"I was up here in good time this afternoon to meet his train," reported Swallow. "I spotted him and his man at once; no difficulty, as your description of both was so full. They were together while the luggage was got out; then he, Greyle, gave some instructions to the man and left him. He himself got into a taxi-cab; I got into another close behind and gave its driver certain orders. Greyle drove straight to the Fragonard Club--you know." "Ah!" exclaimed Gilling. "Did he, now? That's worth knowing." "What's the Fragonard Club?" asked Copplestone. "Never heard of it." "Club of folk connected with the stage and the music-halls," answered Gilling, testily. "In a side street, off Shaftesbury Avenue--tell you more of it, later. Go on, Swallow." "He paid off his driver there, and went in," continued Swallow. "I paid mine and hung about--there's only one entrance and exit to that spot, as you know. He came out again within five minutes, stuffing some letters into his pocket. He walked away across Shaftesbury Avenue into Wardour Street--there he went into a tobacconist's shop. Of course, I hung about again. But this time he didn't come. So at last I walked in--to buy something. He wasn't there!" "Pooh!--he'd slipped out--walked out--when you weren't looking!" said Gilling. "Why didn't you keep your eye on the ball, man?--you!" "You be hanged!" retorted Swallow. "Never had an eyelash off that shop door from the time he entered until I, too, entered." "Then there's a side-door to that shop--into some alley or passage," said Gilling. "Not that I could find," answered Swallow. "Might be at the rear of the premises perhaps, but I couldn't ascertain, of course. Remember!--there's another thing. He may have stopped on the premises. There's that in it. However, I know the shop and the name." "Why didn't you bring somebody else with you, to follow the man and the luggage?" demanded Gilling, half-petulantly. Swallow shook his head. "There I made a mess of it, I confess," he admitted. "But it never struck me they'd separate. I thought, of course, they'd drive straight to some hotel, and--" "And the long and the short of it is, Greyle's slipped you," said Gilling. "Well--there's no more to be done tonight. The only thing of value is that Greyle called at the Fragonard. What's a country squire--only recently come to England, too!--to do with the Fragonard? That is worth something. Well--Copplestone, we'd better meet in the morning at Petherton's. You be there at ten o'clock, and I'll get Sir Cresswell Oliver to be there, too."