He pulled on his spectacles from his forehead, and took the letter from her hand. “You would like me to read this?” he asked, and when she nodded, he followed the quaint crabbed writing line by line. “It seems very good news,” he said. “Will Miss Reddle be back to-night?” Lizzy sighed impatiently. It was the sort of question he would ask. “How do I know whether she’ll be back to-night?” She was annoyed that he was not as impressed as she had expected. “She may not be back at all! Don’t you understand anything you can’t play on your fiddle, Mr. Mackenzie? She may be in the power of this Gallows man! The whole thing now depends on me. Mike understands human nature, and when he got into trouble naturally his mind flew to Elizabetta Smith. That man has got experience.” “Naturally,” murmured Mr. Mackenzie. “Now the thing is,” considered Lizzy, her face wearing a frown of profoundest thought, “shall I try to find this fellow Wills first, or shall I go to the office?” “You might telephone to Mr. Dorn’s flat,” suggested the old man helpfully, and Lizzy was irritated that that simple solution had not occurred to her. On her way to the office she stopped at the first telephone booth and called Michael’s number, and after a long wait was told there was no answer. The news pleased her rather than otherwise, for the responsibility, vague as it was, gave her a pleasing sense that she was intimately associated with great happenings, though she looked forward with trepidation to her meeting with old Shaddles. That he would grant her the day was a forlorn hope. Much more likely he would point his skinny finger to the door and order her from his room. Nevertheless, though she sacrificed her livelihood, she was determined to be on hand in case her services were required--though what she could do, and in what capacity she could act, she did not trouble to consider. Before she reached the office she had created three alternative excuses, none of which unfortunately had any relation to the other. Happily she was only called upon to produce two. Mr. Shaddles had arrived before her; he was invariably the first-comer and generally the last leaver. Without taking off her hat, she knocked at the glass panel, and when his gruff “Come in!” reached her she all but abandoned the interview. He scowled at her as she came in, noted her coat and her hat. “Well, what is the matter? Why aren’t you at your work? You’re five minutes late as it is!” he demanded. Lizzy rested her hand lightly on his desk, and in her most genteel voice began: “Mr. Shaddles, I’m sorry to ask you, but, owing to a family bereavement, I should like the day off.” “Who’s dead?” he growled. “An aunt,” she said, and added: “On my mother’s side.” “Aunts are nothing,” said the old man, and waved her to the door. “Uncles are nothing either. Can’t spare you. What do you want to go to funerals for?” “Well, the real truth is,” said the disconcerted Lizzy, and produced the letter, “I’ve had this!”