"It's simple enough; I've any number of reasons for inviting myself to be your guest. For one, I'm wet and cold and look like a drowned rat; I can't offer myself to a hotel looking like this--can I? Then I knew your address--you'll remember telling me; and there's an adage that runs 'Any port in a storm.' You're going to be good enough to get my money changed--I've nothing but English paper--and buy me a ready-made outfit in the morning. Moreover, I'm after Ismay, and Ismay's after the necklace; wherever it is, he will be, soon or late. Naturally I presumed you still had it--and so did he until within the hour." "You mean you think it was Ismay who broke into these rooms tonight?" "You saw him, didn't you? Man about my size, wasn't he? Evening clothes? That's his regulation uniform after dark. Beard and glasses--what?" "I believe you're right!" Staff rose excitedly. "I didn't notice the glasses, but otherwise you've described him!" "What did I tell you?" Iff helped himself to a cigarette. "By now the dirty dog's probably raising heaven and hell to find out where Miss Searle has hidden herself." Staff began to pace nervously to and fro. "I wish," he cried, "I knew where to find her!" "Please," Iff begged earnestly, "don't let your sense of the obligations of a host interfere with your amusements; but if you'll stop that Marathon long enough to find me a blanket, I'll shed these rags and, by your good leave, curl up cunningly on yon divan." Staff paused, stared at the little man's bland and guileless face, and shook his head helplessly, laughing. "There's no resisting your colossal gall," he said, passing into the adjoining room to get bed-clothing for his guest. "I admit it," said Iff placidly. As Staff returned, the telephone bell rang. In his surprise he paused with his arms full of sheets, blankets and pillows, and stared incredulously at his desk. "What the deuce now?" he murmured. "The quickest way to an answer to that," suggested Iff blandly, "is there." He indicated the telephone with an ample gesture. "Help yourself." Dropping his burden on the divan, Staff seated himself at the desk and took up the receiver. "Hello?" He started violently, recognising the voice that answered: "Mr. Staff?" "Yes--" "This is Miss Searle." "I know," he stammered; "I--I knew your voice." "Really?" The query was perfunctory. "Mr. Staff--I couldn't wait to tell you--I've just got in from a theatre and supper party with some friends." "Yes," he said. "Where are you?" Disregarding his question, the girl's voice continued quickly: "I wanted to see my hat and opened the bandbox. It wasn't my hat--it's the one you described--the one that--" "I know," he interrupted; "I know all about that now." "Yes," she went on hurriedly, unheeding his words. "I admired and examined it. It--there's something else." "I know," he said again; "the Cadogan collar."