."

As we followed him into the hall the porter went on whispering to
Willoughby.

"Friend of mine. Always do me a turn. Going right to your square." He
continued to nod his head confidentially.

Willoughby turned to me.

"Got half-a-crown?" he grunted.

I had. The porter's head-noddings redoubled.

Arrived at the door, we found a resplendent car, a chauffeur of the
imperturbable order seated at the wheel.

"I'm very much obliged----," Willoughby began.

"That's all right, Sir," said the man. "I'm going that way."

We stepped in, drew the fur rug over our legs, and the car glided off.

"It's a nice car," said Willoughby.

"I understand that the chauffeur is a friend of the hall porter?" I
commented.

"That is so."

"And the owner of the car is----?"

"Some person unknown."

"Where ignorance is bliss----"

"I am a little doubtful if the chauffeur will mention our ride to his
master, if that is what you mean," said Willoughby.

"Have you considered the bearing of the law concerning Conspiracy on
this case?" I asked.

"I have not, nor do I intend to," said Willoughby airily. "The law
concerning Bribery and Corruption has a much more direct bearing. Got
two more half-crowns?"

I was searching for them as we turned into the square in which we live
and the car slowed down.

"Tell him it's at the far corner," I said.

And then suddenly a rasping voice sounded on the night air:--

"Here, Rodgers! Where are you off to? You're very late, you know--very
late."

The car had stopped with a jerk before a house which was certainly not
our house. A stream of light from the open door flooded the pavement.
On the steps stood Percival, the man I had that row with about the
Square garden. On the pavement, his hand outstretched to open the car
door, was he of the rasping voice.

"This is the owner," said Willoughby, and he laughed quietly to
himself. He always giggles in a crisis. I could have kicked him. But
at the moment I was hurriedly debating whether I could possibly escape
by the door on the far side without being seen. "A small thin man
might have done it," I thought. But, alas! I am neither small nor
thin.

Then the door of the car opened and Willoughby stepped forth into the
limelight, as it were. During the evening the dumb-crambo and such
had rather dishevelled his hair, and a wisp of it now appeared from
beneath the brim of an elderly Homburg hat pushed on to the back
of his head. Under his ar