WORSE SPEED Langholm returned to his hotel and wrote a few lines to Rachel.

It had been arranged that he was to report progress direct to her, and as often as possible; but it was a very open arrangement, in which Steel had sardonically concurred.

Yet, little as there was to say, and for all his practice with the pen, it took Langholm the best part of an hour to write that he believed he had already obtained a most important clew, which the police had missed in the most incredible manner, though it had been under their noses all the time.

So incredible did it appear, however, even to himself, when written down, that Langholm decided not to post this letter until after his interview with the Chelsea landlady.
To kill the interval, he went for his dinner to the single club to which he still belonged.

It was a Bohemian establishment off the Strand, and its time-honored name was the best thing about it in this member's eyes.
He was soon cursing himself for coming near the place while engaged upon his great and sacred quest.