For a moment she stared out of the window without replying. It was plain that she was the prey of several contradictory emotions, of which a vague restless fear seemed to be the most prominent. "I don't know what to do," she said unhappily. "You are very kind, but----" "There is only one possible thing to do," interrupted Tony firmly, "and that is to come to Verrier's. We can discuss the next step when we get there." Even as he spoke the taxi swerved across the road, and drew up in front of the famous underground restaurant. Before getting out the girl threw a quick hunted glance from side to side of the street. "Do you think either of those men have followed us?" she whispered. Tony shook his head comfortingly. "From what I know of Bugg," he said, "I should regard it as highly improbable." He settled up with the driver, and then strolling across the pavement, rejoined the girl, who was waiting for him just outside the entrance. She had evidently made a great effort to recover her self-composure, for she looked up at him with a brave if slightly forced smile. "I must make myself tidy," she said, "if you won't mind waiting a minute. I am simply not fit to be seen." The statement appeared to be exaggerated to Tony, but he allowed it to pass unchallenged. "Please don't hurry," he said. "I want to use the telephone, and if I finish first I can brood over what we'll have for supper." She smiled again--this time more naturally, and taking the dressing-bag that he had been carrying for her, disappeared into the cloak-room. Tony abandoned his hat and coat to a waiter, and then sauntering forward, entered the restaurant. The moment he appeared the manager, who was standing on the other side of the room, hastened across to greet him. "Bon soir, Sir Antony," he observed with that dazzling smile of welcome that managers only produce for their most wealthy customers. "May I 'ave ze pleasiare of finding you a table." Tony nodded indulgently. "You may, Gustave," he said: "A table for two with flowers on it, and as far away from the band as possible." He paused. "Also," he added, "I want a really nice little supper. Something with imagination about it. The sort of supper that you would offer to an angel if you unexpectedly found one with an appetite." The manager bowed with a gesture of perfect comprehension. "And while you are wrestling with the problem," said Tony, "I should like to use the telephone if I may." He was shown into the private office, where, in response to polite and repeated requests, a lady at the Exchange eventually found leisure to connect him with Shepherd's Oyster Bar. "Is Mr. 'Tiger' Bugg there?" he inquired. The man who had answered the call departed to have a look round, and then returned with the information that so far Mr. Bugg had not put in an appearance.