“Were these bank-notes stolen? Certainly not. Had they been, the fact must inevitably have been discovered. No, strange as it may seem to you, I came by those notes quite honestly. “It is not your business to do so, but if you care to take the trouble you are at perfect liberty to trace them. However, to save you unnecessary labour, I may as well tell you that those notes were paid over to me by Lord Dunton, in return for a cheque which I gave him. Why I chose to conduct my business on those lines is my own affair. “More than this I have no intention of revealing. You are, of course, at perfect liberty to make every inquiry you please of Lord Dunton, but I fancy you will obtain very small satisfaction from him.” “Of course,” said Mr. Rookley, desirous of putting on an appearance which would suggest that he was not entirely baffled—“of course Lord Dunton may refuse to give any information, for the simple reason that such an explanation may be inconvenient to himself.” “I do not quite follow you,” remarked Westerham. “What I intended to imply,” said Mr. Rookley, “is that your friendship may not be so welcome to Lord Dunton as Lord Dunton's friendship is to you.” “I think you are very insolent, Mr. Rookley,” said Westerham. “Possibly,” answered the man from Scotland Yard; “but I think I have some justification for being rude. Now, although it is true that I cannot ascertain where you slept last night, I am at any rate acquainted with some of your movements.” Westerham started. This was growing a little more awkward than he had bargained for. It even occurred to him that it might be foolish to withhold too much information from Mr. Rookley. But, on the other hand, if he revealed his identity his troubles would be greatly increased, for it would inevitably lead to a break with Melun and that would double his difficulties in probing the mystery of the Premier's secret. “Yes,” Mr. Rookley went on, with a return to his old superiority and ease of manner; “you attended the Premier's reception last night”—he paused that his words might have more dramatic force—“and you went under the auspices of Captain Melun.” “Indeed,” said Westerham, “you seem to be remarkably well informed.” “I am,” agreed Mr. Rookley, shutting his mouth with a snap. “I am,” he continued, “and I know this—that either you must be a very foolish, a very ignorant, or a very bad young man to have had the audacity to attend Lord Penshurst's reception under such a guardianship.”