The old house stood four-square, with a patched-up conservatory on one wing. In the front room they found the recluse’s body decently disposed, with an undertaker’s assistant in charge. From the greenhouse came a subdued hissing. “What’s that?” asked Jones. “Fumigating the conservatory. There was a note found near the body insisting on its being done. ‘For safety,’ it said, so I ordered it looked to.” “You’re in charge, then?” “It’s my house. And there are no relatives so far as I know. Come and look at his papers. You won’t find much.” In the old-fashioned desk was a heap of undecipherable matter, interspersed with dates, apparently bearing upon scientific experiments; a package of letters from the Denny Research Laboratories of St. Louis, mentioning enclosure of checks; and three self-addressed envelopes bearing New York postmarks, of dates respectively, March 12, March 14 and March 20. Each contained a date-stamped sheet of paper, similar to that which Mr. Curtis Fleming had shown to Average Jones. The one of earliest date bore two red dots; the second, three red dots, and the third, two. All the envelopes were endorsed in Professor Moseley’s handwriting; the first with the one word “Filled.” The second writing was “Held for warmer weather.” The last was inscribed “One in poor condition.” Of these Average Jones made careful note, as well as of the laboratory address. By this time the hissing of the fumigating apparatus had ceased. The two men went to the conservatory and gazed in upon a ruin of limp leaves and flaccid petals, killed by the powerful gases. Suddenly, with an exclamation of astonishment, the investigator stooped and lifted from the floor a marvel of ermine body and pale green wings. The moth, spreading nearly a foot, was quite dead. “Here’s the mate, sir,” said the fumigating expert, handing him another specimen, a trifle smaller. “The place was crowded with all kinds of pretty ones. All gone where the good bugs go now.” Average Jones took the pair of moths to the desk, measured them and laid them carefully away in a drawer. “The rest must wait,” he said. “I have to send a telegram.” With the interested Mr. Curtis Fleming in attendance, he went to the telegraph office, where he wrote out a dispatch. “Mr. A. V. R. Jones?” said the operator. “There’s a message here for you.” Average Jones took the leaflet and read: “_Found gum on floor this morning when I arrived_. MALCOLM DORR.” Then he recalled his own blank, tore it up, and substituted the following, which he ordered “rushed”: MALCOLM DORR, STENGEL BUILDING, NEW YORY CITY: “_Leave office immediately. Do not return until it has been fumigated thoroughly. Imperative_. A. V. R. JONES.” “And now,” said Average Jones to Mr. Fleming, “I’m going back to New York. If any collectors come chasing to you for luna moths, don’t deal with them. Refer them to me, please. Here is my card.”