His voice grew hoarse with excitement. Lessing pressed his knee gently beneath the table. "Careful. Be careful. We are observed. Give me my orders!" The Bearded One drew himself up, and made a pretence of continuing his meal. His voice sank to its old, guttural tones. "To stay here, and pass round the word. All the Brothers to be on duty, except those watched by the police. Red Fist and Wharbuton to leave by the nine o'clock train from Charing Cross, and cross to Paris. Their departure is to be as public as possible. It would be well if they were given a send-off. If they are out of the way the watch will be relaxed. At all costs they must be found. I go on to other places, you stay here, meet other Brothers, give them all this message. Red Fist and Wharbuton to be found and sent off. All others on duty to-night. Not a moment to waste." "Right," said Lessing quickly, and the Bearded One rose from his seat. Then followed a moment of tension, for suddenly, as if in default of a parting signal, the beetling brows frowned upon him, and a glance of indecision swept across the face. Lessing sensed the danger, and leaped to avert it. Touching the salt with his fingers, he said meaningly: "We are watched, Brother. We are watched!" and bent his head over his plate. There was a breathless silence, then the thick voice bade him good night, and he knew that the danger was past. The next moment the swing doors of the restaurant opened and shut. The Bearded One had disappeared. For an endless five minutes Lessing forced himself to sit still, then he paid his account, put on his hat, and opening the door, stood on the outer step of the restaurant looking anxiously to right and to left. He had purposely left behind his coat, since in the event of finding the Bearded One still hanging about, he could then be able to assert that he was impatiently waiting for the arrival of more Brothers. The night was chill and there were but few pedestrians in the narrow street. Running his eye to right and left he could count a dozen in all, no one of whom bore any resemblance in figure or clothing to his late companion. A better moment for escape could not be desired, and as if sent by Providence a taxi suddenly came into sight, and the chauffeur held up an inquiring hand. In another second Lessing was seated inside, and had given an address in Mayfair. He did not risk returning for his coat, a telephone message to the manager would possibly secure it from theft, if not the coat must go. This was not a moment for considering coats. Lessing sat motionless on his seat until the taxi had covered a couple of miles westwards, when he touched the communicating cord and startled the chauffeur by an imperative order: "Scotland Yard. And as quick as you can go!"