As I walked to his rooms that night I carried with me three things. Under my arm was my old brown-paper parcel--for to make a final use of his bath had seemed to me the most natural excuse for my calling on him. In my breast pocket I carried that piece of paper that was to be the Evidence to the world. And in another pocket I had his latch-key, for which I foresaw a use later in the evening. I knocked at his door a little after eight, and Jane admitted me. She gave a familiar look at the parcel that contained my shirt, and also said something about a box Mr Merridew was leaving behind for the care of which he wanted me to be responsible. I passed this box on the first landing. It was locked, but only half addressed--Archie had not yet secured the rooms to which he would return with Evie. But he had not yet said anything about the box to me. I found him walking about his rooms, taking last peeps into empty drawers to see whether there was anything he had forgotten. His packing was finished, and he kept stopping in his prowl to throw another handful of old letters on to the smouldering heap in his old Queen Anne teapot of a grate. A little pile of these condemned letters still remained by the side of his perforated brass fender. "Hallo!" he cried as I entered. "Just give a squint round, will you, and tell me if there's anything so big I can't see it. And I say: I've left a box downstairs; I wonder if you'd look after it for me? I've told Jane." "Right!" I said. "Bath ready?" "All ready. By Jove! how letters do accumulate! You go and scrub yourself, while I polish this lot off." I went into his bathroom. But I did not make use of his bath. Somehow I could not bring myself to it. I only wanted the bath to be known as my motive for calling. So I filled it, stood by it for a number of minutes, and then ran the water off again. I took the same brown-paper parcel with me into his sitting-room that I had brought out. I did not stay long after that. I was coming back. At nine I rose. "What, are you off?" he said. "I must say you take what you want and clear off pretty quick! Supper'll be up presently." "A last stag-party?" I said. "I'm afraid you'll have to have it without me. I've got to get to Bedford yet. So," I added, "I shall have to wish you--you know--get it over now." "Oh, don't put on so much blessed ceremony!" he said. "It isn't as if you weren't going to see me again!" It wasn't. "Oh, about that box," I said. "Better call Jane, and tell me in her presence." "Well, if you _will_ leave me to eat my last bachelor supper alone. But I should have had to clear out myself just after. Got to have a word with Aunt Angela--she let's me call her that now." He moved towards the door. "Where are you going?" I asked. "To call Jane," he replied. "Bell's busted now--time I cleared out of here--whole place is coming to pieces.... Jane! Ja--ne!" he shouted down the well of the stairs. Then as Jane didn't hear he descended to the floor below.