Francis drew up a document, which his visitor read through and signed. Then he wrote out an open cheque. “My servant shall take you to the bank in a taxi,” he said. “They would scarcely pay you this unless you were identified. We understand one another?” “Perfectly, sir!” Francis rang the bell, gave his servant the necessary orders, and dismissed the two men. Half-an-hour later, already changed into flannels, he was on his way into the country. CHAPTER XXXI Sir Timothy walked that evening amongst the shadows. Two hours ago, the last of the workmen from the great furnishing and catering establishments who undertook the management of his famous entertainments, had ceased work for the day and driven off in the motor-brakes hired to take them to the nearest town. The long, low wing whose use no one was able absolutely to divine, was still full of animation, but the great reception-rooms and stately hall were silent and empty. In the gymnasium, an enormous apartment as large as an ordinary concert hall, two or three electricians were still at work, directed by the man who had accompanied Sir Timothy to the East End on the night before. The former crossed the room, his footsteps awaking strange echoes. “There will be seating for fifty, sir, and standing room for fifty,” he announced. “I have had the ring slightly enlarged, as you suggested, and the lighting is being altered so that the start is exactly north and south.” Sir Timothy nodded thoughtfully. The beautiful oak floor of the place was littered with sawdust and shavings of wood. Several tiers of seats had been arranged on the space usually occupied by swings, punching-balls and other artifices. On a slightly raised dais at the further end was an exact replica of a ring, corded around and with sawdust upon the floor. Upon the walls hung a marvellous collection of weapons of every description, from the modern rifle to the curved and terrible knife used by the most savage of known tribes. “How are things in the quarters?” Sir Timothy asked. “Every one is well, sir. Doctor Ballantyne arrived this afternoon. His report is excellent.” Sir Timothy nodded and turned away. He looked into the great gallery, its waxen floors shining with polish, ready for the feet of the dancers on the morrow; looked into a beautiful concert-room, with an organ that reached to the roof; glanced into the banquetting hall, which extended far into the winter-garden; made his way up the broad stairs, turned down a little corridor, unlocked a door and passed into his own suite. There was a small dining-room, a library, a bedroom, and a bathroom fitted with every sort of device. A man-servant who had heard him enter, hurried from his own apartment across the way. “You are not dining here, sir?” he enquired. Sir Timothy shook his head. “No, I am dining late at The Sanctuary,” he replied. “I just strolled over to see how the preparations were going on. I shall be sleeping over there, too. Any prowlers?”