ight mean nothing. "A pleasant gentleman, spoke crisply and had
a smile." John, of the cloakroom, recalled a half crown thrown on his
little counter in return for a soft hat--"Wait a bit, sir, by a
Manchester hatter I believe," and a rainproof coat "rather thinnish and
brown."

The Manchester hat stuck in Cranbourne's throat a trifle since it
widened the circle of enquiry.

The porter at the revolving door believed the gentleman had gone toward
Piccadilly--walking. Yes, he was sure he hadn't taken a cab. Gave him
a shilling and five coppers.

Cranbourne thanked them and spent the rest of the day passing in and
out of every well known grill room in London. It was sound enough
reasoning but it brought no results. At twelve o'clock the same night
he paid a flying visit to all the dancing rooms--Murray's, Giro's,
Rector's, The Embassy, Savoy and half a dozen others. At three o'clock
he rang up Daimler's, hired a car and drove to Brighton because many
men come up from Brighton by day and bring no evening clothes. Besides
the time of his departure from the Berkeley plus a walk to Victoria
Station more or less synchronised with the down train to Brighton. He
spent the best part of the following day racing through hotel lists and
looking up visitors at Brighton, Eastbourne, Hastings and Folkestone.
He was back in Town again by 7.30, at the Theatre Library, where he
bought a single ticket for twelve musical plays and revues selecting
them from the class of entertainment Barraclough himself would have
been likely to attend. It was a restless evening, dashing from one
place to another and sorting over the audiences in the narrow margin of
time allowed by intervals. Afterwards he spent an hour by the fountain
in Piccadilly Circus keenly examining the thousands of passers-by.

It was very late indeed when he struck one hand against the other and
cried out,

"Oh, my Lord, what a fool I am."

A new significance had suddenly suggested itself as a result of Brown's
repetition of the mysterious diner's remark, "I repeat I have no
evening clothes." Cranbourne had taken it to imply that there had been
no time to dress but why not accept it literally.

Two whole days wasted looking at men in white shirt fronts and black
coats!

"Lord, what an idiot I am. Alter your line of thought and alter it
quick."

He began to walk briskly, muttering to himself as he strode along.

"No dress clothes--deuce of an appetite. Chap