Anyway, as it turned out, Jimmy and I might have spared ourselves the discussion: for when we reached Prince's the head-waiter (an old friend) brought me a letter. It had been delivered by District Messenger almost two hours before. It ran--Here it is: I have all the documents but one, and I've sent home for that. "Dear Roddy,--Sorry to do a shirk: but circumstances oblige me to take the boat-train, 9.45, ex Victoria. I have locked up the flat. The porter has the keys, with instructions to lend to nobody but you or the landlord. "Address, for some little while, quite uncertain. I drew out a fair sum in circular notes and cash; enough to keep me solvent for some weeks. So you need not worry about the money. "You needn't fash your consciences over the Plan, either. I'll tell you about it in my next, written from the first place when I find leisure. I'll unfold--no, the word insults its beautiful simplicity. Apologies to Jimmy. Tell him to buy a copy-book and write in it _Experiment is better than Observation_. "So long! A great peace has fallen on me, Roddy. 'I am one with my kind,' like the convalescent gentleman in _Maud_. 'I embrace the purpose of--whatever Higher Power set Farrell going--'and the doom assigned.' "Farrell is going strong. Yoicks!--Yours ever," "J.F." I handed the letter across to Jimmy, and set myself to order, thoughtfully, something to eat. "Well, what do you say to it?" I asked as Jimmy finished his perusal. "I say," pronounced Jimmy in unfaltering voice, "that the crisis demands a gin-and-vermouth, at once, and that the vermouth should be of the Italian variety." "Waiter!" I called. "Nay," said Jimmy, "hear me out. I say further--did you mention a rump-steak underdone?" "You did," said I. "And with oysters on the top?" "It's where they usually go," I pleaded. "I didn't specify. One takes a lot of these little things for granted." "Then I say further that, this being one of those occasions on which no time should be lost, you will reach for that collection of _hors d'oeuvre_ on the table behind you, and lift your voice for a bottle of Graves to follow the vermouth and quickly, but not so as to gall its kibe. . . . And I say last of all," he wound up reflectively, helping himself to two stuffed olives and a _hareng sauer_, "that the Professor is running a grave risk, and I wouldn't be in his shoes at this moment." "You think--" I began nervously. "Never did such a thing in my life," said Jimmy. "I _know_. He's in one of those beastly Restaurant Cars." Silence descended on Foe for two months and more. Then I received this long letter:-- Grand Hotel, Paris, May 27th.