I
can find out. The people have not been there very long. A few good
servants, but no men, no ladies so far as I can tell, and the master
what you might call a confirmed invalid. Goes about in a bath chair
which he hires from a regular keeper of this class of thing. Not a very
old gent, but you can't quite tell, seeing that he is muffled up to his
eyes. Very pale and feeble he looks."

Berrington muttered something to himself and his eyebrows contracted.
Evidently he was a good deal puzzled by what he had heard.

"That is very strange," he said, "very strange indeed. I will not
disguise from you, Macklin, that I have a very strong reason for wishing
to know everything about No. 100, Audley Place. Keep your eyes open and
glean all the information you possibly can. Talk to the servants and try
to pump them. And write to me as soon as you have found out anything
worth sending. Here is my card. I shall do no good by staying here any
longer at present."

The policeman touched his helmet and strode on his way. Berrington
strolled along under the friendly shadow of the trees till he had left
Audley Place behind him. Once clear of the terrace he called a cab and
was whirled back to town again.

Meanwhile, absolutely unconscious of the fact that he was being so
closely shadowed, Richford had been driven out Wandsworth way. He did
not look in the least like a modern millionaire of good health and
enviable prospects as he drove along. His moody face was pale, his lips
trembled, his eyes were red and bloodshot with the brandy that he had
been drinking. The hand that controlled the market so frequently shook
strangely as Richford pressed the bell of No. 100 Audley Place. There
was no suggestion of tragedy or mystery about the neat parlourmaid who
opened the door.

"Mr. Sartoris desires to see me," Richford said. "He sent me a
messenger--a message to the _Royal Palace Hotel_. Will you please tell
him I am here."

The neat parlourmaid opened the drawing-room door and ushered Richford
in. It was a big room looking on the street, but there was nothing
about it to give the place the least touch of originality. The furniture
was neat and substantial, as might have befitted the residence of a
prosperous City man, the pictures were by well-known artists, the carpet
gave to the feet like moss. There was nothing here to cause Richford to
turn pale, and his lips to quiver.

He paced up and down the room uneasily, starting at every sou