It was fifteen minutes exactly when the Buick stopped at the door, and Manfred got into the saloon. There was no partition between driver and passenger, and conversation was possible. “It would have been as well if you’d had Brother Newton there,” he suggested. “Brother Newton will be on the spot: I took the precaution of sending him a similar note,” said Manfred. “I shouldn’t imagine they’ll bring out their gunmen.” “I know two, and possibly three, they won’t bring out.” Gonsalez grinned at the traffic policeman who waved him into Oxford Street. “That Browning of mine throws high, Manfred: I’ve always had a suspicion it did. Pistols are queer things, but this may wear into my hand.” He talked arms and ammunition until the square block of Oberzohn & Smitts came into sight. “Good hunting!” he said, as he got out, opened the saloon door and touched his hat to Manfred as he alighted. He got back into his seat, swung the little car round in a circle, and sat on the opposite side of the road, his eyes alternately on the entrance and on the mirror which gave him a view of the traffic approaching him from the rear. Manfred was not kept in the waiting-room for more than two minutes. At the end of that time, a solemn youth in spectacles, with a little bow, led him across the incurious office into the presence of the illustrious doctor. The old man was at his desk. Behind him, his debonair self, Monty Newton, a large yellow flower in his buttonhole, a smile on his face. Oberzohn got up like a man standing to attention. “Mr. Manfred, this is a great honour,” he said, and held out his hand stiffly. An additional chair had been placed for the visitor: a rich-looking tapestried chair, to which the doctor waved the hand which Manfred did not take. “Good morning, Manfred.” Newton removed his cigar and nodded genially. “Were you at the dance last night?” “I was there, but I didn’t come in,” said Manfred, seating himself. “You did not turn up till late, they tell me?” “It was of all occurrences the most unfortunate,” said Dr. Oberzohn, and Newton laughed. “I’ve lost his laboratory secretary and he hasn’t forgiven me,” he said almost jovially. “The girl he took on yesterday. Rather a stunner in the way of looks. She didn’t wish to go back to the country where she came from, so my sister offered to put her up for the night in Chester Square. I’m blessed if she didn’t lose herself at the dance, and we haven’t seen her since!” “It was a terrible thing,” said Oberzohn sadly. “I regard her as in my charge. For her safety I am responsible. You, I trust, Mr. Newton——” “I don’t think I should have another uneasy moment if I were you, doctor,” said Manfred easily. “The young lady is back at Heavytree Farm. I thought that would surprise you. And she is still there: that will surprise you more, if you have not already heard by telephone that your Old Guard failed dismally to—er—bring her back to work. I presume that was their object?”