Hetherwick turned over the pages of the directory, and presently shook his head.
"There's no Charles Ambrose here," he said. "Look for yourselves."
Matherfield glanced at the place indicated and said nothing. Macpherson made an exclamation of surprise.
"Aye, well, he may be a foreigner, after all," he observed. "But I shouldn't have considered him one, and he certainly told me he was an Oxford graduate."
"Foreigner or Oxforder, I'm going to know more about him!" declared Matherfield, rising and grasping his stick with an air of determination. "Well, Mr. Macpherson, we're obliged to you, and if this results in anything—you know! But for the moment—a bit of that caution that you Scotsmen are famous for—eh?"
Outside, Matherfield laid his hand on Hetherwick's elbow.
"Mr. Hetherwick," he said solemnly, "we're on the track—at last! Sure as my name's Matherfield, we've hit the trail! Now we're going to John Street, Adelphi—and I'll lay you anything you like that the man's vanished!"