Robert Cairn entered a photographer's shop in Baker Street.
"You recently arranged to do views of some houses in the West End for a gentleman?" he said to the girl in charge.
"That is so," she replied, after a moment's hesitation. "We did pictures of the house of some celebrated specialist—for a magazine article they were intended. Do you wish us to do something similar?"
"Not at the moment," replied Robert Cairn, smiling slightly. "I merely want the address of your client."
"I do not know that I can give you that," replied the girl doubtfully, "but he will be here about eleven o'clock for proofs, if you wish to see him."
"I wonder if I can confide in you," said Robert Cairn, looking the girl frankly in the eyes.
She seemed rather confused.
"I hope there is nothing wrong," she murmured.
"You have nothing to fear," he replied, "but unfortunately there is something wrong, which, however, I cannot explain. Will you promise me not to tell your client—I do not ask his name—that I have been here, or have been making any inquiries respecting him?"
"I think I can promise that," she replied.