with a visit.
One was inscribed "Dr. Rich. Jones, M.D.," and the other "Mlle.
Vivien."

The moment I read the last name something curiously familiar about it
suddenly struck me. Then in a flash I remembered the pencilled notice
on Tommy's door, and the obliging "Miss Vivien" who was willing to
receive his telegrams.

The coincidence was a startling one, but I was too anxious to discover
what George was doing to waste much time pondering over it. Stepping
forward to the foot of the stairs, I peered cautiously up. I could see
by his hand, which was resting on the banisters, that he had passed
the floor above, where the doctor lived, and was half way up the next
flight. Whoever Mlle. Vivien might be, she certainly represented
George's destination.

I retreated to the door, wondering what was the best thing to do.
My previous effort in Victoria Street had been so successful that
I instinctively glanced across the street to see whether there was
another convenient restaurant from which I could repeat my tactics.
There wasn't a restaurant but there was something else which was
even better, and that was a small and very respectable-looking
public-house.

If I had to wait, a whisky-and-soda seemed a much more agreeable thing
to beguile the time with than a third helping of ham and eggs, so
crossing the road with a light heart, I pushed open a door marked
"Saloon Bar." I found myself in a square, comfortably fitted apartment
where a genial-looking gentleman was dispensing drinks to a couple of
chauffeurs.

Along the back of the bar ran a big fitted looking-glass, sloped at
an angle which enabled it to reflect the opposite side of the street.
This was most convenient, for I could stand at the counter with my
back to the window, and yet keep my eye all the time upon the doorway
from which George would appear.

"Good-morning, sir: what can I get you?" inquired the landlord
pleasantly.

"I'll have a whisky-and-soda, thanks," I said.

As he turned round to get it a sudden happy idea flashed into my mind.
I waited until he had placed the glass on the bar and was pouring out
the soda, and then inquired carelessly:

"You don't happen to know any one of the name of Vivien about here, I
suppose?"

He looked up at once. "Vivien!" he repeated; "well, there's a Mamzelle
Vivien across the road. D'you mean her?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know," I said; then, with a coolness
which would have done credit to Ananias, I a