utes of leaving the restaurant.
Here he paid the man, and, entering the station, turned to the
refreshment room and ordered a liqueur brandy. While he sipped it, he
smoked a cigarette and carefully reread in a strong light the note which
he had received. The signature especially he pored over for some time.
At last, however, he replaced it in his pocket, paid his bill, and,
stepping out once more on to the platform, entered a telephone booth. A
few minutes later he left the station, and, turning to the right, walked
slowly as far as Tooley Street. He kept on the right-hand side until he
arrived at the spot where the great arches, with their scanty lights,
make a gloomy thoroughfare into Bermondsey. In the shadow of the first
of these he paused, and looked steadfastly across the street. There were
few people passing and practically no traffic. In front of him was a row
of warehouses, all save one of which was wrapped in complete darkness.
It was the one where some lights were still burning which De Grost stood
and watched.

The lights, such as they were, seemed to illuminate the ground
floor only. From his hidden post he could see the shoulders of a man
apparently bending over a ledger, diligently writing. At the next window
a youth, seated upon a tall stool, was engaged in presumably the same
occupation. There was nothing about the place in the least mysterious
or out of the way. Even the blinds of the offices had been left undrawn.
The man and the boy, who were alone visible, seemed, in a sense, to be
working under protest. Every now and then the former stopped to yawn,
and the latter performed a difficult balancing feat upon his stool. De
Grost, having satisfied his curiosity, came presently from his shelter,
almost running into the arms of a policeman, who looked at him closely.
The Baron, who had an unlighted cigarette in his mouth, stopped to ask
for a light, and his appearance at once set at rest any suspicions the
policeman might have had.

"I have a warehouse myself down in these parts," he remarked, as he
struck the match, "but I don't allow my people to work as late as that."

He pointed across the way, and the policeman smiled.

"They are very often late there, sir," he said. "It's a Continental wine
business, and there's always one or two of them over time."

"It's bad business, all the same," De Grost declared pleasantly. "Good
night, policeman!"

"Good night, sir!"

De Grost crossed the road diagon