They reached the hotel, where a room was obtained for Frazer, and David undertook to equip him out of his portmanteau. Brett left the cousins to arrange matters, and hurried to his sitting-room, where a number of telegrams awaited him. Those from Hume he barely glanced at. David could tell his own story. There were three from Winter. The first, despatched at 1.10 p.m., read: "Capella and valet left by club train. Nothing doing Japanese." The second was timed 4.30 p.m.: "Jap, accompanied by tall, fat man, left home 2.45. They separated Piccadilly Circus. Followed Jap--("Oh, Winter!" groaned Brett)--and saw him enter British Museum. Four o'clock he met fat man again outside Tottenham Court Road Tube Station. They drove west in hansom. Heard address given. Am wiring before going same place." This telegram had been handed in at an Oxford Street office. The third, 7.30., p.m.: "Nothing important. All quiet. Wiring before your local office closes." The facetious Winter had signed these messages "Snow." Brett promptly wrote a telegram to the detective's private address: "Your signature should have been 'Frost.' If that fat man turns up again follow him. Call on Jap and endeavour to see his wife. You may be sadder but wiser. Meet me Victoria Street, 5 p.m. to-day." He called a waiter and gave instructions that this message should be sent off early next morning. Then he lit a cigar to soothe his disappointment. "I cannot emulate the House of Commons bird," he mused, "or at this moment I would be close to Jiro's flat in Kensington, and at the same time crossing Lombardy in an express. What an ass Winter is, to be sure, whenever a subtle stroke requires an ingenious guard. Jiro dresses his wife in male attire and sends her on an errand he dare not perform himself. The fact that they depart together from their residence is diplomatic in itself. If they are followed, the watcher is sure to shadow Jiro and leave his unknown friend. Just imagine Winter dodging Jiro around the Rosetta Stone or the Phoebus Apollo, whilst the woman is visiting some one or some place of infinite value to our search. It is positively maddening." Perhaps, in his heart, Brett felt that Winter was not so greatly to blame. The sudden appearance on the scene of a portly and respectable stranger was disconcerting, but could hardly serve as an excuse for leaving Jiro's trail at the point of bifurcation. Moreover, it is difficult to suspect stout people of criminal tendencies. Winter had the best of negative evidence that they are not adapted for "treasons, spoils, and stratagems." Even a convicted rogue, if corpulent, demands sympathy. But Brett was very sore. He stamped about the room and kicked unoffending chairs out of the way. His unfailing instinct told him that a rare opportunity had been lost. It was well for Winter that he was beyond reach of the barrister's tongue. A valid defence would have availed him naught.