pressed a pleased acquiescence. He had not seen the private
detective since he had taken him a copy of Merrington's notes of his
interview with Hazel Rath, and he wished to know whether Colwyn had made
any fresh discoveries in the Heredith case.

At their entrance, a waiter reclining against the cash desk sprang into
supple life, and with a smile of prospective gratitude sped ahead up the
staircase, casting backward glances of invitation like a gustatory siren
enticing them to a place of bliss. He led them into a room overlooking
the Thames Embankment, hung up their hats, took the wine card from the
frame of the mirror over the mantelpiece, wrote down the order for the
dinner, and disappeared downstairs to get the dishes.

"It seems to me that you've been here before," said Caldew.

"I always come here when I have an expedition in hand," was the
response.

Caldew wondered whether his companion's expedition was connected with
the Heredith mystery, but before he could frame the question the waiter
returned with a bottle of wine, and shortly afterwards the dinner
appeared. It was not until the meal was concluded that Colwyn broached
the subject which was uppermost in his guest's thoughts by asking him if
he had met with any success in his search for Nepcote.

"We are still looking for him," was Caldew's guarded reply, as he
accepted a cigar from his companion's case.

"In Islington, for instance?" The light Colwyn held to his own cigar
revealed the smile on his lips.

Caldew was so surprised at this shrewd guess that his match slipped from
his fingers.

"What makes you think we are looking for Nepcote in Islington?" he
demanded.

"I am not unacquainted with the ingenious methods of Scotland Yard," was
the reply. "I can see Merrington working it out with a scale map of
London to help him. He is convinced that Nepcote is still in London
without a penny in his pockets. Merrington asks himself what Nepcote is
likely to do in such circumstances? Borrow from his friends or attempt
to cash a cheque? We will guard against that by watching his clubs and
his bank. Raise funds on the necklace--if he has it? Merrington knows
how to stop that by warning the pawn-brokers and jewellers. When he has
done so he has the satisfaction of feeling that his man is cut off from
supplies, wandering penniless in stony-hearted London, as helpless as a
babe in the wood. Where will he hide? He is a West End man, knowing
little of London out