Coventry Mansions. The door
was opened by a heavily-built, ill-favoured man. In response to
Malcolm Sage's request to see Mr. Goldschmidt, he was told that he
couldn't.

"Tell him," said Malcolm Sage, fixing his steel-grey eyes upon the
man in a steady gaze, "that Mr. Malcolm Sage wishes to see him about
something that happened last night, and about something more that is
to happen to-morrow night. He'll understand."

A sudden look of apprehension in the man's eyes seemed to suggest
that he at least understood. He hesitated for a moment, then, with a
gruff "Wait there," shut the door in Malcolm Sage's face. Three
minutes later he opened it again and, inviting him to enter, led the
way along a passage, at the end of which was a door, which the man
threw open.

Malcolm Sage found himself in a darkened room, from which the light
was excluded by heavy curtains. For a moment he looked about him,
unable to distinguish any object. When his eyes became accustomed to
the gloom, he saw seated in an armchair a man with a handkerchief
held to his face.

"Mr. Goldschmidt?" he interrogated, as he seated himself in the
centre of the room.

"Well, what is it?" was the thickly spoken retort.

"I came to ask your views on the fight to-morrow night, and to
enquire if you think the odds of nine to two on Jefferson are
justified."

There was an exclamation from the arm-chair.

"If you've got anything to say," said the thick voice angrily, "get
it off your chest and go--to hell," he added, as an afterthought.
"What do you want?" the voice demanded, as Malcolm Sage remained
silent.

"I want you to take a little run with me in my car," said Malcolm
Sage evenly. "Fresh air will do your nose good."

"What the----" the man broke off, apparently choked with passion,
then, recovering himself, added, "Here, cough it up, or else I'll
have you thrown out into the street! What is it?"

"I want either you, or one of your friends, to come with me to where
Charley Burns has been taken."

There was a stifled exclamation from the chair, then a howl of agony
as the hand holding the handkerchief dropped. At the same moment
three men burst into the room. Malcolm Sage's back was to the door.
He did not even turn to look at them.

Somebody switched on the light, and Malcolm Sage saw before him the
puffy face of a man of about sixty, in the centre of which was a
hideous purple splotch that had once been a nose. A moment later the
handkerchief