ice said,
"I'll see if he is in."

"That must be me," I guessed. "I'm the only 'he' in the house."

"But who knows you're here?" Moira objected.

"That's right," I said. "Who does?"

I opened the door of the room and looked out. The maid, who was coming
down the passage, caught sight of me. "There's a gentleman wishes to see
you, Mr. Carstairs," she announced.

"Show him in here," I said.

I turned back into the room. "You'd better stop here, Moira," I said as
she made a movement to go. "It can't be anything private. It's just as
likely that it's something that interests you too."

She sat down again.

The maid ushered the newcomer into the room. I ran my eye over him as I
advanced to meet him. He was small and dapper, and his air of
self-possession was almost perfect. His features were clean-cut, dark
eyes glowed in a face that had evidently been exposed to the weather for
many years, and his brow was surmounted by a mass of black curls.

"Mr. Carstairs?" he asked.

"That's me," I said truthfully but ungrammatically.

"This will explain my business," he said, and handed me a piece of
pasteboard. I took it from him; it was one of Bryce's visiting cards,
and scribbled across the foot of it were these words:--"Introducing Mr.
Albert Cumshaw. H. Bryce."

"I've been expecting you, Mr. Cumshaw," I said. "I've been expecting you
for some days now."

As a matter of fact I hadn't, but it is always a good rule to allow the
other man to think you know everything.

"Moira," I said, "this is the Mr. Cumshaw we've been waiting for. Mr.
Cumshaw, Miss Drummond."

"Pleased to meet you," he said and looked as if he meant it.

"Take a seat, Mr. Cumshaw," I said, and when he had accepted a chair,
"What can I do for you?" I enquired.

He looked curiously from one to the other of us as if to seek an
inspiration. "I presume Mr. Bryce is not about," he said at length.

"Well, hardly," I answered. "He's been dead this last couple of weeks."
It was longer than that in reality, but I mentioned the first period
that came into my head. Anyway, it didn't matter much how long it was
since he died; nothing could make him any the less dead now.

"Oh," said Mr. Cumshaw quietly, as though my news was just what he had
been expecting all along. "It is most regrettable," he added.

"Now what can I do for you?" I persisted.

"Touching the little matter of the gold escort," he said and fixed me
with a glowing eye.

"Yes, the gold