Goodbye. I'm busy."

He shook hands with his visitor and led him to the door; Chalk, after a
vain attempt to obtain particulars, walked slowly home.

Despite his curiosity it was nearly half-past eight when he arrived at
Mr. Tredgold's that evening, and was admitted by his host. The latter,
with a somewhat trite remark about the virtues of punctuality, led the
way upstairs and threw open the door of his study.

"Here he is," he announced.

A slender figure sitting bolt upright in a large grandfather-chair turned
at their entrance, and revealed to the astonished Mr. Chalk the
expressive features of Miss Selina Vickers; facing her at the opposite
side of the room Mr. Stobell, palpably ruffled, eyed her balefully.

"This is a new client of mine," said Tredgold, indicating Miss Vickers.

[Illustration: "'This is a new client of mine,' said Tredgold."]

Mr. Chalk said "Good evening."

"I tried to get a word with you last night," said Miss Vickers. "I was
down at the bottom of your garden whistling for over ten minutes as hard
as I could whistle. I wonder you didn't hear me."

"Hear you!" cried Mr. Chalk, guiltily conscious of a feeling of
disappointment quite beyond his control. "What do you mean by coming and
whistling for me, eh? What do you mean by it?"