unted up to forty.

She had hoped not to go back to the room of the dead man. She had
searched it from end to end. But now she knew the thing would have to be
done.

Already the jet and steel bag hung by its ribbons over her arm. Clo
switched off the electricity, and let herself out into the hall. Before
she had finished her count of sixty seconds she was once more locked in
Peterson's room. So confidently had she expected to hear the same
foreign-sounding accents that she almost dropped the receiver and
started away when her "Hello!" was answered by a strange voice.

Yet--was it a strange voice? As it went on to ask: "Is this Mr.
Peterson?" Clo had a strong impression that she had heard the voice
before. Assuredly it was not the one which had talked to "Kit," but it
sounded astonishingly familiar. Though she could not yet identify the
tones recognition was only a question of instants.

"This is Mr. Peterson's room," she replied. "He is--here. He wishes me
to speak for him."

"I had better tell you before we go further, then, that I'm talking for
Mr. John Heron. When you have explained that, Mr. Peterson will decide
whether he'd rather come to the 'phone and attend to the business
himself."

Clo was glad of the pause. "John Heron!" That was the man Peterson had
mentioned during her second conversation with him. He had said that
Roger Sands was "working for John Heron" when Roger and Beverley met in
the train; and she--Clo--had heard the name with a queer thrill which
she could not understand. So far as she knew, it was strange to her: yet
she seemed to have heard it in dreams--sad dreams, where someone had
sobbed in the dark. Through the strenuous adventures which had kept body
and brain busy the girl had recalled it again and again, since the
moment when the name had fallen from Peterson's lips. She had wondered
if she would ever have the "cheek" to ask Angel who was John Heron.
Whoever he might be, John Heron was in some way concerned with
Beverley's secret, or Peterson would not have spoken his name in that
connection.

She answered quietly: "Mr. Peterson allows me to go on speaking for
him."

"Very well," returned the voice. "Mr. Peterson called Mr. Heron up not
long ago, to say he could sell him a rope of fine pearls for Mrs. Heron,
at a low price. He'd heard, it appears, that Mr. Heron wished to buy
pearls, and he suggested an appointment for to-night. Mr. Heron did not
receive this message himself; he