What, I wondered, had happened during my month of unconsciousness? I wandered into a café and sat pondering. Afterwards I walked about the town aimlessly and rather hungry. My own clothes had been returned to me, but before I assumed them I saw that every mark of identity had been purposely removed. Even the trousers buttons--which had borne the name of my tailor, a reputable firm in New Bond Street--had been substituted. But by whom? On the following afternoon I arrived in London and drove straight to Rivermead Mansions. I entered with my latchkey, and on glancing around saw signs that my friend Hambledon was still living there. The fire in the sitting-room had been lit by the "Kaiserin" ready for his home-coming, and everything seemed bright and cosy. It was then about four o'clock, and Hambledon would certainly not return till six. Therefore after a good wash, a shave, and a clean collar, I set forth for Stretton Street to interview Oswald De Gex. The house in the dusk was just as I recollected it on that eventful night when I was so unexpectedly called inside. I rang the bell three times, until at last the door opened and a tall, stalwart man appeared. I inquired for Mr. De Gex, whereupon he replied: "Mr. De Gex is in Italy, sir." "Oh! When did he leave town?" "About a month ago, sir," the man answered. "You are, I suppose, the caretaker?" I asked. "Now, I wonder if you will do me a very great favour. You may think me a thief or a burglar," I laughed, "but the fact is I have a great desire to see Mr. De Gex's house. I've heard so much about its beauties. I wonder if you would show me the drawing-room and the library?" The man hesitated, saying: "Well, sir, I've no orders to show anyone over. Have you a card?" I at once produced one from my cigarette-case, and added that I was a personal friend of the millionaire's. He read my name and looked again at me. I assured him that I was not prospecting with a view to burglary. "I'm only asking you to do me a favour," I went on, and I put a couple of Treasury notes into his hand. "You can inquire about me at my office to-morrow, if you like. They will tell you, I expect, that I have been away on a month's leave." The little palm-oil no doubt propitiated him, for he invited me in. Then he switched on the light in the hall, and as he did so, said: "I don't know what trouble I'd get into with the master. He's a very eccentric man--as you, of course, know." I laughed as we ascended the soft carpeted stairs. I recollected the pattern. A few moments later we were in the library. Yes. It was just as I remembered it. Nothing had been altered. There was the writing-table whereon I had copied out the death certificate; the big fireplace, now empty, and the deep chair in which I had sat. There was the window, too--the window which I had opened in order to gasp for air after that suffocating odour of _pot-pourri_.