"Then get off straight away. There's a train at five a.m. from
Waterloo. You can have my room at the pub. I'll give you a note to
the proprietor."

"And assuming I meet brother Barraclough?"

"Get him," responded Harrison Smith laconically. "Make as little fuss
as possible but get him."

Mr. Bolt nodded and the piggy little eyes twinkled greedily.

"Trust me," he said. "Anything else you want?"

Harrison Smith thought for a moment.

"That chap Dirk," he said. "Could you find him for me?"

"Sure."

"Then tell him to meet me at Paddington tomorrow morning 9.50."

"Right."

"And you might lend me that bunch of spring-lock keys."

"Going to have a squint at that guide book?" queried Bolt shrewdly as
he turned over the contents of a table drawer in search of the keys.

"Going to have a try," came the answer.

Bolt rippled out a fat, greasy chuckle.

"Pleasure to work with you, Smith," said he. "Yes indeed. Though it's
a bit risky putting one over on the Dutchman." He fell into a thick,
guttural "S'bad--s'bad pizness. Dese servants wass ver' insubordinate.
S'bad. Well, good luck, ole boy."

They shook hands cordially.

The Commercial Road was deserted when Harrison Smith came out of the
narrow byway. The chance of finding a conveyance was small but his
practical sense suggested turning into the West India Dock Road where,
at the gates of the dock, he had the good fortune to secure a
dilapidated four-wheeler. Progress was painfully slow and hours seemed
to pass before they finally turned out of the broad cobbled highway and
passed through the silent empty city. Two o'clock was striking when he
dismissed the cab in Piccadilly. At his own rooms in Crown Court, St.
James's, he changed into ordinary clothes and proceeded on foot to
Albemarle Street. Before the entrance to Crest Chambers Harrison Smith
stopped and broke into a torrent of imprecation. He had forgotten that
the downstairs door would be shut. It was of heavy mahogany and
secured by an ordinary variety of lock against which the bunch of keys
in his pocket were of no service whatsoever. He was shaking his fist
angrily when the sound of footsteps accompanied by a snatch of song
attracted his attention. A young man in evening dress, wearing an
opera hat at a raffish angle and carrying his hands in his trousers
pockets turned out of the adjoining side street and approached the spot
where he was standing. A single glance was enou