"My name is Harkness. It was quite by chance that I was walking down the hill this afternoon and met you. As I told you then, I was on my way to the 'Man-at-Arms.' This evening I offered my help to a lady there who seemed to be in distress, and asked her whether there was anything that I could do. She asked me to bring you that message. There was no one else for her to ask." Dunbar stared at Harkness, then suddenly held out his hand. "Jolly decent of you. I won't forget it. My name is Dunbar as you know, David Dunbar." "And mine Harkness, Charles Harkness." "I can't tell you what you've done for me by bringing me that message. Here, don't go for a minute. Have something, won't you?" "Yes, I think I will," said Harkness, conscious of a sudden weariness. "What shall it be? Whisky? Large soda?" They sat down. Dunbar touched a bell and then, in silence, they waited. Harkness was humorously conscious that he seemed to be the younger of the two. The boy had taken complete command of the situation. The older man was also aware that there was some very actual and positive situation here that was developing under his eyes. As he sat there, sticking to the plush of his chair, listening to the ridiculous chatter of the marble clock, staring into the Wardour Street Puritans of "When did you see father last?" he felt urgency beating in upon them both. A shabby waiter looked in upon them, received his order and departed. Dunbar suddenly plunged. "Look here, I know I can trust you. I'm sure of it. And _she_ trusted you, so that should be enough for me. But--would you mind--telling me exactly how it happened that you got this message?" "Certainly," Harkness said. "I----" "Wait," Dunbar interrupted, "forgive me, but drop your voice, will you? One doesn't know who's hanging round here." They drew their chairs closer together and Harkness, sitting forward, continued. "I had dressed for dinner early. A friend of mine in London had told me that there was a little old room at the top of the hotel that was well worth seeing. I guess, like most Americans, I care for old-fashioned things, so I got to the top of the house and found the room. I was up in a little gallery at the back when two people came in, a man and a girl. They began to talk before I could move or let them know I was there. It was all too quick for me to do anything. The girl begged the man, to whom she was apparently married, to let her go home for a week before they went abroad, and the man refused. That was all there was, but the girl's terror struck me as extreme----" "My God!" Dunbar broke in, "if you only knew!" "Well, I was touched by that and I didn't like the man's face, either. They went out. I came down to dinner. While I was waiting in the garden an extraordinary man spoke to me--extraordinary to look at, I mean. Short, fat, red hair--" "You needn't describe him," Dunbar interrupted, "I know him."