Here he was, yes, he Alan Spence, alone in a room with a chorus girl, exchanging light badinage, keeping his wicked end up as well as a grown man! But for the unfortunate absence of champagne and oysters (the inevitable concomitant of all genuine chorus-girls, as any Victorian novelist will tell you) the scene was as abandoned as you like. Alan was looking forward quite intensely to a number of casual conversations next term which would begin; “Yes, a chorus-girl I know, told me. . . .” Or, “Did you see _Thumbs Up!_ last hols? I knew one of the chorus-girls in it. Quite a decent kid. . . .” Or, “Chorus-girls don’t always dye their hair, you know. One of the girls in _Thumbs Up!_—Dora, her name is; frightfully decent sort—told me that . . .” That Dora really was George’s sister, Alan could still hardly bring himself to believe; but he was quite sure he knew why her presence was being kept so dark. (Yes, madam, public schools are dreadful places, aren’t they? I certainly shouldn’t send your boy to one.) Inspector Cottingham did not put in an appearance till nearly half-past eleven, so that the two conspirators were not unduly pressed for time. Their idea was a simple one. They wished Alan to make the discovery for himself that the undisputed footprint of Mr. Reginald Foster in the flower-bed bore a striking likeness to certain newly manufactured prints on the river bank, and to draw the obvious conclusion. This conclusion they were then prepared to scoff at and deride, with the result that Alan, seeking a more sympathetic audience for the news with which he ought to be bursting, would have recourse to the Inspector. The Inspector was then hopefully expected to put three and two together, and make it four. There is nothing so honest as honesty, and in this means Guy and Mr. Doyle saw a way of causing their new clues to be officially swallowed with no possible suspicions as to their administration. Up to a point matters turned out as they intended. Alan was conveyed into the garden immediately after breakfast, as agog as Guy could have hoped, and shown Mr. Foster’s footprint; thence he was led to the river bank and shown the other footprints. Unfortunately, however, he failed to notice any connecting link. He was impressed, even thrilled, but he displayed no brightness of uptake. Guy left him for a moment to confer with Mr. Doyle, who was strolling through the dividing gate between the gardens to join them; when they looked round, the lad was gone.