under his glance and under the sun of a London August, knew exactly the
reason why. The intense dramatic and sentimental interest surrounding
Camilla Payne's disappearance from Department 42 was the sole thing
which atoned to the legionaries for the inconvenience of Hugo's mistimed
activity.

Then suddenly he fell limp; he perceived the uselessness of this attempt
to forget in Sloane Street, and he decided to try the banks of a certain
trout-stream on Dartmoor. He knew that with all the sun-glare of that
season, and the water doubtless running a great deal too fine, he would
be as likely to catch trout on Dartmoor as on the Thames Embankment; but
he determined to go, and he announced his determination, and the entire
personnel, from the managers to the sweepers, murmured privily, 'Thank
Heaven!'

The moment came for the illustrious departure. His electric coupé stood
at his private door, and his own luggage and Simon Shawn's luggage--for
Simon never entrusted his master to other hands--lay on the roof of the
coupé. Simon, anxiously looking at his watch, chatted with the driver.
Hugo had been stopped on emerging from the lift by the chief accountant
concerning some technical question. At length he came out into the
street.

'Shaving it close, aren't we, Simon?' he remarked, and sprang into the
vehicle, and Simon banged the door and sprang on to the box, and they
seemed to be actually off, much to the relief of Simon, who wanted a
holiday badly.

But they were not actually off. At that very instant, as the driver
pulled his lever, Albert Shawn came frantically into the scene from