made his appearance laid on Mr. Pankhurst's table a slim, green cardboard cover, upon which were neatly written the words, "Roach, Samson, Archdeacon of Cricklewood." This done, he bowed, sniffed and withdrew.
Mr. Pankhurst picked up the dossier and loosed its tapes. "Now then," he said, and allowed it to fall open in his palm.
Chloë rose quickly and peered over his shoulder. To her annoyance the papers she saw were all covered with, to her, wholly unintelligible scratches. So she sat down again. Mr. Pankhurst paid no attention to her movements. He was busy scanning the cipher record. There was a short silence, which Chloë employed in powdering her nose, Dunkle in scratching his.
At last Mr. Pankhurst cleared his throat once or twice, and: "I expect," he said,
