Charles became intensely aware of having made a fool of himself. He gave a short angry laugh.

“It’s a bit late in the day for scenes-isn’t it? I don’t know why I dug that up-it’s rather a poor thing in ghosts. I meant to talk business with you. I’d like to still, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s very late.” The words came slowly. Charles was quite right-it was very late-it was four years too late.

“I won’t keep you long. I wanted to ask you about those statements you signed. Have you any idea who’s got them?”

“I suppose Grey Mask has got them.”

“You don’t think it possible that Freddy has them?”

“Oh no-I’m sure he hasn’t. He told me he had to satisfy the others.”

Charles frowned.

“Those statements must be got back. I can’t move whilst you’re compromised-and I’ve got to move for Greta’s sake.”

Margaret leaned against the mantelpiece.

“I’m afraid there’s no way of getting them back. You had better leave me out of it.”

“How can I?”

“Very easily.”

Charles looked at her coldly.

“I call that unintelligent. Do you really expect me to do anything that would land you in a police court?”

A bright flame burned her cheeks.

“I don’t ask to be considered. Do you suppose I care what happens to me? Do you suppose I want you to risk Greta?”

Charles’ frown darkened.

“I haven’t any choice. Please be practical. Freddy got you into the mess, and Freddy ought to get you out of it. When is he off?”

“He moved out of the house today. You heard what he said-he may be off any day. He hates to be tied.”

“I see. All right, I’ll be going.”

He went as far as the door, then turned, strode back, and jerked a sudden question at her;

“Who’s Grey Mask?”

“I don’t know,” said Margaret.

“You’ve no idea? None?”

She shook her head. She was frightfully pale.

“Does Freddy know?”

“I don’t believe any of them know,” said Margaret in a whisper.

CHAPTER XXXVI

At eleven o’clock that night the Standing house in Grange Street was in darkness. On the three upper floors blinds were down, curtains drawn, and lights switched off; in the hall a faint glimmer from the small shaded bulb which burned all night over the telephone.

A man entered Grange Square by Caton Walk and proceeded at a slow and leisured pace round two sides of it until he came to the dark square house at the corner. Here he stood quite still. The railings which enclosed the plane trees, empty flower beds, and grass plots of Grange Gardens were at his back.

It was a black night, and he stood where the shadows were blackest. He watched the house for ten minutes or so, then walked across the road and up the steps. Here again he stood and waited.

The house was as quiet as a house might be. The basement windows showed no glimmer. The man opened the door with a latch-key and passed into the hall. It was quite pleasantly warm after the cold in the square. The tiny bulb over the telephone made the darkness here seem less dense than the dark outside.

The man crossed the hall and stood a moment by the study door listening. Then he opened the door very softly and went in. It was about ten minutes before he came out again. This time he went up the stairs, which crossed the back of the hall in a double flight. He had reached the landing, when the front door opened and closed again softly. The man on the stair put his right hand in his pocket, and then moved without haste into the angle made by the stair as it continued its upward way. He listened for the sound of another foot on the marble steps. The only sound that came was the click of an electric switch.

Instantly the hall below was lighted from end to end, and against this light the outline of the balustrade, showed black. The man on the stairs came forward, leaned on the balustrade and looked over into the hall. He saw the black and white tesselated floor all empty, and on the left the open dining-room door. As he looked, the light went on in the dining-room, and at the same time he heard a faint shuffling sound. It was the sound of someone moving, of someone coming downstairs; but not down these stairs-the sound was too faint for that. If the man had not possessed phenomenally acute hearing, the sound would not have reached him at all.

Someone was coming down the back stairs. He had only to stand where he was, to be unobserved. It appeared, however, that he not only desired to remain unseen; he wished, nay, he intended, to see. He moved quickly along a passage to the right until he reached a door that opened upon the back stairs. Here he waited, listening. The soft snuffling footsteps were below him. He opened the door. The stairs were dark. He followed the footsteps down into the darkness.

At the foot of the stairs there was a baize door. He opened it cautiously. The long passage was black, but even as he looked, light showed at the far end. A second door swung open, a man’s figure showed against the light, and then the door swung to again.

After a moment the man followed. At the second door he listened. There was no sound, but the room beyond was lighted. He peeped cautiously. The lighted room was empty. He had come to the butler’s pantry. A door led out of it through a short length of passage to the dining-room. He took this way with some assurance, and at the dining-room door the sound of voices gave him pause.

Very slowly and gently, he moved the handle round until the latch slipped and the door came a bare half inch towards him. Through the chink he looked into the lighted dining-room. There were two men there, both fully dressed. He was able to recognize them both without difficulty. Facing him was the footman William Cole. He held a tumbler half full of whisky and soda. His coat was torn at the neck, the right cuff was ripped, his hair a good deal disordered. The other man was the butler, Pullen. They were talking.

“Who was it?” This was Pullen, a little more hurried than when he was on duty.

“How should I know? I didn’t wait to ask his name, I can tell you. It took me all I knew to get away-and all for nothing.”

“You didn’t find it?”

William took a drink.

“Found the envelope. What they’ve done with the paper beats me.”

He pulled out a long envelope and flung it down on the table. Pullen picked it up and held it at arm’s length to read the endorsement: “ ‘ Our declaration of marriage.’ Yes, that’s it.”

“But it’s empty. I’d hardly put my hand on it before I had to cut and run. When I looked inside I could have done murder.”

“Where’s the declaration? That’s what I want to know.”

“The girl’s got it, of course. The question is-where’s the girl?”

“ Kimberley ’s found her already. I went on to the Foster’s. There’s nothing there, unless she had it on her. She was out with Millar.”

“That girl’s been here too long. She’s got to go. Once she’s gone, it don’t matter if a hundred certificates turn up. She’s got to go, and that’s an end of it.”

William finished his whisky.

“Well, do her in yourself,” he said.

“It’s not my line.”

“Why should it be mine?”

“Well, it’s yours-isn’t it-Lenny Morrison?”

William’s face underwent a horrible change. The stout Pullen recoiled.

“Less of that! D’you hear? Call me that again, and you’ll be sorry for it. As to the girl, she’s Egbert’s job, isn’t she?”

“He won’t. I said so all along. Grey Mask’s giving you the job. It wants neat doing, and Egbert’s a bungler if I ever saw one. Now, look here! There are to be no more delays.”

The man at the door went on listening for another ten minutes. Then he retraced his steps and vanished into the darkness outside the house.

Outside in the square Miss Silver waited patiently for another hour. When the man came out, she followed him.