The figure in the mirror bowed gravely. He was a perfect stranger to Gordon, a young bookmaker, Gordon thought, and was growing interested when he realised with a shock that it was himself. Packing hastily, he rang the bell three times for the valet. If you rang twice the porter came, once, the chambermaid. So he rang three times. The chambermaid appeared. Happily the hotel is a house of call. Guests come overnight and leave in the morning. Nobody recognises anybody except under the urgent promptings of lawyers’ clerks, supported by the visitors’ book. Ten per cent of the staff was permanently giving evidence at the law courts. “The valet,” said Gordon and, when that individual appeared, gave instructions regarding the grip containing his discarded suit and hat-box. It occurred to him at that moment that one does not journey to Scotland in a top hat, and he was rather glad that Diana had been out when he left. “I want these things to be kept in the hotel cloak-room,” said Gordon. “I will be back next Friday night and collect them.” Now the valet knew him; had seen him, not at the hotel, but at a very select club in Pall Mall where the man had been a waiter before the craze for improvement had driven him to the brushing of odd people’s odder clothing. “Excuse me, sir, you’re Mr. Selsbury, aren’t you?” Gordon went red. “Yes, I am Mr. Selsbury,” he said with a touch of hauteur. His signature in the visitors’ book was unintelligible. The reception clerk thought it was Silsburg. “I don’t think I should leave your bag in the hotel, sir,” said the valet gravely. Something of authority upon the ritual of adventure, he spoke with the best of intentions. “Next Friday particularly we’ve got a big dinner here--to one of the Colonial Premiers. The hotel will be full of people--you don’t want to meet anybody you know?” The assumption that he was privy to the clandestine character of Gordon’s movements made the visitor incapable of protest. “Tell me the train you’re coming by; I’ll meet you at the station with the grip--I’ll put it straight away into the railway parcels office,” said the valet gently, almost tenderly. Gordon could think of no improvement on this method; at the same time, the valet must be under no misapprehension. “Thank you--er----” “Balding--I used to be a waiter at the Junior University Club, sir.” “Yes, of course. I think your idea is an excellent one. The fact is, I’m leaving London on a ... mission, and I have to be very careful ... thousands of pounds are involved.” “I see, sir.” Balding was so serious as to be almost plaintive. He had met gentlemen at the hotel in similar circumstances, only _they_ had said that they were in the secret service. “Thank you, sir ... very kind of you, I’m sure.” Balding slipped the note into his waistcoat pocket indifferently.