“Your job will be a very simple one,” went on the unknown driver. “You will present yourself at Brabazon’s Bank to-morrow. Brabazon is in need of a secretary.” “But will he employ me?” she interrupted. “Must I go in another name?” “Go in your own name,” said the man impatiently. “Don’t interrupt. I will pay you two hundred pounds for your services. Here is the money.” He thrust two notes over his shoulder and she took them. Her hand accidentally touched his shoulder, and she felt something hard beneath his fleecy coat. “A bullet-proof waistcoat,” she noted mentally, and then aloud: “What am I to say to Mr. Brabazon about my earlier experience?” “It will be unnecessary to say anything, or do anything. You will receive your instructions from time to time. That is all,” he added shortly. A few minutes later Thalia Drummond sat in the corner of the taxi-cab which was taking her back to Lexington Street. Behind her, at intervals, came another taxi-cab which slowed when hers did, but never overtook her, not even when she descended at the corner of the street where her lodgings were situated. And when she turned the key of her street door, Inspector Parr was only a dozen paces from her. If she knew that she was being shadowed, she made no sign. Parr only waited for a few minutes, watching the house from the opposite side of the roadway, and then, as her light appeared in the upper window, he turned and walked thoughtfully back to the cab which had brought him so far eastward. He had opened the door of the cab and was stepping in, when somebody passed him on the side-walk; somebody who was walking briskly with his collar turned up, but Inspector Parr knew him. “Flush,” he called sharply, and the man turned round on his heel. He was a little dark, thin-faced, lithe man, at the sight of the Inspector his jaw dropped. “Why--why, Mr. Parr,” he said, with ill-affected geniality, “whoever thought of seeing you in this part of the world?” “I want a little talk with you, Flush. Will you walk along with me?” It was an ominous invitation, which Mr. “Flush” had heard before. “You haven’t got anything against me, Mr. Parr?” he said loudly. “Nothing,” admitted Parr. “Besides, you’re going straight now. I seem to remember you telling me that the day you came out of prison.” “That’s right,” said “Flush” Barnet, heaving a sigh of relief. “Going straight, working for my living, and engaged to be married.” “You don’t tell me?” said the stout Mr. Parr with well-simulated astonishment. “And is it Bella or Milly?” “It is Milly,” said “Flush,” inwardly cursing the excellent memory of the police inspector. “She’s going straight, too. She’s got a job at one of the shops.” “At Brabazon’s Bank, to be exact,” said the inspector, and then turned as though some thought had arrested him. “I wonder,” he muttered, “I wonder if that is it?”