On this Sunday evening, then, Triffitt on one side of a table with his lady-love, Carver on the other with his, made merry, with no thought of anything but the joys of the moment. They had arrived at the last stages of the feast; the heroes puffed cigarettes and sipped Benedictine; the heroines daintily drank their sweetened coffee. They all chattered gaily, out of the fulness of their youthful hearts; not one of them had any idea that anything was going to happen. And in the midst of their lightsomeness, Triffitt, who faced a mirror, started, dropped his cigarette, upset his liqueur glass and turned pale. For an instant he clutched the tablecloth, staring straight in front of him; then with a great effort he controlled his emotion and with a cautious hissing of his breath, gazed warningly at Carver. "'Sh!" whispered Triffitt. "Not a word! And don't move--don't show a sign, any of you. Carver--turn your head very slowly and look behind you. At the bar!" At the entrance to that restaurant there was a bar, whereat it was possible to get a drink. There were two or three men, so occupied, standing at this bar at that moment--Carver, leisurely turning to inspect them, suddenly started as violently as Triffitt had started a moment before. "Good heavens!" he muttered. "Burchill!" "Quiet!" commanded Triffitt. "Quiet, all of you. By Gad!--this is----" He ended in an eloquent silence and with a glare at his companions which would have imposed silence on an unruly class-room. He was already at work--the quick, sure journalistic instinct had come up on top and was rapidly realizing the situation. That the man standing there, openly, calmly, taking a drink of some sort, was Frank Burchill he had no more doubt than of his own identity. The thing was--what was to be done? Triffitt was as quick of action as of thought--in two seconds he had made up his mind. With another warning glance at the startled girls, he bent across the table to Carver. "Carver!" he whispered. "Do exactly what I tell you. When Burchill goes out, Trixie and I'll follow him. You pay the bill--then you and Lettie jump into the first taxi you can get and go to Scotland Yard. Find Davidge! If Davidge isn't there, get somebody else. Wait there until I ring you up! What I'll do will be this--we'll follow Burchill, and if I see that he's going to take to train or cab I'll call help and stop him. You follow me? As soon as I've taken action, or run him to earth, I'll ring up Scotland Yard, and then----" "He's going," announced Carver, who had taken advantage of the many mirrors to keep his eye on Burchill. "He's off! I understand----"