Pamela found the number at the end of an unswept stone passage. At her third summons the door was cautiously opened by a large, repulsive-looking woman, with a mass of peroxidised hair. She stared at her visitor first in amazement, then in rapidly gathering resentment. "Mr. Joseph is at home," she admitted truculently, in response to Pamela's inquiry. "What might you be wanting with him?" "If you will be so good as to let me in I will explain to Mr. Joseph," Pamela replied. The woman seemed on the point of slamming the door. Suddenly there was a voice from behind her shoulder. Joseph appeared--not the smiling, joyous Joseph of Henry's but a sullen-looking negro, dressed in shirt and trousers only, with a heavy under-lip and frowning forehead. "Let the lady pass and get into the kitchen, Nora," he ordered, "Come this way, mam." Pamela followed her guide into a parlour, redolent of stale cigar smoke, with oilcloth on the floor and varnished walls, an abode even more horrible than Hassan's lair. Joseph closed the door carefully behind him, and made no apology for his dishabille. He simply faced Pamela. "Say, what is it you want with me?" he demanded truculently. "A trifle," she answered. "The key of the chapel in the little plot of waste ground next Henry's." She meant him to be staggered, and he was. He reeled back for a moment. "What the hell are you talking about?" he gasped. "Facts," Pamela replied. "Do you want to save yourself, Joseph? You can do it if you choose." He folded his arms and stood in front of the closed door. Without a collar, his neck bulged unpleasantly behind. There was nothing whatever left of the suave and genial chef d'orchestra. "Save myself from what, eh? Just let me get wise about it." Pamela's eyebrows were daintily elevated. "Dear me!" she murmured. "I thought you were more intelligent. Listen. You know where we met last? Let me remind you. You were playing in the Winter Garden at Berlin, and the gentleman whom I was with, an attache at the American Embassy, spoke to you. He told me a good deal about your past life, Joseph, and your present one. You are in the pay of the Secret Service of Germany. Am I to go to Scotland Yard and tell them so?" He looked at her wickedly. "You'd have to get out of here first." "Don't be silly," she advised him contemptuously. "Remember you're talking to an American woman and don't waste your breath. You can be in the Secret Service of any country you like, without interference from me. On the other hand, there's just one thing I want from you." "What is it? I haven't got any key." "I want to discover exactly what has become of Captain Graham," she declared. "What, the guy that missed his lunch to-day?" he growled. "I see you know all about it," she continued equably. "So he's your spark, is he?" Joseph observed slowly, his eyes blinking as he leaned a little forward.