Miss Merrill listened with close attention to his story, but she was not so enthusiastic at his success as he could have wished. She made no comment until he had finished and then her remark was, if anything, disparaging. “I don’t quite like it, you know,” she said slowly. “From your description of him it certainly looks as if that detective was playing a game of his own. It doesn’t sound straight. Do you think you can trust him?” “Not as far as I can see him, but how can I help myself? I expect the addresses he gave are all correct, but I’m not at all satisfied that he won’t go straight to the gang and tell them he has found me and get their money for that.” “And you think you wouldn’t be wiser to back out yourself and instruct him to carry on for you?” Cheyne sat up and took his pipe out of his mouth. “I’m damned if I will,” he declared hotly. “It might be a lot wiser and all that, but I’m just not going to.” “You’re quite sure? I couldn’t persuade you?” she went on demurely, without looking at him. “I can’t imagine you trying, Miss Merrill. But in any case I’m going on.” “Good!” she cried, and her eyes lit up as she smiled at him. “You’re quite mad, but I sometimes like mad people. Then if, in spite of all I can say, you’re going on, what about a visit to Wembley tonight?” “The very ticket!” Cheyne was swept by a wave of delight and enthusiasm. “It is jolly of you to suggest it. And you will come out to dinner and I may pay my bet!” “As it’s a bet—all right. But you must go away now. I have some things to attend to. I’ll meet you when and where you say.” “What about the Trocadero at seven? A leisurely dinner and then we for Wembley?” “Right-o,” she laughed and vanished into the other room, while Cheyne, full of an eager excitement, went off to telephone orders to the restaurant as to the reservation of places. Chapter X The New Firm Gets Busy Cheyne and Joan Merrill took a Wembley Park train from Baker Street shortly before nine that evening, and a few minutes later alighted at the station whose name was afterwards to become a household word throughout the length and breadth of the British Empire. But at that time the Exhibition was not yet thought of, and the ground, which was later to hum with scores of thousands of visitors from all parts of the world, was now a dark and deserted plain. When the young people left the station and began to look around them, they found that they had reached the actual fringe of the metropolis. Towards London were the last outlying rows of detached and semidetached houses of the standard suburban type. In the opposite direction, towards Harrow, was the darkness of open country. Judging by the number of lights that were visible, this country was extraordinarily sparsely inhabited.