“Well, I’ve ordered the car to be here by 9.15,” said Philip. “We’ll go to your rooms, and you can pack a suitcase and we’ll be there by half past ten.” Suddenly he looked up sharply, his shoulders drew together and his eyes narrowed and became intent. It happened that at that moment no voice was busy in the dining-room of the Brooks’s Club. No doubt they were changing over at the Power Station, for the lights dimmed for a moment. It seemed to Bellamy that someone was developing wavy, wicked little films far back in his brain, and a voice suddenly whispered in his ear with a vile sort of shyness, “He cometh and he passeth by!” As they drove down through the night they talked little. Philip drowsed and Bellamy’s mind was busy. His preliminary conclusion was that Philip was neither mad nor going mad, but that he was not normal. He had always been very sensitive and highly strung, reacting too quickly and deeply to emotional stresses--and this living alone and eating nothing--the worst thing for him. And this Clinton. He had the reputation of being an evil man of power, and such persons’ hypnotic influence was absurdly underrated. He’d get on his track. “When does Clinton get back to England?” he asked. “If he kept to his plans he’ll be back about now,” said Philip sleepily. “What are his haunts?” “He lives near the British Museum in rooms, but he’s usually to be found at the Chorazin Club after six o’clock. It’s in Larn Street, just off Shaftesbury Avenue. A funny place with some funny members.” Bellamy made a note of this. “Does he know you know me?” “No, I think not, there’s no reason why he should.” “So much the better,” said Bellamy. “Why?” asked Philip. “Because I’m going to cultivate his acquaintance.” “Well, do look out, Teddie, he has a marvellous power of hiding the fact, but he’s dangerous, and I don’t want you to get into any trouble like mine.” “I’ll be careful,” said Bellamy. Ten minutes later they passed the gates of the drive of Franton Manor, and Philip began glancing uneasily about him and peering sharply where the elms flung shadows. It was a perfectly still and cloudless night, with a quarter moon. It was just a quarter to eleven as they entered the house. They went up to the library on the first floor which looked out over the Dutch Garden to the Park. Franton is a typical Georgian house, with charming gardens and Park, but too big and lonely for one nervous person to inhabit, thought Bellamy. The butler brought up sandwiches and drinks, and Bellamy thought he seemed relieved at their arrival. Philip began to eat ravenously, and gulped down two stiff whiskies. He kept looking at his watch, and his eyes were always searching the walls. “It comes, Teddie, even when it ought to be too light for shadows.”