George tottered across the room; pressed his head against the cold window-pane. Here was the calamity. He had thought of taking Bill into his confidence--how do so now? “I say, you do look bad, old man,” Bill told him. “I'm all right. Tell me all about it.” “Well, it's too good--too wonderful to be true. Everything is going simply splendidly with me. I'm running this cat business for the _Daily_--my paper, you know. It's made a most frightful splash and the editor is awfully bucked up with me. I'm on the permanent staff, six quid a week--eight quid a week if I find this cat. I'm working it from Herons' Holt, you know. I'm--” George turned upon him. “Are you 'Our Special Commissioner at Paltley Hill'?” “Rather! Have you been reading it? Pretty hot stuff, isn't it? I say, George, wasn't it lucky I chucked medicine! I told you I was cut out for this kind of thing if only I could get my chance. Well, I've got my chance; and by Gad, old man, if I don't track down this swine who's got the cat, or help to get him tracked down, I'll--I'll--” The enthusiastic young man broke off--“Isn't it great, George?” My miserable George paced the room. “Great!” he forced out. “Great!” This was the infernal Special Commissioner whom daily he had yearned to strangle. “Great! By Gad, there are no words for it!” “I knew you'd be pleased. Thanks awfully--_awfully_. Well, I was telling you. Being down there for the paper I simply had to interview Marrapit. I plucked up courage and bearded him. He's half crazy about this wretched cat. I found him as meek as a lamb. Bit snarly at first, but when he found how keen I was, quite affectingly pleasant. I've seen him every day for the last four days, and yesterday he said what I told you--I came out with all about Margaret and about my splendid prospects, and, as I say, he practically said that if I could find the cat he'd be willing to think of our engagement.” “But about finding out where I was? How did you discover that?” “Well, he told me. Told me this morning.” Bill shuffled his legs uncomfortably for a moment, then plunged ahead. “Fact is, old man, he's a bit sick with you. Said he'd only had one telegram from you from Dippleford Admiral and one letter from here. Said it was unsatisfactory--that it was clear you were incapable of following up this clue of yours by yourself. You don't mind my telling you this, do you, old man? You know what he is.” George gave the bitter laugh of one who is misunderstood, unappreciated. “Go on,” he said, “go on.” He was trembling to see the precipice over which the end of Bill's story would hurl him. “Well, as I said--that it was clear you could not carry through your clue by yourself. So I was to come down and help you. That was about ten o'clock, and I caught the mid-day train--I've been here since two. Well, Brunger--the detective chap, you know--Marrapit was going to send him on here at once--”