“Do not,” Sir Timothy continued, “court disappointment by over-anticipation. You have without doubt heard of my little gatherings at Hatch End. They are viewed, I am told, with grave suspicion, alike by the moralists of the City and, I fear, the police. I am not inviting you to one of those gatherings. They are for people with other tastes. My daughter and I have been spending a few days alone in the little bungalow by the side of my larger house. That is where you will find us--The Sanctuary, we call it.” “Some day,” Francis ventured, “I shall hope to be asked to one of your more notorious gatherings. For the present occasion I much prefer the entertainment you offer.” “Then we are both content,” Sir Timothy said, smiling. “Au revoir!” Francis walked across Green Park, along the Mall, down Horse Guards Parade, along the Embankment to his rooms on the fringe of the Temple. Here he found his clerk awaiting his arrival in some disturbance of spirit. “There is a young gentleman here to see you, sir,” he announced. “Mr. Reginald Wilmore his name is, I think.” “Wilmore?” Francis repeated. “What have you done with him?” “He is in your room, sir. He seems very impatient. He has been out two or three times to know how long I thought you would be.” Francis passed down the stone passage and entered his room, a large, shady apartment at the back of the building. To his surprise it was empty. He was on the point of calling to his clerk when he saw that the writing-paper on his desk had been disturbed. He went over and read a few lines written in a boy's hasty writing: DEAR Mr. LEDSAM: I am in a very strange predicament and I have come to ask your advice. You know my brother Andrew well, and you may remember playing tennis with me last year. I am compelled-- At that point the letter terminated abruptly. There was a blot and a smudge. The pen lay where it seemed to have rolled--on the floor. The ink was not yet dry. Francis called to his clerk. “Angrave,” he said, “Mr. Wilmore is not here.” The clerk looked around in obvious surprise. “It isn't five minutes since he came out to my office, sir!” he exclaimed. “I heard him go back again afterwards.” Francis shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps he decided not to wait and you didn't hear him go by.” Angrave shook his head. “I do not see how he could have left the place without my hearing him, sir,” he declared. “The door of my office has been open all the time, and I sit opposite to it. Besides, on these stone floors one can hear any one so distinctly.” “Then what,” Francis asked, “has become of him?” The clerk shook his head. “I haven't any idea, sir,” he confessed. Francis plunged into his work and forgot all about the matter. He was reminded of it, however, at luncheon-time, when, on entering the dining-room of the club, he saw Andrew Wilmore seated alone at one of the small tables near the wall. He went over to him at once.