Only a few tables were occupied when he arrived. The stigma of the police raid lay upon Heron’s, and its more cautious clients had not yet begun to drift back. It was fairly well known that something had happened to Hagn, the manager, for the man had not appeared since the night of the raid. There were unconfirmed rumours of his arrest. Ray had not troubled to call for letters as he passed through the hall, for very little correspondence came to him at the club. He was therefore surprised when the waiter, having taken his order, returned, accompanied by the clerk carrying in his hand two letters, one heavily sealed and weighty, the other smaller. He opened the big envelope first, and was putting in his fingers to extract the contents when he realized that the envelope contained nothing but money. He did not care to draw out the contents, even before the limited public. Peeping, he was gratified to observe the number and denomination of the bills. There was no message, but the other letter was addressed in the same handwriting. He tore this open. It was innocent of address or date, and the typewritten message ran: “On Friday morning you will assume a dress which will be sent to you, and you will make your way towards Nottingham by road. You will take the name of Jim Carter, and papers of identification in that name will be found in the pockets of the clothes which will reach you by special messenger to-morrow. From now onward you are not to appear in public, you are not to shave, receive visitors or pay visits. Your business at Nottingham will be communicated to you. Remember that you are to travel by road, sleeping in such lodging-houses, casual wards or Salvation Army shelters as tramps usually patronize. At Barnet, on the Great North Road, near the ninth milestone, you will meet another whom you know, and will accompany him for the remainder of the journey. At Nottingham you will receive further orders. It is very likely that you will not be required, and certainly, the work you will be asked to do will not compromise you in any way. Remember your name is Carter. Remember you are not to shave. Remember also the ninth milestone on Friday morning. When these facts are impressed upon you, take this letter, the envelope, and the envelope containing the money, to the club fireplace, and burn them. I shall see you.” The letter was signed “Frog.” So the hour had come when the Frogs had need of him. He had dreaded the day, and yet in a way had looked forward to it as one who wished to know the worst. He faithfully carried out the instructions, and, under the curious eyes of the guests, carried the letter and the envelopes to the empty brick fireplace, lit a match and burnt them, putting his foot upon the ashes.