Michael was puzzled. Strangely enough the obvious never occurred to him, or if it did he dismissed it without a second consideration. He did not look upon Kate as the type that would find any amusement, whatever the profit might be, in the inveigling of a young fool to the altar. Kate wanted the excitement, not the money. That was her history. He had first met her when he was in the Special Department and it had been over a little matter of a King’s messenger’s despatch bag which on a cross-channel journey had mysteriously disappeared, though it was practically handcuffed to the owner’s wrist, that he had first become acquainted with the girl. He was interested in her, but only mildly so, because, at the time, he arrived at a somewhat hasty judgment. It was later, when the strong-room of the “Muranic” was forced and twenty-five packets of diamonds vanished in mid-ocean and when he had been in charge of the investigations which had resulted in the imprisonment of Colonel Westhanger, that he had first formed a true estimate of the girl’s character--an estimate which he had had cause to modify, but never to change. Michael lived in a big block of flats near Baker Street, where he maintained a somewhat elaborate establishment for an inspector of police. He had, however, a private income of his own which he had inherited from his maternal grandmother and as he was a man of simple tastes and very few extravagant needs, he was able to live very comfortably indeed. He reached his home a little before 8 o’clock and was astonished as he came through the lobby of the flat to meet Beston, his man-servant, clad in fine raiment and going forth. “Hello, Beston, where are you off to?” he asked in surprise. The man touched his hat cheerfully. “I am going to the theatre, sir, and thank you very much for the tickets,” he said. “Cook went ten minutes ago and I stayed behind to tidy things up.” “Oh, cook went ten minutes ago, did she?” said Michael. “That’s good. When did the tickets arrive?” “About an hour ago, sir, by a district messenger. It was very kind of you to wire to us that you were sending them.” Michael laughed softly. “Your surprise at my consideration hurts me, Beston,” he said. “I always do things like that. By the way, did they spell your name correctly in the telegram?” “I think so, sir,” said the man in surprise, fumbled in his pocket and produced the orange slip. “I am sending you two tickets for the theatre to-night. May not be home until to-morrow. Pretherston.” Thus read the wire, which had been handed in at the Strand Office. Beston sensed some difficulty. “I hope it’s all right, sir,” he asked anxiously. “Quite all right,” replied Michael with a cheerful nod. “Don’t wait for me now, I shall not be in very long.”