“H’m,” said the lawyer, meditatively looking at his client. “What kind of woman? You mustn’t mind my asking all these questions. I can’t help you if I don’t know something of the circumstances.” “The fact is,” said Mortimer, “I’m interfering in a business that has nothing to do with me. A friend of mine is entangled with a woman whom _he believes_ to be sincerely fond of him. _I believe_ her to be a thoroughly reckless, bad woman. I want to know.” “I see. I think Davis will be the best man for you to go to. Mention my name. Here’s his address.” “But you said a woman?” “Yes—Davis will get you one. I should not tell Davis _anything_ more than that you want this woman watched and to learn exactly what she does, where she goes, whom she meets, and so on.” “Very well. Thank you.” Mortimer was surprised at the address: Henry William Davis—Pall Mall East; still more surprised when he was asked to wait in a cozily furnished sitting room, which had every appearance of being occupied by an ordinary man about town; still more surprised by the entrance of a slim man of middle height, quietly but fashionably dressed, fair-haired and blue-eyed. “You asked to see me? I’m Mr. Davis. The servant gave me your name as Mortimer. You discreetly did not trust me with your card.” “My name is Mortimer. Mr. John Battersea—my solicitor—advised me to obtain your—help—but—” Mortimer looked doubtfully at Davis, and then round the room, with its elaborate grate and overmantel, the white wood dado, the monochrome olive-green walls, the heavy green plush curtains, the admirable etchings and engravings, the few pieces of choice silver and china. “Not exactly the kind of man or room you expected to see, Mr. Mortimer? Well, please sit down; you may be sure Battersea would not have sent you to the wrong place. Won’t you have a cigarette? There are matches beside you. Now—to business. You needn’t tell me who you are, I know you well by sight and reputation. Well?” He spoke in a slow, soft voice, which was not in any way weak, but on the contrary impressed the hearer with the conviction that he was a man of quiet, firm determination. “My business is very simple, and I was told you could get it carried out for me. I want a woman watched; I want to know what she does, where she goes and with whom—in fact all you can find out about her.” “That’s simple enough. What kind of woman? Respectable, or apparently so, or disreputable?” “Disreputable, I believe. Her name’s Marian Squire; she’s living apart from her husband; there’s her address.” “Very well. I’ll have her watched and report to you daily or weekly, as you prefer. That’s all?” “Yes.” “And as I said, very simple. Do you merely wish for information? Or for evidence as well? I mean, will the case be likely to appear in court?” “No. I merely want trustworthy information for my own use,” Mortimer answered.