Heneage helped himself to a cigarette from Mason's case, and leaned back
in his chair.

"I never have the patience," he remarked, "to read about these things in
the newspapers, but the Colonel's _resume_ is always thrilling. Do go on.
There won't be any pool till four o'clock."

The Colonel smiled good-naturedly.

"It's good of you fellows to listen to my prosing," he remarked. "No use
denying that it is a sort of hobby of mine. You all know it. Well, we'll
say we've finished with the cabby, then. Enter upon the scene, of all
people in the world, our friend Wrayson!"

"Hear, hear!" murmured Mason.

Wrayson changed his position slightly. With his head resting upon his
hand, he seemed to be engaged in tracing patterns upon the tablecloth.

"Wrayson knows nothing of Barnes beyond the fact that they are neighbours
in the same flats. Being the assistant editor of a journal of world-wide
fame, however, he has naturally a telephone in his flat. By means of that
instrument he receives a message in the middle of the night from an
unknown person in an unknown place, which he is begged to convey to
Barnes. The message is in itself mysterious. Taken in conjunction with
what happened to Barnes, it is deeply interesting. Barnes, it seems, is
to go immediately on his arrival, at whatever hour, to the Hotel Francis.
Presumably he would know from whom the message came, and the sender does
not seem to have doubted that if it was conveyed to Barnes he would obey