Glenthorne had also suddenly left Ashstead Mansions, and abandoned his solicitor’s practice. That interview of Grewgus with Edwards and the suicide of Stormont seemed to have produced far-reaching consequences. Edwards had disappeared and was not heard of at any of his usual haunts, and the dark, handsome Zillah had vanished as suddenly as her uncle. It looked like a wholesale dispersal of that portion of the gang. Lydon and Grewgus settled up accounts. The detective informed his client that the Paris police had given up the case of Léon Calliard, after following several delusive clues. There was now practically no chance that the details of the unfortunate man’s murder would ever be known, unless he communicated the information he had acquired about Edwards and Zillah. Even then, it would be almost impossible to connect them with the affair. But of course Lydon strongly discountenanced such a step. One could not take it without bringing Howard Stormont into the matter; it would also involve Jasper, who would have to testify that his brother had practically admitted his participation in it. “Best to let sleeping dogs lie, for the sake of the family,” said the young man. “If one did discover the actual murderer, it would not bring the unfortunate Calliard to life, and it would inflict the greatest pain upon innocent people.” Grewgus agreed, rather reluctantly. He had the true instincts of the sleuth-hound; he loved to hunt his quarry down. He would dearly have liked to go to Scotland Yard, but he was bound to respect his client’s wishes on the subject. All the same, he felt it was a tame sort of inquiry which had not resulted in a triumphant finish. As a consequence of it, Stormont had been driven to suicide, and the other persons concerned had found it expedient to lie low for a while. But for him, there was no public kudos in it. On the same day on which he squared up accounts with Lydon he came face to face in the Strand with his old friend Tom Newcombe. The gentleman’s appearance had altered very much. He had discarded his beard and moustache, and a less keen eye than the detective’s might have failed to recognize him. But Grewgus had a wonderful memory for faces, and it required a very clever disguise to baffle him. They exchanged greetings. “Hardly knew me, did you?” inquired the Colonial. “You see, I clean-shaved myself directly after we had settled matters. I got out of that house as soon as I could, but I was mortally afraid I might run across Stormont, and he might get me into his clutches again. Well, it’s all right now, he has passed in his checks. I can tell you it was a relief when I saw it in the papers. I thought, as I read it, that you might have had something to do with it.” “Perhaps I had, in a very indirect fashion,” was the cautious answer.