in Polkington had it in the morning, he in the
afternoon; he wore, or attempted to (they fell off rather often), very
old slippers indeed, and a coat of surprising shabbiness which he
reserved for home use. For a moment he stared at his visitor in
astonishment, and Rawson-Clew apologised for his intrusion. "I was
looking for Captain Polkington," he said. "I was told he was probably
here."

"Ah!" Mr. Gillat exclaimed, his face lighting into a smile. "Of
course, of course! Captain Polkington's out just now, but he'll be in
soon. Come in, won't you; come in and wait for him."

He hospitably dragged forward the shabby easy-chair. "Try that, won't
you?" he said. "It's really comfortable--not that one, that's a little
weak in the legs; it ought to be put away; it's deceptive to people
who don't know it."

He pushed the offending chair against the wall, his slippers flapping
on his feet, so that he thought it less noticeable to surreptitiously
kick them off. "My name's Gillat," he went on. "Captain Polkington is
an old friend of mine."

"Mr. Gillat?" Rawson-Clew said. He remembered the name, and something
Julia had said about the bearer of it. It was he who had given her the
big gold watch she wore, and he of whom she had seemed fond, in a
half-protecting, half-patient way, that was rather inexplicable--at
least it was till he saw Mr. Gillat.

"Perhaps," Rawson-Clew said, "you can tell me what I want to know--it
is about Miss Julia Polkington. I met her in Holland during the
summer."

He may have thought of giving some idea of intimacy, or of explaining
his interest; but, if so, he changed his mind; anything of the kind
was perfectly unnecessary to Mr. Gillat, who did not dream of
questioning his reason.

"Ah, yes," he said; "Julia is in Holland; she has been there a long
time."

"Is she there still?" Rawson-Clew asked. "Can you give me her
address?"

"Well," Johnny said regretfully, "not exactly. But she is abroad
somewhere," the last with an increase of cheerfulness, as if to
indicate that this was something, at all events.

"You don't know where she is?" Rawson-Clew inquired. "Does her father?
I suppose he does--some one must."

"No," Johnny said. "No; I'm afraid not. Certainly her father does not,
nor her mother--none of us know; but, as you say, somebody must
know--the people she is with, for instance."

Rawson-Clew grew a little impatient. "Do you mean," he said, "that her
family are content to know not