"Can I see Mrs. Stapleton?" I inquired, as the door of the house in Willow Road was opened by a maid with rather curious eyes; I had come there straight from my flat, no longer wearing my disguise, and it was nearly eleven o'clock. Just then I had an inspiration, and I added quickly, before she had time to answer, "or Mr. Hugesson Gastrell?" An arrow shot at random, it proved a lucky shot, for the maid answered at once: "Mrs. Stapleton isn't dressed yet, sir; but Mr. Gastrell can see you, I expect. What name shall I say?" I was shown into a small morning room, and there I waited for, I suppose, five minutes. At last I heard footsteps approaching, and in a moment Gastrell entered. "Dear me, this is a surprise," he exclaimed cordially, extending his hand. "I didn't know I had given you this address. Well, and what can I do for you?" His tone, as he said this, was rather that of a patron addressing an inferior, but I pretended not to notice it, and, drawing upon my imagination, answered: "I don't think you did give me this address; it was somebody else—I forget who—who mentioned it to me the other day in course of conversation. Really I have come to see Mrs. Stapleton and inquire for Miss Challoner." "Miss Challoner? Do you mean Miss Dulcie Challoner, Sir Roland's daughter?" "Yes." An extremely puzzled look came into his eyes, though this he was probably not aware of. "But what makes you think Miss Challoner is here?" he inquired quickly. "She spent the night here with Mrs. Stapleton." He looked still more puzzled. "Did she really?" he answered in a tone of surprise which obviously was feigned. "Yes. Didn't you know?" "This is the first I have heard of it, but I dare say you are right. Mrs. Stapleton has rooms in this house—it's a little private establishment of mine—but beyond that I know little of her movements. I'll go and inquire if you'll wait a moment." "Clever scoundrel!" I said aloud when he had left the room and shut the door. "Rooms here," "knows little of her movements," "first he has heard of it." But I am going to bowl you out in the end, my friend, I ended mentally as I seated myself and picked up one of the morning papers which lay upon the table. It was the _Morning Post_. I noticed that several little bits had been cut out of the front page—presumably advertisements. I had scanned one or two pages and was reading a leading article when Gastrell returned.