The girl drew out a slim gold chain which hung round her neck and under her dress. At the end of it was a dark piece of wood, shaped much like a large cigar, and decorated with incised concentric circles, stained red. 'Take that and show it to Dr. Fogarty,' said Miss Markham, detaching the object from the chain. Merton returned it to her. 'I know where to get a similar _churinga_,' he said. 'Keep your own. Its absence, if asked for, might lead to awkward questions.' 'Thank you, I can trust you,' said Miss Markham, adding, 'You will address my father as Dr. Melville.' 'Again thanks, and good-bye,' said Merton. He bowed and withdrew. 'She is a good deal upset, poor girl,' Merton remarked to Madame Claudine, who, on going to comfort Miss Markham with tea, found her weeping. Merton took another cab, and drove to Trevor's house. After dinner (at which there were no guests), and in the smoking-room, Trevor asked whether he had made any progress. 'Everything succeeded to a wish,' said Merton. 'You remember Water Lane?' 'Where Logan carried the Siamese cat in my cab,' said Trevor, grinning at the reminiscence. 'Rather! I reconnoitred the place with Logan.' 'Well, on the day after to-morrow I have business there.' 'Not at the Cats' Home?' 'No, but perhaps you might reconnoitre again. Do you remember a house with high walls and spikes on them?' 'I do,' said Trevor; 'but how do you know? You never were there. You disapproved of Logan's method in the case of the cat.' 'I never was there; I only made a guess, because the house I am interested in is a private asylum.' 'Well, you guessed right. What then?' 'You might reconnoitre the ground to-morrow--the exits, there are sure to be some towards waste land or market gardens.' 'Jolly!' said Trevor. 'I'll make up as a wanderer from Suffolk, looking for a friend in the slums; semi-bargee kind of costume.' 'That would do,' said Merton. 'But you had better go in the early morning.' 'A nuisance. Why?' 'Because, later, you will have to get a gang of fellows to be about the house the day after, when I pay my visit.' 'Fellows of our own sort, or the police?' 'Neither. I thought of fellows of our own sort. They would talk and guess.' 'Better get some of Ned Mahony's gang?' asked Trevor. Mr. Mahony was an ex-pugilist, and a distinguished instructor in the art of self-defence. He also was captain of a gang of 'chuckers out.' 'Yes,' said Merton, 'that is my idea. _They_ will guess, too; but when they know the place is a private lunatic asylum their hypothesis is obvious.' 'They'll think that a patient is to be rescued?'