At a quarter past eight he set out eastwards, travelling slowly by horse omnibus along the Strand, down Fleet Street, and up Ludgate Hill. He arrived at the appointed place a few minutes before time, and, entering the tobacconist's shop at the south-west corner of St. Paul's churchyard, he purchased a cigar. This he lit slowly and carefully, and afterwards made a pretence of choosing a pipe. In this way he spent five minutes. After five minutes he made his way out of the shop, and, keeping well in the lee of the houses, he edged his way to the corner of Dean's Yard. There he drew back into the shadows, and while the clock struck nine he watched the cathedral steps closely. Three or four minutes passed before he observed a man cross the road from the direction of Amen Court, and, passing the statue of Queen Anne, slowly mount the steps of St Paul's. As he stood upon the steps, the man looked first to the south and then to the westward down Ludgate Hill. Finally he turned and closely examined the shadows about the doorways of the drapers' stores to the north. No sooner was the man's back turned towards him than Westerham shot out from the opening of Dean's Yard, made a slight detour, and walked boldly up towards the steps as if he had just hurried up from Ludgate Hill. Though he was certain in his own mind that the man waiting on the steps was the messenger whom he was eager to meet, he took the precaution of showing not the slightest sign of curiosity as he strolled towards him. But as he came abreast of the man he saw that this precaution was wholly unnecessary—for the man who waited was Patmore! Not by any means the Patmore whom he had seen at the club in Limehouse and had good reason to guess was one of Melun's close confederates. But a different Patmore altogether! His clothes were no longer rough and his hair no longer tumbled. He was dressed in a frock-coat and top-hat, and his whole appearance was sleek and rather suggested the prosperous commercial traveller. “Well, Patmore?” said Westerham, quietly. Patmore started. “You've keen eyes, Sir Paul,” he said. Westerham nodded. “I find it very necessary,” he returned. Without another word, Patmore took him by the arm and led him higher up the steps. At the top of them he turned and walked into the shadows thrown by the columns which support the north end of the façade. Then he took one quick look about him, and having satisfied himself that no one was within earshot, came direct to the point. “Do you agree?” he asked. For answer Westerham took out his pocket-book and counted out a pile of notes which Dunton had secured for him. “Here,” he said in a conversational voice, “are twenty thousand pounds. They are yours if you can tell me where to find Lady Kathleen.” Patmore laughed scornfully. “I am afraid, Sir Paul,” he said, “that on this occasion you have made a mistake. Fifty times that sum would be a little nearer my figure.”