'Oh yes, and he knows me perfectly well. Last year he distributed the prizes at the City and Suburban School of Cookery, and paid me the most extraordinary compliments.' 'Well deserved, I am confident,' said Logan; 'and now you are sure that you know exactly what you have to do, as I have explained?' 'Yes, I am to be walking through Albany Grove at a quarter to four on Friday.' 'Be punctual.' 'You may rely on me,' said Miss Frere. Logan next day went to Trevor's rooms in the Albany; he was the capitalist who had insisted on helping to finance the Disentanglers. To Trevor he explained the situation, unfolded his plan, and asked leave to borrow his private hansom. 'Delighted,' said Trevor. 'I'll put on an old suit of tweeds, and a seedy bowler, and drive you myself. It will be fun. Or should we take my motor car?' 'No, it attracts too much attention.' 'Suppose we put a number on my cab, and paint the wheels yellow, like pirates, you know, when they are disguising a captured ship. It won't do to look like a private cab.' 'These strike me as judicious precautions, Trevor, and worthy of your genius. That is, if we are not caught.' 'Oh, we won't be caught,' said Trevor. 'But, in the meantime, let us find that place you mean to go to on a map of London, and I'll drive you there now in a dog-cart. It is better to know the lie of the land.' Logan agreed and they drove to his objective in the afternoon; it was beyond the border of known West Hammersmith. Trevor reconnoitred and made judicious notes of short cuts. On the following day, which was Thursday, Logan had a difficult piece of diplomacy to execute. He called at the rooms of the clergyman, a bachelor and a curate, whose dog and person had suffered from the assaults of Miss Blowser's Siamese favourite. He expected difficulties, for a good deal of ridicule, including Merton's article, _Christianos ad Leones_, had been heaped on this martyr. Logan looked forward to finding him crusty, but, after seeming a little puzzled, the holy man exclaimed, 'Why, you must be Logan of Trinity?' 'The same,' said Logan, who did not remember the face or name (which was Wilkinson) of his host. 'Why, I shall never forget your running catch under the scoring-box at Lord's,' exclaimed Mr. Wilkinson, 'I can see it now. It saved the match. I owe you more than I can say,' he added with deep emotion. 'Then be grateful, and do me a little favour. I want--just for an hour or two--to borrow your dog,' and he stooped to pat the animal, a fox-terrier bearing recent and glorious scars. 'Borrow Scout! Why, what can you want with him?' 'I have suffered myself through an infernal wild beast of a cat in Albany Grove,' said Logan, 'and I have a scheme--it is unchristian I own--of revenge.' The curate's eyes glittered vindictively: 'Scout is no match for the brute,' he said in a tone of manly regret.