Amber looked down at him kindly, his hand rested on the other’s shoulder. “My chap,” he said gently, “I’m the wrong kind of man: can’t put me choppin’ wood for a living. Honest toil has only the same attraction for me as the earth has for the moon; I circle round it once in twenty-four hours without getting any nearer to it--here!” He dived his hand into his trousers pocket and brought out some money. There were a few notes--these had been in his possession when he was arrested--and some loose silver. He selected half a crown. “For the good cause,” he said magnificently, and, slipping the coin into the missioner’s hand, he strode off. CHAPTER II AT THE WHISTLERS No. 46, Curefax Street, West Central, is an establishment which is known to a select few as “The Whistlers.” Its official title is Pinnock’s Club. It was founded in the early days of the nineteenth century by one Charles Pinnock, and in its day was a famous rendezvous. That it should suffer the vicissitudes peculiar to institutions of the kind was inevitable, and its reputation rose and fell with the changing times. It fell under suspicion, and more than once was raided by the police; though without any result satisfactory to the raiders. It is indisputable that the habitués of the Whistlers were a curious collection of people, that it had few, if any, names upon the list of members of any standing in the social world; yet the club was popular in a shamefaced way. The golden youth of London delighted to boast, behind cautious hands, that they had had a night at the Whistlers; some of them hinted at high play; but the young gentlemen of fortune who had best reason for knowing the play was high indeed, never spoke of the matter, realizing, doubtlessly, that the world has little sympathy with a fool confessed, so that much of the evidence that an interfering constabulary desired was never forthcoming. On a night in October the club was enjoying an unusual amount of patronage. Taxi after taxi set down well-dressed men before the decorous portals in Curefax Street. Men immaculately dressed, men a little over dressed, they came in ones and twos, and parties of three, at short intervals. Some came out again after a short stay and drove off, but it seemed that the majority stayed. Just before midnight a taxi-cab drove up and discharged three passengers. By accident or design, there is no outside light to the club, and the nearest electric standard is a few yards along the street, so that a visitor may arrive or depart in semi-darkness, and a watcher would find difficulty in identifying a patron. In this case the chauffeur was evidently unacquainted with the club premises, and overshot the mark, pulling up within a few yards of the street lamp.