“If you give me in charge, you cannot make me open my mouth, and what is more you will finish the whole business. If you play me false you will never see Lady Kathleen again, and your secret goes to Germany.” Westerham made a sudden movement forward and looked into Patmore's face. “What is the secret?” he cried eagerly. For a moment Patmore looked scared, and then he wagged his head wisely, and Westerham's heart gave a great throb of relief, for he felt certain that the man did not know. Melun had kept the secret to himself. Westerham drew away again and made to pass down the steps. “Very well,” he said, “I will be here at noon.” “With the money?” “With the money.” But Patmore was not satisfied, and hurrying after him, plucked at his sleeve. “I have your word?” he asked. Westerham turned on him fiercely. “No,” he said through his teeth, “certainly not; I would not take the word of a dog like you, and there is no reason why I should give mine. You can take what I say or leave it.” For a few moments Patmore seemed doubtful. Then he nodded his head. “All right,” he said sulkily. Westerham walked briskly away, and made across the street without turning his head. But as he walked he drew from his pocket a little mirror, which he had hidden in his handkerchief, and by straining his eyes considerably he was able to see that Patmore still stood in a hesitating way beneath the monument of Queen Anne. But as Westerham reached the pavement Patmore moved away, and Westerham ran round the heads of the horses of a waiting omnibus and there stood still, sheltered behind a lamp-post in the centre of the road. Patmore had reached the pavement opposite the Church House, and had turned up a little court between the two drapers' shops. He disappeared from view, and Westerham, crossing the street, hid in the doorway of the jeweller's at the corner. Craning his neck, he could see Patmore hurrying towards Amen Court. Then Westerham took a big risk. He dashed up Paternoster Row and turned up to the left. He ran straight ahead until he reached Cheapside and saw that Lowther's car was in waiting. It was a big car with a limousine body, and Westerham, plunging in, pulled down the window at Lowther's back and spoke rapidly to him. “Go on for twenty yards,” he said, “then turn, and just crawl down the street.” Westerham had run as he had never run before, and was slightly out of breath; he knew he must have beaten Patmore by a good many yards, and as there was no car in sight he thought he might have to follow him when he marched into Newgate Street. But just as he had calculated he would, Patmore came hastily into the main thoroughfare and glanced up and down. He gave one quick look at the motor as it moved slowly westward. Lowther, to excuse the slowness of his pace, was seemingly having great trouble with a clutch. A motor-omnibus rattled past them, and on this Patmore climbed.