Copplestone betook himself to his rooms in Jermyn Street; it seemed an age--several ages--since he had last seen the familiar things in them. During the few days which had elapsed since his hurried setting-off to meet Bassett Oliver so many things had happened that he felt as if he had lived a week in a totally different world. He had met death, and mystery, and what appeared to be sure evidence of deceit and cunning and perhaps worse--fraud and crime blacker than fraud. But he had also met Audrey Greyle. And it was only natural that he thought more about her than of the strange atmosphere of mystery which wrapped itself around Scarhaven. She, at any rate, was good to think upon, and he thought much as he looked over the letters that had accumulated, changed his clothes, and made ready to go and dine at his club, Already he was counting the hours which must elapse before he would go back to her. Nevertheless, Copplestone's mind was not entirely absorbed by this pleasant subject; the events of the day and of the arrival in London kept presenting themselves. And coming across a fellow club-member whom he knew for a thorough man about town, he suddenly plumped him with a question. "I say!" he said. "Do you know the Fragonard Club?" "Of course!" replied the other man. "Don't you?" "Never even heard of it till this evening," said Copplestone. "What is it?" "Mixed lot!" answered his companion. "Theatrical and music-hall folk--men and women--both. Lively spot--sometimes. Like to have a look in when they have one of their nights?" "Very much," assented Copplestone. "Are you a member?" "No, but I know several men who are members," said the other. "I'll fix it all right. Worth going to when they've what they call a house-dinner--Sunday night, of course." "Thanks," said Copplestone. "I suppose membership of that's confined to the profession, eh?" "Strictly," replied his friend. "But they ain't at all particular about their guests--you'll meet all sorts of people there, from judges to jockeys, and millionairesses to milliners." Copplestone was still wondering what the Squire of Scarhaven could have to do with the Fragonard Club when he went to Mr. Petherton's office the next morning. He was late for the appointment which Gilling had made, and when he arrived Gilling had already reported all that had taken place the day before to the solicitor and to Sir Cresswell Oliver. And on that Copplestone produced the papers entrusted to him by Mr. Dennie and they all compared the handwritings afresh.