Whilst Lechmere was making the best of his way from the Herald office to the chambers in the big block occupied by General Maxgregor, he, it will be remembered, lay perfectly still on his bed watching the light broadening under the door of his sitting-room. It was a thrilling moment for both Maxwell and himself.

"What are you going to do?" Maxwell whispered. "Shall I go and see what the fellow is after?"

"No," Maxgregor replied. "Stay where you are. Unless I am greatly mistaken, I know who it is. Our friend is coming in here to investigate."

Surely enough the double doors were opening and the figure walked in. He came boldly enough with the light behind him into the comparative darkness of the bedroom. He fumbled along the wall for the switch, and presently the bedroom also was flooded with light. Mazaroff stood there, his hands apparently covered with pitch, for they were black and sticky, and he was looking round for the washstand.

"If there is anything you want and you don't see it," Maxgregor said coolly "ring the bell."

Mazaroff gave a startled cry. The man was genuinely astonished, of that there could be no doubt. He looked helplessly from Maxgregor to Maxwell and back again.

"I am exceedingly sorry," he stammered. "I—I have come to the wrong rooms."

"Where did you get the key of my suite from?" Maxgregor demanded.

"Who from?" Mazaroff asked helplessly. "Why, from Barlow—Barlow who occupies the suite that I took for this one. You see, Barlow is a friend of mine. Very unfortunate that the key should fit both outer rooms."

"Very," Maxgregor said drily. "When was it that Barlow gave you the key?"

"Yesterday, or the day before?" Mazaroff explained. "You see, he is away from London. As a matter of fact he wanted to let the suite, and I wanted it for a friend. It's very strange that I should find you here like this. I can only tender you my very sincere apologies."

"Better wash your hands before you go," Maxwell suggested grimly. "Were you looking for the basin?"

"That is it," Mazaroff said hurriedly. "You see, I thought I knew my way about the suite, having been so often in Barlow's rooms. I—I slipped getting out of a cab just now and fell on a newly finished piece of asphalte pavement. May I use your basin?"

Maxgregor grimly intimated that the basin was at the disposal of the intruder, who did not cease to pour out floods of apologies. Mazaroff was pretty much at his ease again by this time. He was quite concerned to see Maxgregor looking so pale. Was he suffering from that old malarial fever again?

"Sprained ankle," Maxgregor said sketchily. "Nothing very much to speak of. As a matter of fact, I have never been in better health in my life. It seems to me——"

Maxgregor paused and broke off with a quick sneeze. The thing was ostensibly done, and served very well to hide an exclamation of surprise. For in the sitting-room, with his finger to his lips, Lechmere stood. He shook his head warningly, and pointed to Mazaroff. Then he crossed the room and took his place behind the heavy curtain before the window. No sooner was he secure of his hiding place than he walked out and signified Maxwell to approach the window.

In a casual way Maxwell sauntered into the sitting-room. He first moved the curtain, and appeared to be looking idly into the street below.

"Good boy!" Lechmere whispered approvingly. "What is that fellow doing here? Said he came here in mistake, for a suite of rooms occupied by a man named Barlow? Didn't come here to murder Maxgregor as you might have been inclined to imagine. Well, I quite agree that Mazaroff has made a mistake and shall be able to prove to you why a little later on. I want you to shut the bedroom door for a time till I give you the signal—a tap of the blind on the window—and keep Mazaroff talking. Make him feel at his ease, if possible. Big events are in the air."

Maxwell sauntered back to the bedroom and pulled the door to behind him. Mazaroff was quite himself again by this time, and stood chatting gaily to Maxgregor. It was no part of the latter's policy to let Mazaroff know that he had been nearly done to death at Merehaven House.

"How did you come by that sprained ankle?" he asked. "You seemed all right just an hour or so ago, when I saw you at Merehaven House."

"That's where I did it," Maxgregor lied coolly. He had no scruples whatever in dealing with a man like Mazaroff. "Slipped on a confounded banana skin, which, by the way, is a little more dangerous than orange peel. It's a nuisance just at present, when I am so busy with Asturian affairs and the king is such a handful to hold. I daresay some confounded Russian placed that banana skin for me."

"Don't forget that Prince Mazaroff is a Russian," Maxwell laughed.

"Oh, you need not trouble about me," Mazaroff said in his most fascinating manner. "There are Russians and Russians. I am too enlightened and progressive to feel comfortable in my own country, and that is why I spend so much time in England. So far as I am concerned, you have all my sympathy in your efforts to check the Russian influence in the Balkans. What was that?"

From the sitting-room beyond there came the sounds of somebody gently whistling. The thing was natural enough, and yet Mazaroff listened with a certain suggestion of uneasiness. It came to Maxwell, quick as a flash, that here was something that Mazaroff must not see, for a moment at any rate. Lechmere had charged him distinctly to keep Mazaroff talking for a time.

"My man, I expect," he explained. "I told him to come here about this time, and I suppose he is whistling to let me know that he is handy. When anybody is in trouble, as I am at present, it behoves one to be careful. As one accused of betraying diplomatic secrets——"

"Not at all, my dear fellow," Mazaroff said graciously. "Pray do not apologise. There is a great deal too much fuss made over that kind of thing. The sale of diplomatic secrets is a brisk one in my own country, or how would so many of our poor aristocracy live? And you are innocent, of course. The mere fact that Lancing has made away with himself proves that."

Maxwell turned away so that the speaker should not see his face. It was hard work to keep his hands off the ruffian who was one of the main causes of the trouble. Perhaps Maxgregor divined that, for he hastened to change the conversation. Meanwhile, the whistling in the next room went on....

Lechmere carelessly pulled a section of the curtain aside and looked out. He saw a little man with a clean-shaven face and shrewd eye sitting swinging his legs on the edge of the table and whistling very softly to himself. The little man seemed to be quite at home; he was perfectly cool and collected, save that his face was shining with something that looked like an intense perspiration. He had a small bag with him of which he seemed to be very careful. If he was satisfied with himself, Lechmere grinned with the air of a man who is still more satisfied.

As a matter of fact, Lechmere had discovered all that he desired for the present. He swayed the knot of the blind cord backwards and forwards gently, as if the draught from the open windows was moving it. The knot tapped idly on the panes, and Maxwell's keen ear heard it. The time had come to get rid of Mazaroff. Maxwell opened the door leading into the corridor.

"Excuse me if I ask you to go," he said. "I have some business to settle with Maxgregor, and I have to be on my way to Dover within an hour. It is not very polite of me, but——"

And Maxwell shrugged his shoulders. Mazaroff departed with a graceful apology. He passed along the corridor till he came to the open sitting-room door. He looked in and grabbed for the shoulders of the little man who sat whistling on the table.

"You fool!" he said. "If you only knew how near you have been to betraying everything! But I am to blame as I mistook the room, perhaps because the door was open. Come along at once."

The little man murmured something to the effect that he was ready to do anything for a quiet life, and obediently followed Mazaroff. Lechmere crept from the shadow of the curtain and closed the outer door of the sitting-room. Then he called for Maxwell, who came immediately.

"Is there anything fresh?" he demanded eagerly. "Is there anything that I can do for you?"

"Yes," Lechmere said crisply. "You can do a great deal for me, and you need ask no questions for the present, for I have no time to reply to them. Ask Maxgregor if he has any of his fishing tackle here. If he has, ask him to let me have a long length of salmon line on a reel. The sooner I have it the better I shall be pleased."

"In the bottom drawer of my writing table," Maxgregor called out. "What are you up to now?"