"Thank ye," said Mr. Torrington. "And if you'll put a side table alongside I'll try a new patience. No, don't bother to tell me your master won't be long, I know that bit by heart." He unwound a silk comforter from his neck, hung it over the arm of the chair and produced from his pocket a small pack of cards. "Cold, Cassis?" "I was cold," replied Cassis exactly. "Hm! Fine growing weather, this." He began to lay out the cards in neat little packs. "Bulbs are coming through nicely. I was hoping to spend a day or two in the garden but I'm afraid not--'fraid it won't be possible." Cassis put his hands behind his back. "This business," he said. "Yes." Lord Almont Frayne, a rather resplendant young man of thirty, came into the room with all the bounce of youth. His chin shone from a ten minutes' old shave, his hair clove to his head like fresh laid paint and the crease in his trousers was razor edged. "Most awfully sorry, dear hearts," he exclaimed in clamourous apology. "Deuce of a late night at Thingumy's ball. Do excuse." From which the reader may assume that his lordship was a bit of an ass--but no. Under the ecstatic exterior of twentieth century modern man-about-townism there existed in the composition of Lord Almont many of the shrewd qualities that had made his father one of the richest bankers in England. People in the know would assure you it was not only luck that had kept the parental millions secure and had even increased them after the old gentleman's decease. Lord Almont had a sense of the market and his intelligence was not entirely devoted to matters sartorial. "Anybody have anything? No. Too early? Infernally hot in here. Mind if we have a window up?" Cassis was only just in time to lodge an objection. Lord Almont pointed to the street. "Here comes old Cranbourne bobbing along. Shall we wait?" Mr. Torrington continued playing his patience game until Cranbourne was announced. And if you are interested to know what manner of man Cranbourne might be then turn to the description of the diner at the table near the door in the Berkeley Cafe. As to his associations with these other gentlemen it remains only to be said that he was a supplier of ideas and occasionally of ideals. "Anybody know anything?" said Lord Almont. Cassis shrugged his shoulders negatively. Mr. Torrington put down a card. "Waste of time," he said. "Waste of time. Barraclough will never get out of London by ordinary ways. It was a useless attempt." "Well, we don't know." "He hadn't got through at ten thirty last night," said Cranbourne. "He was dining at the Berkeley Grill. 'Course he might have had a shot later." "Did you speak to him?" "No--just nodded. Billings tells me he was shot at when he tried to make the tug on the river." "The boat was shot at, you mean," said Cassis. "Anyone rung him up this morning?" asked Mr. Torrington. "No, it was arranged we shouldn't." "Then he's sure to be here soon."