Wrayson laughed a little shamefacedly.

"To tell you the truth," he said, "I am beginning to feel ashamed of myself. I think it was the sense of being spied upon, and being alone—in this room—which got a bit on my nerves. I feel a different man since you came down."

The Colonel nodded cheerfully.

"That's all right," he declared. "The next thing to—"

The Colonel broke off in the midst of his sentence. A few feet away from him the telephone bell was ringing. Wrayson rose to his feet and took the receiver into his hand.

"Hullo!" he said.

The voice which answered him was faint but clear. Wrayson almost dropped the instrument. He recognized it at once.

"Is that Mr. Herbert Wrayson?" it asked.

"Yes!" Wrayson answered. "Who are you?"

"I am the person who spoke to you a few nights ago," was the answer. "Never mind my name for the present. I wish to arrange a meeting—for some time to-morrow. I have a matter—of business—to discuss with you."

"Anywhere—at any time," Wrayson answered, almost fiercely. "You cannot be as anxious to see me as I am to know who you are."

The voice changed a little in its intonation. A note of mockery had stolen into it.

"You flatter me," it said. "I trust that our meeting will be mutually agreeable. You must excuse my coming to Battersea, as I understand that your flat is subjected to a most inconvenient surveillance. May I call at the office of your paper, at say eleven o'clock tomorrow?"

"Yes!" Wrayson answered. "You know where it is?"

"Certainly! I shall be there. A Mr. Bentham will ask for you. Good night!"

Wrayson's unknown friend had rung off. He replaced the receiver and turned to the Colonel.

"Do you know who that was?" he asked eagerly.

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