His pulse beat a little quicker, the thump of his heart was a little more pronounced, as he went back to his untouched lunch. So the Frog would see him—was here! He looked round the sparsely filled tables, and presently he met the gaze of a man whose eyes had been fixed upon him ever since he had sat down. The face was familiar, and yet unfamiliar. He beckoned the waiter. “Don’t look immediately,” he said in a low voice, “but tell me who is that gentleman sitting in the second alcove.” The waiter looked carelessly round. “That is Mr. Joshua Broad, sir,” he said. Almost as the waiter spoke, Joshua Broad rose from his seat, walked across the room to where Ray was sitting. “Good morning, Mr. Bennett. I don’t think we have met before, though we are fellow-members of Heron’s and I’ve seen you a lot of times here. My name is Broad.” “Won’t you sit down?” Ray had some difficulty in controlling his voice. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Broad. Have you finished your lunch? If not, perhaps you’ll take it with me.” “No,” he said, “I’ve finished lunch. I eat very little. But if it doesn’t annoy you, I’ll smoke a cigarette.” Ray offered his case. “I’m a neighbour of a friend of yours,” said Broad, choosing a cigarette, “Miss Lola Bassano. She has an apartment facing mine in Caverley House—I guess that’s where I’ve seen you most often.” Now Ray remembered. This was the strange American who lived opposite to Lola, and about whose business he had so often heard Lola and Lew Brady speculate. “And I think we have a mutual friend in—Captain Gordon,” suggested the other, his keen eyes fixed upon the boy. “Captain Gordon is not a friend of mine,” said Ray quickly. “I’m not particularly keen on police folk as friends.” “They can be mighty interesting,” said Broad, “but I can quite understand your feeling in the matter. Have you known Brady long?” “Lew? No, I can’t say that I have. He’s a very nice fellow,” said Ray unenthusiastically. “He’s not exactly the kind of friend I’d have chosen, but it happens that he is a particularly close friend of a friend of mine.” “Of Miss Bassano,” said Broad. “You used to be at Maitlands?” “I was there once,” said Ray indifferently, and from his tone one might have imagined that he had merely been a visitor attracted by morbid curiosity to that establishment. “Queer cuss, old Maitland.” “I know very little of him,” said Ray. “A very queer fellow. He’s got a smart secretary, though.” “You mean Johnson?” Ray smiled. “Poor old philosopher, he’s lost his job!” “You don’t say? When did this happen?” Mr. Broad’s voice was urgent, eager. “The other day—I don’t know when. I met Johnson this morning and he told me. I don’t know how the old boy will get on without Philo.” “I was wondering the same thing,” said Broad softly. “You surprise me. I wonder he has the nerve, though I don’t think he’s lacking in that quality.” “The nerve?” said the puzzled Ray. “I don’t think it requires much nerve to fire a secretary.”