But he was very deliberate in the bathroom.  His astonishment grew, rather than decreased.  Clearly Livingstone had not known him.  How, then, had he known that he was in Norada?  And when he recognized him, as he would in a moment, what then?  He put on his collar and tied his tie slowly.  Gregory might be the key.  Gregory might have found out that he had started for Norada and warned him.  Then, if that were true, this man was Clark after all.  But if he were Clark he wouldn’t be there.  It was like a kitten after its tail.  It whirled in a circle and got nowhere.

The waiter had laid his breakfast and gone when he emerged from the bathroom, and Dick was standing by the window looking out.  He turned.

“I’m here, Mr. Bassett, on rather a peculiar—­” He stopped and looked at Bassett.  “I see.  You were in my office about a month ago, weren’t you?”

“For a headache, yes.”  Bassett was very wary and watchful, but there was no particular unfriendliness in his visitor’s eyes.

“It never occurred to me that you might be Bassett,” Dick said gravely.  “Never mind about that.  Eat your breakfast.  Do you mind if I talk while you do it?”

“Will you have some coffee?  I can get a glass from the bathroom.  It takes a week to get a waiter here.”

“Thanks.  Yes.”

The feeling of unreality grew in the reporter’s mind.  It increased still further when they sat opposite each other, the small table with its Bible on the lower shelf between them, while he made a pretense at breakfasting.

“First of all,” Dick said, at last, “I was not sure I had found the right man.  You are the only Bassett in the place, however, and you’re registered from my town.  So I took a chance.  I suppose that headache was not genuine.”

Bassett hesitated.

“No” he said at last.

“What you really wanted to do was to see me, then?”

“In a way, yes.”

“I’ll ask you one more question.  It may clear the air.  Does this mean anything to you?  I’ll tell you now that it doesn’t, to me.”

From his pocketbook he took the note addressed to David, and passed it over the table.  Bassett looked at him quickly and took it.

“Before you read it, I’ll explain something.  It was not sent to me.  It was sent to my—­to Doctor David Livingstone.  It happened to fall into my hands.  I’ve come a long way to find out what it means.”

He paused, and looked the reporter straight in the eyes.  “I am laying my cards on the table, Bassett.  This ‘G,’ whoever he is, is clearly warning my uncle against you.  I want to know what he is warning him about.”

Bassett read the note carefully, and looked up.

“I suppose you know who ‘G’ is?”

“I do not.  Do you?”

“I’ll give you another name, and maybe you’ll get it.  A name that I think will mean something to you.  Beverly Carlysle.”