’s, is at Morley’s--just come from America. He knows a lot about a man, Alphonse Michaud, who is the mainspring of the Metropolitan Secret Agency, and is also at Morley’s. I have not yet met Guysburg, but Preston has explained to him who I am, and the major is greatly interested in the movements of J.’s gang. He should, in fact, be able to throw further light on some of the curious happenings of the last two years.”