When the car rolled out into Piccadilly the waiter who had mistaken the order for whiskey, watched it from the dining-room windows. Several floors above, the man who had occupied the next bedroom also watched the departure of the car. When it was out of sight the man whose name was Vane went to the telephone and called 150 Fenchurch Street, E. C. It was the office of the Holland Steamship Company. And the waiter who had entered the room unannounced, stood listening to the conversation over the wire, and finally took the transmitter himself for further conversation while Vane stood by listening, one hand resting familiarly on the waiter's shoulder. After the waiter had hung up the receiver, Vane walked to the window, stood a moment looking out, then came slowly back. "Gwynn," he said to the waiter, "this man, Guild, seems to be harmless. He's known at the American Embassy. He's an American in the real estate business in New York. It's true that Dart telegraphed from Ostend that Guild came to our lines in a German military automobile under a white flag. But he told a straight story. I'll run out to Westheath, and if his business there is clean and above-board, I think we can give him a clean bill of health." Gwynn said, slowly: "I don't like the way he questioned me last night. Besides, a sovereign is too much even for an American." "He might have been afraid of robbery." "He was afraid of _something_." "Very well. We've passage on the boat if necessary. I'll go out to Westheath anyway. If I don't care for what he is doing out there we can hold him on the dock." "Another thing," mused Gwynn. "The Edmeston Agency may be quite all right, but the man's name is Grätz." "He's been under scrutiny. He seems to be all right." "All the same--his name is all wrong. What was that chauffeur's name?" "Bush." "_Busch?_" "He spells it without a _c_. I saw his signature on the Agency rolls." "Have you his history?" "He's Canadian. I've sent for it." "You'll find that his father spelled his name with a _c_," remarked Gwynn, gloomily. But Vane only laughed. "I'm off," he said. "Stick around where I can get you on the telephone if necessary. But I don't think it will be necessary." "I do," muttered Gwynn. CHAPTER V KAREN The journey was the usual one through interminable London streets alternately respectable and squalid; and straight ahead through equally interminable suburbs with their endless "terraces," semi-detached and detached villas, and here and there a fine old house behind neglected garden walls, making its last forlorn stand against the all-destroying inroad of the London jungle. There had been a heavy haze in London, but no fog. In the country, however, beyond the last outstretched suburban tentacle of the inky octopus the morning sun glimmered low through a golden smother, promising a glimpse of blue sky.