“And he managed to escape you after all,” said Kitwater.  “That man would outwit the Master of all Liars Himself.  He is out of England by this time, and we shall lose him.”

“He has not escaped me,” I replied quietly.  “I know where he is, and I have got a man on his track.”

“Then where is he?” asked Kitwater.  “If you know where he is, you ought to be with him yourself instead of down here.  You are paid to conduct the case.  How do you know that your man may not bungle it, and that we may not lose him again?”

His tone was so rude and his manner so aggressive, that his niece was about to protest.  I made a sign to her, however, not to do so.

“I don’t think you need be afraid, Mr. Kitwater,” I said more soothingly than I felt.  “My man is a very clever and reliable fellow, and you may be sure that, having once set eyes on Mr. Hayle, he will not lose sight of him again.  I shall leave for Paris to-morrow morning, and shall immediately let you know the result of my search.  Will that suit you?”

“It will suit me when I get hold of Hayle,” he replied.  “Until then I shall know no peace.  Surely you must understand that?”

Then, imagining perhaps, that he had gone too far, he began to fawn upon me, and what was worse praised my methods of elucidating a mystery.  I cannot say which I disliked the more.  Indeed, had it not been that I had promised Miss Kitwater to take up the case, and that I did not want to disappoint her, I believe I should have abandoned it there and then, out of sheer disgust.  A little later our hostess proposed that we should adjourn to the house, as it was neatly lunch-time.  We did so, and I was shown to a pretty bedroom to wash my hands.  It was a charming apartment, redolent of the country, smelling of lavender, and after London, as fresh as a glimpse of a new life.  I looked about me, took in the cleanliness of everything, and contrasted it with my own dingy apartments at Rickford’s Hotel, where the view from the window was not of meadows and breezy uplands, but of red roofs, chimney-pots, and constantly revolving cowls.  I could picture the view from this window in the early morning, with the dew upon the grass, and the blackbirds whistling in the shrubbery.  I am not a vain man, I think, but at this juncture I stood before the looking-glass and surveyed myself.  For the first time in my life I could have wished that I had been better-looking.  At last I turned angrily away.

“What a duffer I am to be sure!” I said to myself.  “If I begin to get notions like this in my head there is no knowing where I may end.  As if any girl would ever think twice about me!”