“Is Dr Twiddel at home?” “No, sir, he ain’t back yet.” “He hasn’t been back?” “No, sir.” Mr Bunker looked at her keenly, and then said to himself, “She is lying.” He thought he would try a chance shot. “But he was expected home last night, I believe.” The maid looked a little staggered. “He ain’t been,” she replied. “I happen to have heard that he called here,” he hazarded again. This time she was evidently put about. “He ain’t been here—as I knows of.” He slipped half-a-crown into her hand. “Think again,” he said, in his most winning accents. The poor little maid was obviously in a dilemma. “Do you want him particular, sir?” “Particularly.” She fidgeted a little. “He told me,” he pursued, “that he might look in at his rooms last night. He left no message for me?” “What name, sir?” “Mr Butler.” “No, sir.” “Then, my dear,” said Mr Bunker, with his most insinuating smile, “he was here for a little, you can’t deny?” At the maid’s embarrassed glance down his long coat, he suddenly realised that there was perhaps a distinction between lay and clerical smiles. “He might have just looked in, sir,” she admitted. “But he didn’t want it known?” “No, sir.” “Quite right, I advised him not to, and you did very well not to tell me at first.” He smiled approvingly and made a pretence of turning away. “Oh, by the way,” he added, stopping as if struck by an after-thought, “Is he still in town? He promised to leave word for me, but he has evidently forgotten.” “I don’t know, sir; ’e didn’t say.” “What? He left _no_ word at all?” “No, sir.” Mr Bunker held out another half-crown. “It’s truth, sir,” said the maid, drawing back; “we don’t know where ’e is.” “Take it, all the same; you have been very discreet. You have no idea?” The maid hesitated. “I _did_ ’ear Mr Welsh say something about lookin’ for rooms,” she allowed. “In London?” “I expect so, sir; but ’e didn’t say no more.” “Mr Welsh is the friend who came with him, of course?” “Yes, sir.” “Thanks,” said Mr Bunker. “By the way, Dr Twiddel might not like your telling this even to a friend, so you needn’t say I called, I’ll tell him myself when I see him, and I won’t give you away.” He smiled benignly, and the little maid thanked him quite gratefully. “Evidently,” he thought as he went away, “I was meant for something in the detective line.” He returned to his rooms to meditate, and the longer he thought the more puzzled he became, and yet the more convinced that he had taken up a thread that must lead him somewhere. “As for my plan of action,” he considered, “I see nothing better for it than staying where I am—and watching. This mysterious doctor must surely steal back some night. Now and then I might go round the town and try a cast in the likeliest bars—oh, hang me, though! I forgot I was a clergyman.”