“Deal with any reports yourself,” resumed Soames, “and send them to me personally, marked confidential, sealed and registered.  My client exacts the utmost secrecy.”

Mr. Polteed smiled, as though saying, ’You are teaching your grandmother, my dear sir;’ and his eyes slid over Soames’ face for one unprofessional instant.

“Make his mind perfectly easy,” he said.  “Do you smoke?”

“No,” said Soames.  “Understand me:  Nothing may come of this.  If a name gets out, or the watching is suspected, it may have very serious consequences.”

Mr. Polteed nodded.  “I can put it into the cipher category.  Under that system a name is never mentioned; we work by numbers.”

He unlocked another drawer and took out two slips of paper, wrote on them, and handed one to Soames.

“Keep that, sir; it’s your key.  I retain this duplicate.  The case we’ll call 7x.  The party watched will be 17; the watcher 19; the Mansions 25; yourself—­I should say, your firm—­31; my firm 32, myself 2.  In case you should have to mention your client in writing I have called him 43; any person we suspect will be 47; a second person 51.  Any special hint or instruction while we’re about it?”

“No,” said Soames; “that is—­every consideration compatible.”

Again Mr. Polteed nodded.  “Expense?”

Soames shrugged.  “In reason,” he answered curtly, and got up.  “Keep it entirely in your own hands.”

“Entirely,” said Mr. Polteed, appearing suddenly between him and the door.  “I shall be seeing you in that other case before long.  Good morning, sir.”  His eyes slid unprofessionally over Soames once more, and he unlocked the door.

“Good morning,” said Soames, looking neither to right nor left.

Out in the street he swore deeply, quietly, to himself.  A spider’s web, and to cut it he must use this spidery, secret, unclean method, so utterly repugnant to one who regarded his private life as his most sacred piece of property.  But the die was cast, he could not go back.  And he went on into the Poultry, and locked away the green morocco case and the key to that cipher destined to make crystal-clear his domestic bankruptcy.

Odd that one whose life was spent in bringing to the public eye all the private coils of property, the domestic disagreements of others, should dread so utterly the public eye turned on his own; and yet not odd, for who should know so well as he the whole unfeeling process of legal regulation.

He worked hard all day.  Winifred was due at four o’clock; he was to take her down to a conference in the Temple with Dreamer Q.C., and waiting for her he re-read the letter he had caused her to write the day of Dartie’s departure, requiring him to return.

“Dear Montague,

“I have received your letter with the news that you have left me for ever and are on your way to Buenos Aires.  It has naturally been a great shock.  I am taking this earliest opportunity of writing to tell you that I am prepared to let bygones be bygones if you will return to me at once.  I beg you to do so.  I am very much upset, and will not say any more now.  I am sending this letter registered to the address you left at your Club.  Please cable to me.