Amber nodded and continued on his way. That he had never heard of either, but that he knew both were out, is a tribute to his powers of observation. There was a rack in the hall where letters were displayed for members, and he had taken a brief survey of the board as he passed. Had there been any necessity, he could have mentioned half a dozen other members, but the porter’s suspicions were lulled. The first floor was taken up with dining and writing rooms. Amber smiled internally. “This,” he thought, “is where the gulls sign their little cheques--most thoughtful arrangement.” He mounted another flight of stairs, walked into a smoking-room where a number of flashily dressed men were sitting, met their inquiring gaze with a nod and a smile directed at an occupied corner of the room, closed the door, and went up yet another and a steeper flight. Before the polished portals of the room, which he gathered was the front room of the upper floor, a man sat on guard. He was short and broad, his face was unmistakably that of a prize-fighter’s, and he rose and confronted Amber. “Well, sir?” The tone was uncompromisingly hostile. “All right,” said Amber, and made to open the door. “One moment, sir, you’re not a member.” Amber stared at the man. “My fellow,” he said stiffly, “you have a bad memory for faces.” “I don’t remember yours, anyway.” The man’s tone was insolent, and Amber saw the end of his enterprise before ever it had begun. He thrust his hands into his pockets and laughed quietly. “I am going into that room,” he said. “You’re not.” Amber reached out his hand and grasped the knob of the door, and the man gripped him by the shoulder. Only for a second, for the intruder whipped round like a flash. The door-keeper saw the blow coming and released his hold to throw up a quick and scientific guard--but too late. A hard fist, driven as by an arm of steel, caught him under the point of the jaw and he fell back, missed his balance, and went crashing down the steep stairs--for this was the top flight and conveniently ladder-like. Amber turned the door-handle and went in. The players were on their feet with apprehensive eyes fixed on the door; the crash of the janitor’s body as it struck the stairs had brought them up. There had been no time to hide the evidence of play, and cards were scattered about the floor and on the tables, money and counters lay in confusion.... For a moment they looked at one another, the calm man in the doorway and the scowling players at the tables. Then he closed the door softly behind him and came in. He looked round deliberately for a place to hang his hat. Before they could question him the door-keeper was back, his coat off, the light of battle in his eye. “Where is he?” he roared. “I’ll learn him....” His language was violent, but justified in the circumstances.