"You see," he went on confidentially, "a gentleman's servant, especially if he belongs to the club just off Jermyn Street, and more specially still if he's been a racing man, hears all that's going on quicker than anyone. This morning I've been talking to the porters and valets of two of the best clubs, Sir John. Then I 'ad a crack with Meggit, the bookmaker, what does all the St. James' smaller commissions, and after that I strolled to the Parthenon Theatre, and took out the stage door-keeper and filled him up and made 'im talk a bit. 'Im and me is great friends consequent of my taking so many messages and flowers for you, sir, when Miss Shepherd was acting there." "Ah! I see you haven't wasted your time." I smiled inwardly at Thumbwood's idea of helping me. "No, Sir John. I've learned a lot of funny little things, just trifles, so to say, but they may prove useful later on. There's one thing you ought to know at once. Them theatricals have been talking, and it's all over town that Miss Shepherd travelled down to Plymouth with you. It's certain to be in the papers this afternoon, if it ain't already. There's been half a dozen reporters buzzing round the theatre this morning." I ground my teeth with anger, but only for a moment. Of course, the thing was inevitable. There was only one thing to do. I took up the telephone on the writing-table and got put on to the _Evening Wire_. "I am Sir John Custance," I said to the editor. "I hear that there is a good deal of talk going about London in respect of Miss Constance Shepherd and myself. To avoid the least misconception, I authorize you to state, in your next edition, that Miss Shepherd and I were engaged to be married. I'll send my servant down to your office at once, with a note confirming this conversation." It was the only way, much as I hated it, to stop malicious gossip, and I scribbled a chit to the editor. "Get into a taxi and take that at once," I said to Thumbwood. As I gave him the letter, there was a ring at the front-door bell. The little man went out and I heard voices, one harsh and deep, that seemed familiar. "Who is it?" I asked as Charles returned. "I can't see anyone...." "Wouldn't take any denial, sir. It's the American gentleman who picked up Captain Pring after the attack on the _Albatros_. Says he must see you." "Mr. Van Adams?" "Yes, Sir John." "Show him in." A moment afterwards I was shaking hands with the thickset man whose jaw was like a pike's and whose eyes resembled animated steel. Thumbwood went off with the letter. I heard the front door close after him. Now I don't suppose at that moment I would have seen any other man in London unconnected with my office at Whitehall. I didn't want to see the millionaire, but directly he was inside the room my irritation vanished. He had meant to see me. He had now accomplished his end, and I had a firm conviction that sentries with fixed bayonets wouldn't have kept him out.