asking for the sack,
and I'm the man to get it for you."

Chivers did not appear to be vastly perturbed by this prospect, and
he grinned agreeably at Parker as the latter made his way out into the
courtyard.

Any one sufficiently interested to have done so might have found matter
for surprise had he followed that conscientious bootmaker as he left the
hotel. He did not proceed to the shop of Mr. Jarvis, but, crossing the
Strand, mounted a city-bound motor bus and proceeded eastward upon it as
far as the Law Courts. Here he dismounted and plunged into that maze of
tortuous lanes which dissects the triangle formed by Chancery Lane and
Holborn.

His step was leisurely, and once he stopped to light his pipe, peering
with interest into the shop window of a law stationer. Finally he came
to another little shop which had once formed part of a private house. It
was of the lock-up variety, and upon the gauze blind which concealed the
interior appeared the words: "The Chancery Agency."

Whether the Chancery Agency was a press agency, a literary or a dramatic
agency, was not specified, but Mr. Parker was evidently well acquainted
with the establishment, for he unlocked the door with a key which he
carried and, entering a tiny shop, closed and locked the door behind him
again.

The place was not more than ten yards square and the ceiling was very
low. It was barely furnished as an office, but evidently Mr. Parker's
business was not of a nature to detain him here. There was a second door
to be unlocked; and beyond it appeared a flight of narrow stairs--at
some time the servant's stair of the partially demolished house which
had occupied that site in former days. Relocking this door in turn, Mr.
Parker mounted the stair and presently found himself in a spacious and
well-furnished bedroom.

This bedroom contained an extraordinary number of wardrobes, and a
big dressing table with wing mirrors lent a theatrical touch to the
apartment. This was still further enhanced by the presence of all sorts
of wigs, boxes of false hair, and other items of make-up. At the table
Mr. Parker seated himself, and when, half an hour later, the bedroom
door was opened, it was not Mr. Parker who crossed the book-lined study
within and walked through to the private office where Innes was seated
writing. It was Mr. Paul Harley.

CHAPTER XI. THE PURPLE STAIN

For more than an hour Harley sat alone, smoking, neglectful of the
routine duties which