“It will probably be too late,” replied Amber, “though they could hardly do the journey under an hour and a half.” He took a brief farewell of the girl and jumped into the car by the side of the driver. In a few minutes he was being whirled along the Maidstone Road. “It is a nearer way,” explained the driver, “we get on the main road. To reach London through Rochester means a bad road all the way, and a long journey.” The car was a fast one and the journey lacked interest. It was not until they reached the outskirts of London that their progress was checked. Turning into the Lewisham High Road, a red lamp was waved before them and they pulled up to discover two policemen. Amber had no difficulty in establishing his identity. Had anything been seen of the other car? “No, sir,” said the sergeant; “though a car with four men passed through the Blackwall Tunnel at half-past twelve--before the special police had arrived to watch it. Our people believed from the description you sent that this was the party you are looking for.” Amber had taken a chance when he had circulated a faithful description of Whitey. He thanked the sergeant and the car moved towards London. He had taken the precaution of locating Lambaire and Whitey, and at half-past three the car stopped at the end of the street in which the latter’s hotel was situated. “You will find a coffee-stall at the end of Northumberland Avenue,” he said. “Get yourself some food and be back here in a quarter of an hour.” The street was empty and the hotel as silent as the grave. There had been no rain in London that night nor on the previous day, and the pavement was quite dry. Amber stood for a while before he rang the night bell, and with his little lamp examined the hearthstoned steps that led to the door. There was no mark to indicate the recent arrival of one who had been walking in clay. He pushed the button and to his surprise the door was almost immediately opened. The night porter, usually the most lethargic of individuals, was alert and wakeful. Evidently it was not Amber he was expecting, for he suddenly barred the opening. “Yes, sir?” he queried sharply. “I want a room for the night,” said Amber. “I’ve just arrived from the Continent.” “You’re late, sir,” said the man suspiciously; “the Continental was in on time at eleven.” “Oh, I came by way of Newhaven,” responded Amber carelessly. He trusted to the porter’s ignorance of this unfamiliar route. “I don’t know whether we’ve got a room,” said the man slowly. “Any baggage?” “I’ve left it at the station.” Amber put his hand into his breast pocket and took out a flat wad of bank-notes. He detached one and handed it to the man. “Don’t keep me talking all night, my good chap,” he said good-humouredly. “Take this fiver on account and deduct a sovereign for the trouble I have given you.” The man’s attitude of hostility changed.