He held a florin in readiness; the rain, now falling heavily, did not
encourage any loitering on the pavement. For all that, he saw out of
the tail of his eye that the other man was approaching, though he had
paused to examine the numbers blazoned on a lamp over the first
doorway.

"Good night, sir, and thank you!" said the taxi driver.

The cab made off as Theydon ran up a short flight of steps. Innesmore
Mansions did not boast elevators. The flats were comfortable, but not
absurdly expensive, and their inmates climbed stairs cheerfully; at
most, they had only to mount to a second storey. Each block owned a
uniformed porter, who, on a night like this, even in May, needed
rousing from his lair by a bell if in demand.

Theydon took the stairs two at a stride, opened the door of No. 18,
which, with No. 17, occupied the top landing. He was valeted and
cooked for by an ex-sergeant of the Army Service Corps and his wife,
an admirable couple named Bates, and the male of the species appeared
before Theydon had removed coat and opera hat in the tiny hall.

"Bring my tray in fifteen minutes, Bates, and that will be all for
tonight," said Theydon.

"Yes, sir," said Bates. "Remarkable change in the weather, sir."

"Rotten. Who would have expected this downpour after such a fine day?"

Bates took the coat and hat, and Theydon entered his sitting room, a
spacious, square apartment which faced the gardens. He had purposely