“I put them on the dressing-table to remind me in the morning--at least, I think I did.” A hurried search of the kitchen discovered no trace of the missing package. “Perhaps he knew you wouldn’t like them and came to get them back?” was the inane suggestion that Lizzy offered. “I don’t know--I don’t understand.” At that moment a voice hailed them and Lizzy opened the door. “Is anything wrong?” It was old Mackenzie. “That man never sleeps,” groaned Lizzy under her breath. “He ought to be a night watchman. No, everything’s all right, Mr. Mackenzie.” “I heard somebody come down the stairs and go out a little time ago,” said the old man, “I thought maybe one of you was ill.” “This is where our characters go west,” said Lizzy, and, in a louder voice: “No, Mr. Mackenzie, it was only me! I went down to make sure that Miss Reddle had closed the front door. Good-night.” She came back, looking very thoughtful. “‘Three o’clock in the morning’ is a pretty nifty fox-trot, but it is a bad time for young men to come sneaking round other people’s rooms. What are you going to do, Lois? Anyway, he’s saved you the postage on the chocolates. It seems to me to be the moment for tea.” Any occasion was the moment for tea so far as Lizzy was concerned. She bustled off into the kitchen and came back in ten minutes with a hot decoction which was very gratifying to Lois, and, in spite of Lizzy’s making, unusually palatable. “There are two things to do; one is to inform the police, and the other is to see Mr. Dorn, and I think I will take the latter course. Will you give me his address again?” “You’re not going now?” said Lizzy, in a tone of horror. “No, I’ll go before working hours.” “He’ll be in bed. Maybe you’ll be able to get the chocolates back while he is sleeping,” suggested Lizzy. “As I remarked before, he’s got a nerve.” Hiles Mansions was a magnificent block of flats near Albert Hall, but Mr. Dorn’s apartment was the least magnificent of any, for it was situated on the upper floor and consisted of two rooms, and a bath and a tiny hall. The elevator man was in his shirt-sleeves, polishing brasses at the early hour at which Lois made her call. But he showed no surprise at her enquiry. “Top floor, miss. If you’ll step into the lift and excuse my shirt-sleeves, I’ll take you up.” The elevator stopped at the sixth floor and the liftman pointed to a plain rosewood door, one of three on the landing. She hesitated, her finger on the bell-push, and then, mastering her courage, she pressed, expecting to be kept waiting for a long time, for if Mr. Dorn was really the night visitor, he would still be in bed. To her surprise, however, her finger was hardly off the bell-push before the door opened and Michael Dorn confronted her. He seemed to have been up for some time, for he was dressed and shaved, and there was no evidence in his eyes that he had spent a sleepless night. “This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Reddle,” he said. “Will you come in?”