On the following evening Mr. Toft made his way to the Blue Lion. The lecture had not been a success as far as he was concerned. Try as he might, he could not concentrate his thoughts on the subject. He had applauded at wrong places. Once a titter from the audience had resulted, and the Solicitor-General had turned on him a look of pained surprise. In the agony of the moment he had pulled the table-cloth, and the glass of water thereon had upset, incidentally splashing the lecturer. The titter developed into a laugh, through which a legal glare had petrified him. At nine o'clock the lecture was over. The Solicitor-General listened in silence to Mr. Toft's apologies, and then bowed coldly. Mr. Toft felt that he was lost indeed if it came to the Law Courts, and hurried away to his appointment in a state of feverish anxiety. He had come to the lecture in a soft wide-awake hat and the oldest top-coat in his wardrobe. He now donned a woollen muffler, and put on a pair of smoked glass spectacles. This was his idea of disguise. It was simple, but ineffective; for the highly-respectable mutton-chop whiskers, the weak mouth, and cut-away chin were as noticeable as ever. His most casual acquaintance would have recognised him, and would merely have concluded that he was engaged in something disreputable. At the Monument he dismissed his cab, and made his way to the Blue Lion Inn. It was a fifth-rate house in a fourth-rate street. Mr. Toft had never been in such an unpleasant place in his life, and he groaned as he thought that the exigences of commerce had driven him there in his old age without even the excuse of foreign competition. It was 9.45 when he entered the inn, and he hoped that the quarter-hour he was late would impress J. Driver with the conviction that he, Toft, was not at all particular about keeping the appointment. Apparently it did strike Mr. Driver in this way, for as the be-muffled and be-spectacled gentleman in the soft hat entered the tap-room a sarcastic voice loudly expressed the hope that he hadn't permanently injured his constitution by running. Mr. Toft was grieved at the publicity given to this remark. He sat down by the speaker, and murmured excuses; but Mr. Driver, if it were he, would have none of them. "When I says 9.30 I mean 9.30, and not 9.50, nor 9.60, nor yet 9.70. If my time won't suit you, yours won't suit me. I'm off," he said. Mr. Toft was alarmed. "Sit down, please," he said, clutching the rising figure. "I'm sure I'm very sorry. I had made an engagement before your letter came, and I couldn't very well put it off. What will you have to drink?" he added adroitly. "Gin and bitters," was the prompt response, and Mr. Driver sat down.