But wait! Should he tell the great detective when he arrived? No. It would be only fair to seek the young man first and warn him. But he hesitated and he put it off. He would wait till dinner time, or nearly dinner, when the poor fellow was changing. He would make it quite clear that there would be no consequences--only, he must confess and restore. Then he suddenly thought of what would happen if he drew blank, as he had in the case of the strange being before him. But he was in some agony. CHAPTER NINE The Home Secretary was in his study before a pleasing fire. The Professor had left him. His daughter was with him. There was no one else in the room. He had asked her to come down a little earlier that he might explain things to her. There was yet a quarter of an hour before they need dress for dinner, and the dread stranger from the Yard might be with them at any moment. He had warned each of his guests that a distinguished diplomat had asked to run down to see him at short notice. The F.O. had sent him on to the Home Office. The matter concerned both departments. The distinguished diplomat would dine. They must excuse his retirement with that official, later in the evening, to discuss high affairs of State. Such was the fairy tale Humphrey de Bohun had pitched; he hoped it had gone down. And now he was alone again to discuss the matter with his only confidant, his daughter. "Marjorie," he said, "that man Brailton was to come by the six-thirty. It must be late. I have told them to show him in here at once. It is exceedingly important you should know all about it, and that nobody else should. We must hear from him, very briefly, some essential points: for instance, his assumed name." "He's all right, papa?" asked Marjorie anxiously. "Perfectly, my dear, perfectly. Morden assures me ... in fact, Morden told me that he is actually ..." and then checked himself. He was still Victorian, was poor Humphrey de Bohun. He didn't like to talk to the bastards of his own class, and to a daughter at that. "At any rate he's all right. Elderly, distinguished--what they call cavalier, I'm told, yes, cavalier.... I've already told Aunt Amelia and Tommy that he's a diplomat--a fellow I've got to see after dinner.... It's all exact. Which room did you say?" "Senlac, papa. Crécy's being repapered." The Home Secretary nodded solemnly. "Senlac will do all right. But you must remember, my dear, that this Mr.--ah!--_Brailton_, that is the name, _Brailton_, is somewhat advanced in years--and ... and ... I needn't insist ... but a refined man and on his _father's_ side, of good blood! He will be sensitive." There was a silence--but not for long. The door was solemnly flung open with a majesty worthy of the occasion, and the Master of the Ceremonies--if I may so call him--George Whaley announced in a controlled but oily voice: "Mr. Collop!" Collop? Collop? What was this? The disguise for Brailton?