CHAPTER XIII.
"IF you would care to come in, sir, I'm sure Lexman would be glad to see you," said T.X.; "it's very kind of you to take an interest in the matter." The Chief Commissioner of Police growled something about being paid to take an interest in everybody and strolled with T.X.down one of the apparently endless corridors of Scotland Yard.
"You won't have any bother about the pardon," he said.

"I was dining to-night with old man Bartholomew and he will fix that up in the morning." "There will be no necessity to detain Lexman in custody ?" asked T.X.
The Chief shook his head.
"None whatever," he said.
There was a pause, then, "By the way, did Bartholomew mention Belinda Mary!" The white-haired chief looked round in astonishment.
"And who the devil is Belinda Mary ?" he asked.
T.X.went red.
"Belinda Mary," he said a little quickly, "is Bartholomew's daughter." "By Jove," said the Commissioner, "now you mention it, he did--she is still in France." "Oh, is she ?" said T.X.innocently, and in his heart of hearts he wished most fervently that she was.

They came to the room which Mansus occupied and found that admirable man waiting.
Wherever policemen meet, their conversation naturally drifts to "shop" and in two minutes the three were discussing with some animation and much difference of opinion, as far as T.X.was concerned, a series of frauds which had been perpetrated in the Midlands, and which have nothing to do with this story.
"Your friend is late," said the Chief Commissioner.
"There he is," cried T.X., springing up.

He heard a familiar footstep on the flagged corridor, and sprung out of the room to meet the newcomer.
For a moment he stood wringing the hand of this grave man, his heart too full for words.
"My dear chap!" he said at last, "you don't know how glad I am to see you." John Lexman said nothing, then, "I am sorry to bring you into this business, T.X.," he said quietly.
"Nonsense," said the other, "come in and see the Chief." He took John by the arm and led him into the Superintendent's room.
There was a change in John Lexman.

A subtle shifting of balance which was not readily discoverable.