Bertie Adams on this close September evening had out-stayed the other employes of Fraser and Warren in their fifth floor office at No. 88-90 Chancery Lane.  He had remained after office hours to do a little work, a little “self-improvement”; and he was just about to close the outer office and leave the key with the housekeeper, when the lift came surging up and out of it stepped a young man in a summer suit and a bowler hat who, to Bertie’s astonishment, not only dashed straight at the door of the partners’ room, but opened its Yale lock with a latch-key as though long accustomed to do so.  “But, sir!...” exclaimed the junior clerk (his promotion to that rank had tacitly dated from Vivie Warren’s departure).  “It’s all right,” said the stranger.  “I’m Mr. David Williams and I’ve come to draw up some notes for Mrs. Claridge.  I dare say Miss Fraser has told you I should work in the office every now and then whilst my cousin—­Miss Warren, you know—­is away.  You needn’t wait, though you can close the outer office before you go; and, by the bye, you might fetch me Who’s Who for the present year.”  All this was said a little breathlessly.

Bertie brought the volume, then only half the size of its present bulk, because it lacked our new nobility and gave no heed to your favourite recreation.  D.V.  Williams stood in the yellow light of the west window, reading a letter...  “Cousin?  No!  Twin brother, perhaps; but had she one?...” mused Bertie... and then, that never-to-be-forgotten voice ...  “Here’s ’Oo’s Oo—­er—­Hoo’s Hoo, I mean....  Miss...”  He only added the last word as by some sub-conscious instinct.

“Mister Williams,” said Vivien-David-Warren Williams, facing him with resolute eyes.  “Be quite clear about that, Adams; David Vavasour Williams, Miss Warren’s cousin.”

“Indeed I will be, Miss ...  Mister ... er ...  Sir...” said the transfigured Bertie (his brain voice saying over and over again in ecstasy ... “I tumble to it! I tumble to it!").  And then again “Indeed I will, Mr. Williams.  I’m a bit stupidlike this evenin’ ... readin’ too much....  May I stay and help you, Sir?  I’m pretty quick on the typewriter, Miss Warren may have told you ...  Sir ... and I ain’t—­I mean—­I am not—­half bad with me shorthand....  You know—­I mean, she would know I’d joined them evenin’ classes...”

“Thank you, Adams; but if you have joined the evening classes you oughtn’t to interrupt your attendance there.  I can quite manage here alone and you need not be afraid:  I shall leave everything properly closed.  You could give up the key of the outer office as you go out.  You may often find me at work here after office hours, but that need not disturb you ... and I need hardly say, after all Miss Fraser and Miss Warren have told me about you, I rely on you to be at all times thoroughly discreet and not likely to discuss the work of this firm or my share in it with any one?"...