“Oh, don’t worry about that, sir.”  Blessington had caught the twitching at the corners of Chilcote’s mouth, the nervous sharpness of his voice.  “I can put Craig, Burnage off.  If they have an answer by Thursday it will be time enough.”  He began to collect his papers, but Chilcote stopped him.

“Wait,” he said, veering suddenly.  “Wait.  I’ll see to it now.  I’ll feel more myself when I’ve done something.  I’ll come with you to the study.”

He walked hastily across the room; then, with his hand on the door, he paused.

“You go first, Blessington,” he said.  “I’ll—­I’ll follow you in ten minutes.  I must glance through the newspapers first.”

Blessington looked uncertain.  “You won’t forget, sir?”

“Forget?  Of course not.”

Still doubtfully, Blessington left the room and closed the door.

Once alone, Chilcote walked slowly back to the table, drew up his chair, and sat down with his eyes on the white cloth, the paper lying unheeded beside him.

Time passed.  A servant came into the room to remove the breakfast.  Chilcote moved slightly when necessary, but otherwise retained his attitude.  The servant, having finished his task, replenished the fire and left the room.  Chilcote still sat on.

At last, feeling numbed, he rose and crossed to the fireplace.  The clock on the mantel-piece stared him in the face.  He looked at it, started slightly, then drew out his watch.  Watch and clock corresponded.  Each marked twelve o’clock.  With a nervous motion he leaned forward and pressed the electric bell long and hard.

Instantly a servant answered.

“Is Mr. Blessington in the study?” Chilcote asked.

“He was there, sir, five minutes back.”

Chilcote looked relieved.

“All right!  Tell him I have gone out—­had to go out.  Something important.  You understand?”

“I understand, sir.”

But before the words had been properly spoken Chilcote had passed the man and walked into the hall.

III

Leaving his house, Chilcote walked forward quickly and aimlessly.  With the sting of the outer air the recollection of last night’s adventure came back upon him.  Since the hour of his waking it had hung about with vague persistence, but now in the clear light of day it seemed to stand out with a fuller peculiarity.

The thing was preposterous, nevertheless it was genuine.  He was wearing the overcoat he had worn, the night before, and, acting on impulse, he thrust his hand into the pocket and drew out the stranger’s card.