"The man who let him escape. He has been under a cloud since with us. My wonder is that he was not dismissed." "Then you don't know at all what Salter is like?" "Are there no photographs?" "I think not. I have seen none. Is it very essential your ascertaining this?" "The most essential point of all. Is this Grimley to be got at? If I could see him to-day and get Salter's description from him, I should be more than glad." Mr. Burtenshaw took some ivory tablets from his pocket and consulted them. "I will send for Grimley here, sir. Will eight o'clock be too late for you?" "Not at all," replied Karl, thinking he could get away by the half-past nine train. Mr. Burtenshaw escorted him to the head of the stairs, and watched him down, making his mental comments. "I wonder who he is? He looks too full of care for his years. But he knows Salter's retreat as sure as a gun--or thinks he knows it. Won't denounce him till he's sure." When Karl got back at eight o'clock, some disappointment was in store for him. Grimley was not there. The detective showed the scrap of message returned to him, scribbled in pencil on a loose bit of paper. Karl read as follows, "Can't get to you before eleven: might be a little later. Suppose it's particular? Got a matter on hand, and have to leave for the country at five in the morning." "Will you see him at that late hour, sir?" Karl considered. It would involve his staying in town for the night, which he had not prepared for. But he was restlessly anxious to set the question at rest, and resolved upon waiting. He walked away through the busy London streets, seemingly more crowded than usual that Monday evening, and sent a telegraphic message to his wife, saying he could not be home until the morrow. Then he went into the Charing Cross Hotel and engaged a bed. Before eleven he was back again at Mr. Burtenshaw's. Grimley came in about a quarter past: a powerful, tallish man with a rather jolly face, not dressed in his official clothes as a policeman, but in an ordinary suit of pepper-and-salt. "You remember Philip Salter, Grimley?" began the superior man at once, without any circumlocution or introduction. "I ought to remember him, Mr. Burtenshaw." "Just describe his person to this gentleman as accurately as you can." "He's not dropped upon at last, is he?" returned the man, his whole face lighting up. "No. Don't jump to conclusions, Grimley, but do as you are bid." Upon which rebuke Grimley turned to Sir Karl. "He was about as tall as I am, sir, and not unlike me in shape: that is, strongly made, and very active. His real hair was dark brown, and almost, black--but goodness only knows what it's changed into now." "And his face?" questioned Karl. As yet the description tallied.