Stanford Beale looked at his watch.
"It is the hour," he said oracularly, and got up.
"I'll leave this untidiness for your man to clear," said Kitson. "Where do you go now?"
"To see Hilda Glaum—if the fates are kind," said Beale. "I'm going to put up a bluff, believing that in her panic she will lead me into the lion's den with the idea of van Heerden making one mouthful of me. I've got to take that risk. If she is what I think she is, she'll lay a trap for me—I'll fall for it, but I'm going to get next to van Heerden to-night."
Kitson accompanied him to the door of the hotel.
"Take no unnecessary risks," he said at parting, "don't forget that you're a married man."
"That's one of the things I want to forget if you'll let me," said the exasperated young man.
Outside the hotel he hailed a passing taxi and was soon speeding through Piccadilly westward. He turned by Hyde Park Corner, skirted the grounds of Buckingham Palace and plunged into the maze of Pimlico. He pulled up before a dreary-looking house in a blank and dreary street, and telling the cabman to wait, mounted the steps and rang the bell.
A diminutive maid opened the door.
"Is Miss Glaum in?" he demanded.
"Yes, sir. Will you step into the drawing-room. All the other boarders are out. What name shall I say?"
"Tell her a gentleman from Krooman Mansions," he answered diplomatically.
He walked into the tawdry parlour and put down his hat and stick, and waited. Presently the door opened and the girl came in. She stopped open-mouthed with surprise at the sight of him, and her surprise deepened to suspicion.
"I thought" she began, and checked herself.
"You thought I was Doctor van Heerden? Well, I am not."
"You're the man I saw at Heyler's," she said, glowering at him.
"Yes, my name is Beale."
