Crawshay assured him. "I have had my chance but let it slip. You know I had
my training at Scotland Yard, but out in the States I found that I simply
had to forget all that I knew. Their methods are entirely different from
ours, and you see what a failure I have made of it. I have let them get
away with the papers under my very nose."

"I can't see that you were very much to blame, Mr. Crawshay," the detective
observed. "It was a unique trick, and very cleverly worked out."

They had turned off the main thoroughfare and were now brought to a
standstill in the courtyard leading to the Savoy. Suddenly Crawshay gripped
his companion by the arm and directed his attention to a man who was buying
some roses in the florist's shop.

"You see that man?" he said. "Watch him carefully. I'll tell you why when
we get inside."

The eyes of Mr. Brightman and Jocelyn Thew met over the gorgeous cluster of
red roses which the girl was in the act of removing from the window, and
from that moment the struggle which was to come assumed a different
character. Brightman's thin mouth seemed to have tightened until the line
of red had almost disappeared. There was a flush upon his sallow cheeks.
The hand which was gripping his walking stick went white about the
knickles. But in Jocelyn Thew there was no change save a little added
glitter in the eyes. There was nothing else to indicate that the
recognition was mutual.

"Well, what about him?" Brightman asked, as their taxicab moved on. "What
does he call himself?"