“We must get that letter from Harkings,” he said presently. “Jeekes will have it. We can do nothing until ...” His voice died away. Bruce, sunk in one of the big leather armchairs, was astonished to see him slip quickly away from the window and ensconce himself behind one of the chintz curtains. “Here, Bruce,” Robin called softly across the room. “Just come here. But take care not to show yourself. Look out, keep behind the curtain and here ... peep out through this chink!” Young Wright peered through a narrow slit between the curtain and the window-frame. In the far corner of the courtyard beneath the windows, where a short round iron post marked a narrow passage leading to the adjoining court, a man was standing. He wore a shabby suit and a blue handkerchief knotted about his neck served him as a substitute for the more conventional collar and tie. His body was more than half concealed by the side of the house along which the passage ran. But his face was clearly distinguishable—a peaky, thin face, the upper part in the shadow of the peak of a discoloured tweed cap. “He’s been there on and off all the time we’ve been talking,” said Robin. “I wasn’t sure at first. But now I’m certain. He’s watching these windows! Look!” Briskly the watcher’s head was withdrawn to emerge again, slowly and cautiously, in a little while. “But who is he? What does he want?” asked Bruce. “I haven’t an idea,” retorted Robin Greve. “But I could guess. Tell me, Bruce,” he went on, stepping back from the window and motioning the boy to do the same, “did you notice anybody following you when you came here?” Bruce shook his head. “I’m pretty sure nobody did. You see, I came in from the Strand, down Middle Temple Lane. Once service has started at Temple Church there’s not a mouse stirring in the Inn till the church is out. I think I should have noticed if any one had followed me up to your chambers ...” Robin set his chin squarely. “Then he came after me,” he said. “Bruce, you’ll have to go to Harkings and get that letter!” “By all means,” answered the boy. “But, I say, they won’t much like me butting in, will they?” “You’ll have to say you came down to offer your sympathy, ... volunteer your services ... oh, anything. But you _must_ get that letter! Do you understand, Bruce? _You must get that letter_—if you have to steal it!” The boy gave a long whistle. “That’s rather a tall order, isn’t it?” he said. Robin nodded. His face was very grave. “Yes,” he said presently, “I suppose it is. But there is something ... something horrible behind this case, Bruce, something dark and ... and mysterious. And I mean to get to the bottom of it. With your help. Or alone!” Bruce put his hand impulsively on the other’s arm. “You can count on me, you know,” he said. “But don’t you think ...” He broke off shyly. “What?” “Don’t you think you’d better tell me what you know. And what you suspect!” Robin hesitated.