he exhibition was announced in the window. Moreover, the man in
front of him was younger than Sir Chichester.

The couple, however, crossed the road to the Square Garden, and Hillyard
saw the man in profile. He stopped so suddenly that a man walking behind
him banged heavily against his back. The man walked on and turned round
after he had passed to stare at Hillyard. For Hillyard stood stock
still, he was unaware that any one had run into him, in all his body his
lips alone moved.

"Mario," he whispered. "Mario Escobar!"

The man who had been so far the foremost in his thoughts during the last
weeks that he never thought that he could have failed to recognise him.
Mario Escobar! And with Joan Whitworth. Millicent Splay's letter flashed
back into his memory. The distress which he had seemed to hear loud
behind the written words--was this its meaning and explanation? Joan
Whitworth and Mario Escobar! Certainly Joan knew him! He was sitting
next to her on the night when "The Dark Tower" was produced, sitting
next to her, and talking to her. Sir Charles Hardiman had used some
phrase to describe that conversation. Hillyard was strangely anxious to
recapture the phrase. Escobar was talking to her with an air of intimacy
a little excessive in a public place. Yes, that was the sentence.

Hillyard walked on quickly to his club.

"Is Sir Charles Hardiman here?" he asked of the hall porter.

"He is in the card-room, sir."

Martin Hillyard went up the stairs with a sense of relief. His position
was becoming a little complicated. Mario Escobar was B45, and a friend
of Joan Whitworth, and a friend of the Splays. There was one point upon
which Martin Hillyard greatly needed information.

Hardiman, a little heavier and broader and more obese than when Hillyard
had last seen him, was sitting by a bridge table overlooking the
players. He never played himself, nor did he ever bet upon the game, but
he took a curious pleasure in looking on, and would sit in the card-room
by the hour engrossed in the fall of the cards. The sight of Hillyard,
however, plucked him out of his occupation.

"So you're back!" he cried, heaving himself heavily out of his chair and
shaking hands with Martin.

"For a month."

"I hear you have done very well," Sir Charles continued. "Have a
whisky-and-soda."

"Thanks."

Hardiman touched the bell and led the way over to a sofa.

"Lucky man! The doctor's read the Riot Act to me! I met Luttrell in the