The door opened, and a man came in; nodded grimly on seeing the young man, and closed the door again. A thick-set man, with head thrust well forward between his shoulders, and standing now with his hands clasped behind his back. A man called Simon Quarle.
"Well, Mr. Byfield—and what's brought you back here?" asked Quarle suspiciously. "I heard your voice on the stairs; also I happened to be looking out of the window when you drove up. I should have thought you had done with Arcadia Street long ago."
Gilbert Byfield laughed, and held out his hand. "Why treat me as an enemy still, Mr. Quarle?" he asked pleasantly. "I always rather liked you, and we've been through some curious adventures, one way and another. Won't you shake hands?"
"I will—when I know what new game's afoot," said Quarle. "As I told you once, you have no place in Arcadia Street; go back to your own world, and stop there."
Gilbert dropped on one knee beside a portmanteau, and began to unstrap it. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I think I have more right in Arcadia Street even than you have."
"How's that?" asked Quarle.
"Well, if I remember rightly, you have something of an income, even if it's a small one; I am under the impression that you retired from something or other, with just enough money to live upon."
"I did," said the other, with a nod. "I was thrifty in my young days, and I saved up the pence."
"Well, I wasn't thrifty in my young days, and I didn't save anything. Consequently"—Gilbert looked up at him with a whimsical smile—"I have now no money at all, except such as I may be able to earn. All my affairs have gone to smash, Mr. Quarle; I've come to Arcadia Street, because in the old days I found it cheap, when I was playing a certain game for the fun of the thing—and I may find it cheap now, when I am playing that game in solid sober earnest. Now do you understand?"