Arrived at Ald House, the two hunters took up a position outside, and to one side of, the entrance. To avoid an appearance of watching they had arranged to stand as if in conversation, Poole with his back to the entrance and Inez Fratten, half-hidden by him, facing it; in this way she would be able to see everyone who came out and her own presence would be unlikely to attract the attention of their quarry. For a time they actually did converse, Poole doing most of the talking—about plays, books, politics, football—any subject that came into his head—while Inez answered in monosyllables and kept her gaze steadily fixed upon the entrance. After half an hour of it, however, even Poole’s eloquence—inspired as it was by the happy necessity of gazing into those enchanting eyes—began to dry up. Fortunately the six o’clock rush made their presence less conspicuous than it had been, and for another quarter of an hour Poole did little more than look at Inez while she kept her unwavering eyes focussed on the doorway through which “Daphne” must come. By 6.15 the stream had begun to thin; only an occasional junior clerk or typist hurried eagerly from office or counting-house towards bus or train, buttoning up coat collars or huddling under umbrellas as the gusts of rain swept down upon them. It was none too pleasant standing in the open street; besides, now that it was emptying, their continued conversation had an air that lacked conviction. They discussed their course of action. They might move into the entrance and watch from some dark corner, or—now that there was no crowd to obscure the line of vision—they might take up a position further from the spot they had to watch. On the other hand their quarry’s continued failure to appear suggested that she might after all have left earlier in the day and they be wasting their time by further waiting. They had reached the point of discussing the possibilities of enquiry when footsteps coming out of the entrance hall of Ald House caught their ear. Instantly they resumed their former attitudes; Poole with his eyes fixed upon Inez’ so that he could read hope or disappointment in their expression. He had not long to wait; he heard the two quicker steps of someone taking the two stone steps from Ald House on to the pavement and on the instant a look of astonishment flashed into the girl’s eyes. He heard her quick gasp of surprise and then the steps passed behind him and he turned his head to look; a man, of medium height and slightly built, was walking away from them, his coat collar turned up and his soft hat pulled low over his eyes. He had not gone ten steps when he checked, as if hesitating whether to go on or turn back. As he turned his head back towards the house he had left the light from a passing lorry fell upon his face; it was Ryland Fratten. CHAPTER XVIII The Method