. against the
Order of the British Empire; it deserves well of the country.

"When does he go to Streatham?" enquired Colonel Walton.

"I go now," responded Finlay, "if I find the place. These suburbs!"
He rolled his eyes expressively.

Malcolm Sage smiled grimly.

II

For some time Mr. Naylor had sat staring in front of him, immobile but
for the movement of his eyes and the compression of his pouch-like lips
as he swallowed. Irritation or anxiety always caused him to swallow
with a noisy gulp-like sound.

Since lunch he had scowled impartially upon everything. Mrs. Naylor,
Susan, James, the paper, his food, all seemed to come under the ban of
his displeasure. From time to time he muttered under his breath. He
made several efforts to concentrate upon the newspaper before him, but
without success. His eyes would wander from the page and scowl into
vacancy. The heavy jowls seemed to mould his face into a brutal
square, which with his persistent swallowing gave him the appearance of
a toad.

His original anger at the threatened advent of a visitor seemed to have
changed into irritation at his non-arrival. From time to time he
looked at his watch. A step echoing in the street brought him to a
listening attitude. When at last a ring sounded at the bell, followed
by a peremptory "rat-tat," he started violently. He listened intently
to the pad of Mrs. Naylor's footsteps along the passage, to the murmur
of voices that followed, and the sound of steps approaching.

When the door opened, the scowl had fled from Mr. Naylor's features,
the jowls had lifted, the set frown had passed from his brows. His
mouth was pursed up into a smile only one degree less repellent than
the look that it had replaced. Mr. Naylor had assumed his best
public-meeting manner.

"Mr. Van Helder?" he queried, as he shook hands and motioned his
visitor to a seat.

"We shall not be overheard, no?" interrogated Van Helder.

Mr. Naylor shook his head, transferring his eyes from a paper-weight
before him to his visitor's face and back again to the paper-weight.

"These London suburbs!" exclaimed Van Helder, as he drew a silk
handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wipe his face. "I seem
to have pursued you to everywhere. I crossed from Bergen on the 21st,"
he added with a smile.

"The 21st," repeated Mr. Naylor.

"Just ten days ago," continued Van Helder. "I came not before
because----" He raised his eyes suddenly and