“A bit of a rounder, that chap,” said Nevill.  “He’s not your sort.  What have you been doing with yourself for the last two weeks?  I’ve not seen you since you sailed for India, early in the summer.”

“How did you find me to-night?” asked Jack, in a tone which suggested that he did not want to be found.

“I met a Johnny who told me where you were.  I vowed he was mistaken at first, but he stuck to it so positively—­”

“You said you wanted to talk to me,” Jack interrupted.  “I suppose it is about—­”

“No; you’re wrong. She is in Paris, and she won’t trouble you again.  The fact is, I have a message for you from Lamb and Drummond.  They’ve been trying to find you for a fortnight.”

“Lamb and Drummond looking for me?  Ah, yes, I think I know what they want.”

“It’s a queer business, isn’t it?  My uncle is mixed up in it—­Sir Lucius Chesney, you know.”

“Then he has told you—­”

“Only a little.  It’s not my affair, and I would rather not speak about it.  Can I tell Mr. Lamb that you will call upon him at five o’clock to-morrow afternoon—­or this afternoon, to be correct?  They will want to get my uncle from the country.”

“I will be there at that hour,” Jack assented, and with a hasty “Good-night” he was gone, striding rapidly away.  Nevill looked after him for a moment, and then sauntered home.  The street lights showed a sneering smile of satisfaction on his face.

Jack could easily have picked up a cab, but he preferred to walk.  He went along the Strand, now waking up to the life and traffic of early morning.  Turning into Wellington street, he crossed Waterloo Bridge, and the gray dawn was breaking when he let himself into a big, dingy house not far from the river.  Here, remote from his friends, he had chosen to live, in two rooms which he had fitted up more than comfortably with recent purchases.  Even Jimmie did not know where he was—­never dreamed of looking for him on the Surrey side.  His brain was too active for sleep, and he sat up smoking another hour.

It was two o’clock in the afternoon when Jack awoke from an unrefreshing slumber; his head was heavy, and he would have liked to remain in bed for the rest of the day.  He remembered that he had two engagements; he had promised to attend a “do” at a studio in Joubert Mansions, Chelsea, where he would meet a lot of Tony Mostyn’s set, and make night noisy until the wee hours of the morning.  At four o’clock he started to dress for the evening.  At five a cab put him down in Pall Mall, opposite the premises of Lamb and Drummond.  A clerk conducted him to the private office, which was well lighted.  Mr. Lamb was present, and with him a soldierly, aristocratic-looking gentleman who had been summoned by wire from Sussex.  Victor Nevill would have been there also, but he had pleaded a previous engagement.

The military gentleman was formally introduced as Sir Lucius Chesney.  Jack shook hands with him nonchalantly, and wondered what was coming next; he did not much care.  Sir Lucius regarded Jack carelessly at first, then with a stare that was almost impertinent.  He adjusted a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses, and looked again.  He leaned forward in his chair, under the influence of some strong agitation.