lasses,
false-moustaches and grease paint; for hidden away in the inner
recesses of his mind was the conviction that it was not quite
playing the game, as the game should be played, to solve a mystery
or bring a criminal to justice without having recourse to disguise.

It was to him as if Nelson had won the Battle of Trafalgar in a soft
hat and a burberry, or Wellington had met Bluecher in flannels and
silk socks.

Somewhere in the future he saw himself the head of a "William
Johnson Bureau," and in the illustrated papers a portrait of "Mr.
William Johnson as he is," and beneath it a series of characters
that would rival a Dickens novel, with another legend reading, "Mr.
William Johnson as he appears."

With these day-dreams, the junior at the Malcolm Sage Bureau would
occupy the time when not actually engaged either in the performance
of his by no means arduous duties, or in reading the highly-coloured
detective stories from which he drew his inspiration.

From behind the glass-panelled door would come the tick-tack of Miss
Norman's typewriter, whilst outside droned the great symphony of
London, growing into a crescendo as the door was opened, dying away
again as it fell to once more, guided by an automatic self-closer.

From these reveries William Johnson would be aroused either by
peremptory blasts upon the buzzer of the private-telephone, or by
the entry of a client.

One morning, as he was hesitating between assuming the disguise of a
naval commander and a street-hawker, a florid little man with purple
jowl and a white, bristling moustache hurtled through the swing-door,
followed by a tall, spare man, whose clothing indicated his clerical
calling.

"Mr. Sage in?" demanded the little man fiercely.

"Mr. Sage is engaged, sir," said the junior, his eyes upon the
clergyman, in whose appearance there was something that caused
William Johnson to like him on the spot.

"Take my card in to him," said the little, bristly man. "Tell him
that General Sir John Hackblock wishes to see him immediately." The
tone was suggestive of the parade-ground rather than a London office.

At that moment Gladys Norman appeared through the glass-panelled
door. The clergyman immediately removed his hat, the general merely
turned as if changing front to receive a new foe.

"Mr. Sage will be engaged for about a quarter of an hour. I am his
secretary," she explained. She, also, looked at the general's
companion, wondering what sort