"You are quite right, Bryant," groaned poor Hugh. "I seem fated to be mixed up in these matters. At the present moment I have a little stunt on, in which I don't require any help. A younger brother of mine has got mixed up with a young harpy in the chorus of a third-rate theatre. The young fool has written compromising letters to her. I am trying to buy these letters. I need hardly tell you she is asking a high price. I can't see her at my own place, for fear of my brother popping in. I have taken rooms in a suburb where I see her to carry on the bargaining." Mr Bryant raised his hands. "Well, sir, when a woman once begins to twist a man round her little finger there is no knowing to what length he will go." "Profoundly true, Mr Bryant. Well, what do you advise me to do?" "For the moment, nothing. Get a little more evidence. When I watched this couple, I took my old friend Parkinson with me. He knows them now. Get him to watch them. He will tell you where they meet, and how often. Here is his card. He will wait on you at your convenience." "I quite see," said Hugh, as he took the proffered card. "If I can prove that they are meeting on the sly it will strengthen my hands, eh?" "That is the idea. Of course, at the moment, I don't know which you are going to tackle first, the husband or the wife." "I can't say myself, my mind is in such a whirl. But I feel I must avenge poor Jack Pomfret's death." Mr Bryant rose. "You will excuse me, Major Murchison, but I have a very busy day. Make use of Parkinson; he is as keen as mustard. And if it comes to this, that you want me for purposes of identification, I am at your disposal, in Eaton Place or elsewhere." Murchison left, but not before he had pressed a substantial cheque into Bryant's somewhat reluctant hand. The next day he interviewed Parkinson, a lean, ascetic-looking man of the true sleuth-hound breed. He took his instructions. "Give me a fortnight, if you please, sir; a week is hardly long enough. I'll warrant, from what our friend Bryant has hinted to me, I will have something to report." And he had. At the end of the fortnight he appeared. He produced a small pocket-book. "I'm glad you didn't stipulate for only a week, sir; it was rather a blank one--only one meeting. I expect the lady couldn't get away comfortably. But the week after I was rewarded. Three meetings in that second week." "Ah! Where do they meet?" "At quite humble little restaurants and queer places in the City. I fancy the bucket-shop business is not very flourishing just now. For on the last two occasions when I followed them in, and sat at a table where I could observe them, I saw Mrs Spencer slip an envelope into his hand." "Good Heavens!" cried Murchison in a tone of disgust. "She is keeping this criminal with her husband's money." Mr Parkinson shrugged his shoulders. "A common enough case, sir, if you had seen as much of life as I have."