"A gentleman called to see you this afternoon, sir, and not knowing you was returning I told him you had gone away and weren’t expected. He said you were probably coming up to London—I didn’t take no notice of that. He wouldn’t give his name, sir, but he seemed anxious to see you." Rupert guessed it was Sir Reginald Crichton. Turning his back on Mrs. Jones he took out his key intending to open the bureau. To his surprise he found it was unlocked. The landlady continued to twist her apron, watching him surreptitiously. "There are no other letters for me?" he repeated. "Well, sir," the landlady stammered, "there were some letters—and Miss Strode, after you was gone, I think she paid some bills for you. At least, so I understood her to say. But two gentlemen have been here since you arrived this evening——" She stopped, and again picked up an imaginary hairpin from the floor. Rupert swung round. He waited for her to continue. "Of course, I shouldn’t have admitted them, sir—but, I couldn’t help myself." "What do you mean?" Mrs. Jones hesitated. She was washing her hands in her apron now, and she sniffed suspiciously once or twice as if tears threatened. "Speak out—speak plainly, for goodness’ sake!" Rupert cried fiercely. "What did these men come for? Who were they?" "Scotland Yard, sir. In order to search the rooms." She raised her apron to her eyes and commenced to sob. "Such a thing ain’t never happened to me before, sir, never since my poor husband died and I was forced to take in lodgers. I told them what I thought of them, but it weren’t no good, sir. They had a warrant, or whatever it’s called.... And they took your letters, sir. What right had they to them, I’d like to know." "It’s all right, Mrs. Jones," Rupert said quietly. "It’s a mistake." "I know that, sir. But it ain’t pleasant to have a thing like that happen in one’s own house. Police officers they were, sir.... I told them you was a perfectly respectable gentleman.... You’d paid your bills, as they could see——" "That will do," Rupert interrupted. "Did they take anything else out of my rooms?" Mrs. Jones wiped her eyes with her apron. "I don’t think so, sir. I had a look round after they’d gone. The race card you’d left and which I’d put on the blotting-pad was missing; and they took the blotting-pad, too, the robbers. I’d just filled it up with fresh blotting-paper the very day before you left, as you may remember." "Yes, I remember." Again Rupert laughed. "You needn’t worry, Mrs. Jones. It’s a mistake and it will be put right to-morrow. That’ll do, you can go now." The landlady hesitated, fingering the door-handle. "No one knows but me, sir. Fortunately, I answered the door myself, so my servant, she don’t know. People will talk, so——" "I quite understand. But there will be nothing to talk about. Good-night." "Good-night, sir. Anything I can do I’m sure——" The door closed on the remainder of the sentence.