Two minutes later John found himself alone with the chief.
Dacent Smith motioned him into one of the deep, leathered-covered arm-chairs, opened a silver box of Egyptian cigarettes, and pushed it towards him.
"Well," he questioned, wheeling his chair and looking at John much as an astute physician might look at a patient; "I can see by your expression," he went on quickly, "that you have something of importance to report."
"I think so," said John.
"Well, what is it?"
"In the foyer of the Savoy to-night, sir, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth"—an almost imperceptible change of expression occurred on Dacent Smith's smooth features—"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth," continued John, "passed a slip of paper into my hand. I assumed at once that the paper was meant for either Manners or Cherriton, and, obeying your instructions, I delivered it at once."
"You memorised it first?"
Dacent Smith's tone was almost sharp.
"It was very short, sir. I can remember it exactly."
Dacent Smith pushed a pencil and block of paper towards him.