The next moment a low, surprised whistle escaped from his lips.

“Wilson, by all the saints! Done a bunk from Dartmoor, has he? Well, damn my soul, I’d—”

“Read it,” said Craig curtly.

Complying with the order, Casey perched himself on the arm of a chair and ran his eye swiftly down the column. That the news had considerably startled him had been obvious from his first reaction, but now that he had had time to recover, his face betrayed no further sign of emotion. Not until he had reached the end did he offer anything in the way of a comment.

“Got more guts than I gave him credit for,” he remarked, looking up from the paper. “Never be certain with fellows like that. What do you imagine his game is?”

“I should say that he had only one idea in his head.” Craig spoke with complete calmness. “That’s to come up here and stick a knife into me. It’s what he threatened to do the last time I had the pleasure of seeing him.”

Casey raised his eyebrows. “Mean that seriously?”

The other nodded. “I know his type. They’re easy enough game, but once they’ve got hold of the notion that somebody’s been leading them up the garden they’re apt to go clean off the rails. Wouldn’t mind betting that for the last two years Wilson has been sitting in his cell thinking of nothing else but how to get level with us. Became a sort of fixed idea, as the French call it. Otherwise he’d never have been such an idiot as to break out of prison.”

“Shouldn’t wonder if you’re right: you generally are. All the same, I don’t think we need lose any sleep over it.” Casey shrugged. “It’s a longish step from Dartmoor to Grosvenor Street, and—”

“I’m quite aware of that fact, and I’m not in the least worried. The odds are that he’ll be inside again within forty-eight hours. Still, there’s just the bare chance he might give them the slip; and that being the case, it’s only common sense to keep our eyes open. How about Johnson? D’you suppose he’d recognise the fool if he spotted him hanging around here?”

“Bound to, I should think. Shall I give him the tip?”

“No, I’ll speak to him myself, that will be best. Don’t start talking about it in the Club, but if you should happen to hear any of them airing their views to-night I’d be interested to know what they’ve got to say.” Craig looked at his watch. “Well, it’s just on the half-hour, so I suppose this fellow Sutton will be showing up in a minute. No idea what he wants, but he was by way of being a friend of Medlicot, so he may need a bit of careful handling. I’d like you to bring him up yourself and wait in the other room. If I switch on the light it will mean that I’ve had enough of him and you can come in with a telephone message or something.”

“Right you are. I’ll go down to the hall and collect him there.”

With an understanding nod Casey took his departure, and picking up the discarded paper, Craig settled down again to his interrupted research into the results of the Epsom meeting. The discovery that one of the two horses which he had coupled together in a highly promising double had been beaten in the last stride by a short head was scarcely calculated to improve his temper. Fate at the moment was obviously in a malicious mood; and when the muffled clang of the lift gate suddenly reached his ears, it was with a singularly inhospitable expression that he swung round to face the door.

By contrast, the man who entered in company with Casey seemed to be remarkably at his ease. About thirty years of age, good-looking and faultlessly dressed, he carried himself with that air of slightly insolent confidence which in the case of a large number of women appears to invest its owner with an immediate and almost irresistible attraction. The only blemish to which a captious critic might have drawn attention was the undeniable fact that his eyes were set a shade too closely together.

“Happened to run across Mr. Sutton down in the hall,” announced Casey blandly.