A faint click of what seemed to be the entrance gate of the drive recalled him with a start to his present position. Footsteps sounded on the gravel, firm, heavy footsteps, walking quickly. A man was approaching the house. Constable Walker edged round the tree trunk so as to get it between himself and any light that might come from the hall door. The man reached the door and rang. In a few seconds a light appeared through the fanlight, and the door was opened by the bearded man. A big, broad-shouldered man in a dark overcoat and soft hat stood on the steps. ‘Hallo, Felix!’ cried the new-comer heartily. ‘Glad to see you’re at home. When did you get back?’ ‘That you, Martin? Come in. I got back on Sunday night.’ ‘I’ll not go in, thanks, but I want you to come round and make up a four at bridge. Tom Brice is with us, and he has brought along a friend of his, a young solicitor from Liverpool. You’ll come, won’t you?’ The man addressed as Felix hesitated a moment before replying. ‘Thanks, yes. I’ll go, certainly. But I’m all alone and I haven’t changed. Come in a minute till I do so.’ ‘And, if it’s a fair question, where did you get your dinner if you’re all alone?’ ‘In town. I’m only just home.’ They went in and the door was closed. Some few minutes later they emerged again and, pulling the door behind them, disappeared down the drive, the distant click of the gate signifying their arrival at the road. As soon as this sounded, the watcher in the lane moved rapidly, though silently, after them, and Constable Walker was left in undisputed possession. On the coast becoming clear he slipped out on to the lane, walked down it to the road and turned back in the direction of London. As he did so a clock struck nine. Entering the first inn he came to, he called for a glass of ale and, getting into conversation with the landlord, learnt that he was near the hamlet of Brent, on the Great North Road, and that Mr. Felix’s house was named St. Malo. He also inquired his way to the nearest public telephone, which, fortunately, was close by. A few minutes later he was speaking to Scotland Yard. He had to wait for a little time while Inspector Burnley, who had gone home, was being fetched, but in fifteen minutes he had made his report and was awaiting instructions. The Inspector questioned him closely about the position of the house, finally instructing him to return to his post behind the tree and await developments. ‘I will go out with some men now, and will look for you by the little gate in the hedge.’