“Bude,” answered the boy and laid a finger on his lips. “But,” he pursued, jerking his head in the direction of the window, “what are we going to do about him out there?” Robin laughed. “Him?” he said. “Oh, I’m going to take him out for an airing!” Robin stepped out into the hall. He returned wearing his hat and overcoat. In his hand were two yale keys strung on a wisp of pink tape. “Listen, Bruce,” he said. “Give me ten minutes’ start to get rid of this jackal. Then clear out. There’s a train to Stevenish at 3.23. If you get on the Underground at the Temple you ought to be able to make it easily. Here are the keys of the chambers. I can put you up here to-night if you like. I’ll expect you when I see you ... with that letter. Savvy?” The boy stood up. “You’ll have that letter to-night,” he answered. “But in the meantime,”—he waved the blue sheet with its mysterious slots at Robin,—“what do you make of this?” Robin took the sheet of paper from him and replaced it in his cigarette-case. “Perhaps, when we have the letter,” he replied, “I shall be able to answer that question!” Then he lit a cigarette, gave the boy his hand, and a minute later Bruce Wright, watching through the chink of the curtain from the window of Robin Greve’s chambers, saw a lanky form shuffle across the court and follow Robin round the angle of the house. Robin strode quickly through the maze of narrow passages and tranquil, echoing courts into the Sabbath stillness of the Strand. An occasional halt at a shop-window was sufficient to assure him that the watcher of the Temple was still on his heels. The man, he was interested to see, played his part very unobtrusively, shambling along in nonchalant fashion, mostly hugging the sides of the houses, ready to dart out of sight into a doorway or down a side turning, should he by any mischance arrive too close on the heels of his quarry. As he walked along, Robin turned over in his mind the best means for getting rid of his shadow. Should he dive into a Tube station and plunge headlong down the steps? He rejected this idea as calculated to let the tracker know that his presence was suspected. Then he reviewed in his mind the various establishments he knew of in London with double entrances, thinking that he might slip in by the one entrance and emerge by the other. In Pall Mall he came upon Tony Grandell, whom he had last seen playing bridge in the company dugout on the Flesquieres Ridge. Then he had been in “battle order,” camouflaged as a private soldier, as officers were ordered to go over the top in the latter phases of the war. Now he was resplendent in what the invitation cards call “Morning Dress” crowned by what must certainly have been the most relucent top-hat in London. “Hullo, hullo, hullo!” cried Tony, on catching sight of him; “stand to your kits and so forth! And how is my merry company commander? Robin, dear, come and relieve the medieval gloom of lunch with my aunt at Mart’s!”