Mr. Clutterbuck foresaw yet another futile verbal message and he came as near to anger as such a man can come at all. He was quite evidently put out and annoyed. He went so far as to say: "Mr. Fitzgerald, I did hope you would have done something for me." And Charlie, who had a fine sense which told him when he had gone too far, got up and put a gentle hand on his employer's arm. "I'm afraid, Mr. Clutterbuck," he said in a tone of low and grave sincerity, "I'm afraid you misunderstood me. I can't do more than find out, but I'll find out in more detail, and you must give me two days." "Of course," said Mr. Clutterbuck, "of course; you know what you have to do, Mr. Fitzgerald, I won't expect you back until I hear." But he added in a sort of appealing voice: "But do do something! You see ... it touches a man's pride, and ... to be perfectly frank ... Mrs. Clutterbuck doesn't like it. One feels odd when one's friends come." The poor old gentleman was perfectly straightforward and it went to Charlie Fitzgerald's heart. Nevertheless a telegram which came for him a few hours later, after he had sent a telephone message to London, detained him yet another day. He fully explained to Mr. Clutterbuck the nature of the delay: the person whom he had expected to meet in town would not be back till the evening of the 9th; but Mr. Clutterbuck was only partially relieved and he announced his intention of seeing to some business in the City. The business--alas! that I should have to admit duplicity in such a character--was an interview with Mr. William Bailey. That eccentric had at least opened him one door of sympathy, and in Mr. Clutterbuck's distress the business man's natural mistrust of uncertain and fantastic characters was forgotten. He found Mr. Bailey occupying his worse than useless leisure in drawing up an enormous list of names, and by the side of each, in a second column, a second name was appended. He was so engrossed upon this task, in the prosecution of which he was surrounded by twenty or a dozen books of reference, collections of newspaper cuttings and memoranda of every sort, that he did not so much as look up when Zachary announced Mr. Clutterbuck, but went on murmuring: "Beaufort---- Rosenberg, date uncertain; "Belvedere---- Cohen, 1873; "Belmont---- Schoenberg, 1882 (probably)...." He had go so far when he jumped up, remembered his manners, and begged Mr. Clutterbuck to excuse his absorption. "I was making out a list of people," he said, "a sort of dictionary." "Are you going to publish it?" asked Mr. Clutterbuck politely, by way of beginning the conversation. "Well," said Mr. Bailey, "I rather think I am. I dare say I should have to get it printed abroad, but that's no drawback." "I hope it's all right," said Mr. Clutterbuck in alarm. "Oh yes, it's quite moral," said Mr. Bailey airily. "But one often has to get things done abroad. Would you like to look at some of it?"