Physically he was the same as ever, save that his fair hair had oddly greyed a little at the temples--a curious contrast to the unlined boyishness of his face. But that was the keynote of his appearance, those contrasts. His slim yet broad-shouldered figure, the forceful mouth that could smile with such an infectious gaiety, the square jaw and the artist's hands, the Saxon hair and gun-metal grey eyes. Storm, who was Storm--so perfectly did the name fit him that it was impossible to think of him as anything else--Storm, the reckless, daredevil trouble-hunter with the heart of a crusader.... "And where've you been?" "Oh, here and there," he said. "I put in a bit of time with the Riffi--they made me a Kaid or a Pasha or whatever a Riff makes you when he loves you like a brother. Then that blew over, so I beat it to the Pacific and went pearling. Had a merry scrap with a Jap patrol, fishing on forbidden ground. That was nearly the end of my career! Then that got dull, so I toddled over to the Bahamas and set up as a bootlegger. Respectability's tame! A short life and a beery one--that's me! And then you can bury me under the foundation-stone of a brewery. Stevenson's verse 'll do for my epitaph--fine! You know it? "Here he lies where he longed to be, Home is the bootlegger, home from the sea, And the moonshiner home from the still..." "You haven't changed a bit," she laughed "Nor you--you're just as lovely as ever--more so! Your eyes, now. I love brown eyes----" She stopped him with a solemnly upraised hand. "What are you doing now?" she asked. "Divers things, and, on the whole, nothing much," he said vaguely. "London's paralytic! I'm just wondering whether it'd be worth while going back to Paluna--you remember, I ran a one-man revolution there and made myself President about three years back. Being President of a South American Republic is some game, believe uncle!" He was, as a matter of fact, doing rather more than divers things. When he left he returned to Scotland Yard and made his way to the office of the Assistant Commissioner. "You can take it from me, Bill," he informed that gentleman, "that Hannassay's new typist's all right. I've known her for years---her father took me out of the workhouse and educated me. Incidentally, he started me on my adventurous career. I tell you, anyone who was brought up by Smiler Hawthorne and after that went in for stockbroking or market gardening or anything else respectable and dull would have been a blistering Robot!" "I'm glad to hear it," said Bill Kennedy drily. "I'd already gathered that you weren't a Robot, laddie, from the fact that you took an hour and a half to find out about her when you'd known her for years. Now you can push off, because I work sometimes. See you later." Storm went to his own room, and shortly after Inspector Teal arrived to make his report. "Well, Teal?" he prompted briskly.