Sylvia's non-appearance much puzzled me. What could it mean? For another half-hour--an anxious, impatient, breathless half-hour--I waited, but she did not return. Had she, too, cleverly escaped by entering the shop, and passing out by another entrance? Another careful tour of the establishment revealed the fact that she certainly was not there. And so, after a wait of nearly two hours, I was compelled to accept the hard and very remarkable fact that she had purposely evaded me, and escaped! Then she was in league with the men who had stolen my thousand pounds! And yet had not that selfsame man declared that she, having betrayed him, was to meet the same terrible fate as that prepared for me? For a final five minutes I waited; then annoyed, disappointed and dismayed, entered the taxi, and drove to Wilton Street. On entering with my latch-key, Browning came forward with a puzzled expression, surprised, no doubt, at my dishevelled appearance. "I've been very anxious about you, Mr. Owen," exclaimed the old man. I was always Mr. Owen to him, just as I had been when a lad. "When I went to your room this morning I found your bed empty. I wondered where you had gone." "I've had a strange adventure, Browning," I laughed, rather forcedly I fear. "Has Mr. Marlowe rung me up?" "No, sir. But somebody else rang up about an hour ago, and asked whether you were in." "Who was it?" "I couldn't quite catch the name, sir. It sounded like Shuffle--something." "Shuttleworth!" I cried. "Did he leave any message?" "No, sir. He merely asked if you were in--that's all." As Sylvia was in London, perhaps Shuttleworth was in town also, I reflected. Yet she had cleverly made her escape--in order to avoid being questioned. Her secret was a guilty one! I called up Jack, who answered cheerily as usual. "You didn't ring me up about one o'clock this morning, did you?" I inquired. "No. Why?" he asked. "Oh--well, nothing," I said. "I thought perhaps it might have been you--that's all. What time shall you be in at White's?" "About four. Will you be there?" "Yes." "Right-ho! Good-bye, old man," and he rang off. I ascended to my room, changed my clothes, and made myself respectable. But during the time I was dressing I reflected whether I should go to Scotland Yard and relate my strange experience. Such clever fiends as Reckitt and Forbes deserved punishment. What fearful crimes had been committed in that weird, neglected house I dreaded to think. My only hesitation, however, was caused by the thought that perhaps Sylvia might be implicated. I felt somehow impelled to try and solve the problem for myself. I had lost a thousand pounds. Yet had I not fallen into that trap in utter disregard of Sylvia's warning?