Then Anthony’s voice again. “Ah, that you, Spencer? Oh, it’s the unerring Miss Warren, is it? Yes, Gethryn speaking. He is, is he? When’ll he be back? Or won’t he? Oh, you’re all always there until after midnight, are you? Well, when he comes in, will you please tell him—this is important—that I’ve run across some one who knows where our old friend Masterson, Jimmy Masterson, is. Hastings will want to see him at once, I know. He and I have been trying to find Masterson for years. And say that I want to find out what Jimmy was doing last night. Tell Hastings to ask him or find out somehow where he was. It’s a great joke. “The address is 84, Forest Road, N.W. 5. Now, Miss Warren, if you wouldn’t mind repeating the message?” A pause. Then: “That’s exactly right, Miss Warren, thanks. You never make mistakes, do you? Don’t forget to tell Hastings he simply must go there this evening, whether the work’ll allow him or not. And he’s got to ring me up here—Greyne 23—and tell me how he got on. And, by the way, ask him from me if he remembers his Cicero, and tell him I said: _Haec res maxim est: statim pare._ Got it? I won’t insult you by offering to spell it. “Thanks so much, Miss Warren. Good-night.” He replaced the receiver and rose from his chair. He turned to find the face of his hostess within an inch of his own. The colour had fled again from her cheeks; the eyes again held fear in them. It seemed as if this passing-on of her brother’s name had revived her terror. “Preserve absolute calm,” said Anthony softly. “The cry of the moment is ‘dinna fash.’”. Gently, he forced her into a chair. The eyes were piteous now. “I don’t—I don’t understand _anything!_” she gasped. “What was that message? What will it do? What am I to—to do? Oh, don’t go! Please don’t go!” “The message,” Anthony said, “was to a great friend whose discretion is second only to mine own. Don’t you think it was a nice message? Nothing there any long ears at the exchange could make use of, was there? All so nice and above board, I thought. And I liked the very canine Latin labelled libellously ‘Cicero.’ That was to make sure he understood that the affair was urgent. The need for discretion he’ll gather from the way the message was wrapped up. Oh, I’m undoubtedly a one, I am! “And as for going, I’m not until I’ve had an answer from Hastings. That ought to be about midnight. At least, I won’t go unless you ask me to.” He sat down, heavily, upon a sofa. Something—his calmness, perhaps—succeeded. He saw the fear leave the face, that face of his dreams. For a moment, he closed his eyes. He was thirsty for sleep, yet desired wakefulness. She glanced at him, timidly almost, and saw the deep lines of fatigue in the thin face, the shadows under the eyes. “Mr. Gethryn,” she said softly. “Yes?” Anthony’s eyes opened.