"I was to send a boy with a note to the Tube station at a certain time. I picked up a boy, giving him a full description of her, and packed him off. All happened as she expected. The man was tempted away by the boy, out of whom he could get nothing that would be of any use to him, and for a few moments left her unwatched. Hers was a bold stroke. While he was interviewing the urchin, she slipped into a descending lift, and left Mr Detective glaring at her from outside." Stent laughed appreciatively. "Well done!" he remarked. "But I have no doubt she would have hit upon something else had that failed." Farloe assented briefly. He was very fond of his sister, but it had always been rather a sore point with him to know that she had impressed everybody with the fact that she was much the cleverer and subtler of the two. There was a brief pause. Then Farloe pointed to the table, upon which stood glasses, a decanter of whisky, and a syphon of soda-water. "Help yourself, and sit down while we chat," he said pleasantly. "I'm sorry to have brought you out so late." Stent helped himself liberally to the spirit, took a long draught, and sat down in one of the two big saddle-bag chairs. When he had entered the room, Farloe had noticed certain signs of irritation. Perhaps the soothing influence of the whisky helped to restore him to a more equable frame of mind. Anyway, when he answered Farloe his voice was quite smooth and amiable. "Yes, I was deucedly put out at having to start off at a minute's notice. If I hadn't said good-bye to nerves long ago, you would have made me feel quite jumpy, with your talk about bringing a suit-case with me, and having to cross the Channel. Now let me know the meaning of it all. I've brought the suit-case in the car. Tell me," he urged, fixing the younger man with his keen piercing gaze. Farloe shifted a little uneasily under that intense glance. Somehow, he never felt quite at his ease in Stent's presence. "I haven't your nerves, or, rather the want of them, that I admit. And perhaps I take fright a little too easily. Still, I think you ought to be informed of this: that certain people are beginning to know--well--a bit too much." Stent's hard, resolute mouth curved in a smile that was half incredulous, half contemptuous. "Certain people always know too much--or too little. In this case, I should say it was the latter." But Farloe stuck to his guns. "I was tackled to-night at the House by Sir Archibald Turtrell. You know of him, of course?" The other nodded. There was vindictiveness in his tone, as he replied: "A regular old cackler and bore." "I don't dispute he is both, but that doesn't alter the fact that he pushed me very hard with some searching questions. I parried them as best I could, but from his last remarks I could see he didn't believe a word I was saying." Stent shifted uneasily in his chair; his ill-humour was evidently returning.