“... better get along out there at once,” he heard the man in the car say, “I’m sending Jan in the car for her at ...” Then Robin stepped out unexpectedly from behind his pillar and cannoned into Mr. Jeekes, who was just entering the car. “Good-morning,” said Robin with easy assurance; “I’m delighted to hear that you’ve found Miss Trevert, Jeekes, for, to tell the truth, I was feeling somewhat uneasy about her ...” The secretary’s face was a study. The surprise of seeing Robin, who had dropped, it seemed to him, out of the clouds into the city of Rotterdam, deprived him of speech for an instant. He blinked his eyes, looked this way and that, and finally, with a sort of blind gesture, readjusted his _pince-nez_ and glared at the intruder. Then, without a word, he got into the car. But Robin, with a firm hand, stayed the door which Jeekes would have closed behind him. “Excuse me,” Robin remarked decidedly, “but I’m coming with you if your friend”—at this he looked at the man in the driving-seat—“has no objection ...” Mr. Jeekes cast a frightened glance at the sallow man. The latter said impatiently: “We’re wasting time, Jeekes. Who is this gentleman?” “This is Mr. Greve,” said the little secretary hurriedly, “a friend of Mr. Parrish and Miss Trevert. He was staying in the house at the time of the tragedy. He has, I understand, taken a prominent part in the investigations as to the motive of our poor friend’s sad end ...” Mr. Jeekes looked to Robin as he said this as though for confirmation. The man at the driving-wheel turned and gave the little secretary a quick glance. Then he mustered Robin with a slow, insolent stare. He had a yellow face and small black eyes quick and full of intelligence. Then he bowed. “My name is Victor,” he said. “The sad news about Mr. Parrish was a great shock to me. I met him several times in London. Were you anxious to see Miss ... er ... Trevert? She has come to Rotterdam (so my friend Jeekes tells me) to look into certain important business transactions which the late Mr. Parrish had in hand at the time of his death. Did I understand you to say that you were uneasy about this lady? Is there any mystery about her journey?...” For the moment Robin felt somewhat abashed. The question was rather a poser. Was there, in effect, any mystery about Mary’s trip to Rotterdam accompanied by her cousin? She had acquainted her people at Harkings with her plans. What if, after all, everything was open and above-board, and she had merely come to Rotterdam on business? It seemed difficult to believe. Surely in such a case the solicitor, Bardy, would have been the more suitable emissary ... “You’ll forgive us, I’m sure,” the yellow-faced man remarked suavely, “but we’re in a great hurry. Would you mind closing that door?...”