“Your appearances and disappearances,” continued the manager, avoiding Westerham's eyes, “have already led to considerable comment. Besides, after inquiry this morning, I discovered that Mr. Rookley from Scotland Yard was here waiting for you till the small hours. Fortunately the night porter did not know who he was, or things would have been still more awkward.” “On the other hand,” suggested Westerham, “it might have been that Rookley called on me for the purpose of consulting me rather than of holding an investigation as to my movements.” The manager eyed him coldly. “That's hardly what I have been given to understand,” he said. Westerham reddened with anger. It seemed to him that Rookley, being baffled, was seeking to make himself disagreeable. Westerham was beginning to feel indeed something like an outcast, moved on from place to place without time for rest. “You want me to leave?” he asked shortly. The manager made a queer sort of bow. “Very well,” Westerham returned; “for my part I have no objection.” To himself he reflected that within a few days the man would bitterly regret his mistake. So Westerham packed his little bag and went out. First he went on foot to Victoria, where he left his bag in charge of the cloak-room. Then he breakfasted at a restaurant, and after he had consumed a moderate quantity of doubtful ham and still more doubtful eggs he smoked cigarette after cigarette while he thought over the situation. At last he hit upon a solution—as he thought—to the whole difficulty; a solution which was so extraordinarily daring that he laughed to himself as he conceived it. The idea tickled his fancy immensely, but he did not embrace it without all his customary caution. Carefully and methodically he weighed the pros and cons of success, only to be ultimately convinced that the arguments against the scheme were of practically no account. To secure the success of his enterprise, however, he needed at least one assistant, and his mind turned without hesitation in the direction of Dunton. But before he saw Dunton it was expedient to ascertain the whereabouts of Melun. Then it occurred to him that he had been more than foolish to allow Melun to escape from Trant without having secured any information as to where he now lay in hiding. Had he returned to his rooms? That was doubtful; and the doubt was confirmed when Westerham called at Rider Street to ascertain. Captain Melun had not returned to town. Grateful to Mme. Estelle for the timely news she had given him of Melun's journey to Trant Hall, Westerham was by no means unmindful of his promise to tell her of all that had happened. He had simply delayed his visit because he had been in hopes that if he could only find Melun he would be able to go to her with some definite proposition.