The sitting-room, “living-room” would have been a better name for it, had three telephones, and a metaphone which connected with their office on the first floor. It had also a tape-machine, and in Stothert’s bedroom was a speaking tube which went down to the back entrance of the house and was so arranged that Stothert could be spoken to from a blind alley off the narrow little street. On to this blind alley the door opened. Stothert and Camille Lenoir were alone in their living room about ten o’clock one night during the first week of August, when the speaking tube whistled shrilly in the room adjoining. At once the man got up and went into the bedroom to find out who wanted him. For only a few seconds he listened. Then he spoke one word, pushed the whistle in again, and rejoined his partner. “They are hot on the trail of Jessica,” he said calmly, as he seated himself again, and readjusted the eye-shade which he had taken off when he went into the next room. “I believe in the end they will prove her undoing, and Stapleton’s.” “Shall you warn her?” the woman asked anxiously. “Certainly not. It is no concern of ours.” “How do you mean--no concern of ours?” “In the circumstances. Had she treated us differently----” “I understand. And whom has she mostly to fear?” “Preston. He is so clever, and has such foresight and imagination, that Stapleton and La Planta may find themselves presently on the horns of a dilemma of their own creating.” After a minute’s pause, during which he seemed to be thinking deeply, he unhooked the receiver from the transmitter on the table at his elbow, and waited with it pressed to his ear, without asking for any number. “Please come here at once,” he said suddenly, speaking into the transmitter. “Yes, most important.” “Yes, without any delay.” Then he replaced the receiver, relit his pipe, which had gone out, picked up a newspaper and began carelessly to scan its headlines. “I see Preston’s wedding is to take place shortly,” he said presently. “Perhaps,” his companion observed significantly. “Hulloa!” Stothert exclaimed suddenly, “have you seen this, Camille? Levi Schomberg’s body is to be exhumed.” The woman sprang up from her chair, and leant over Stothert’s shoulder to read the startling announcement. It was contained in two lines in the stop press. No reason for the exhumation was given or hinted at. “Alix, that will discomfort our friend,” she said with a grin. “And Jessica and Stapleton too. I wonder who brought that about.” “That Doctor Johnson, you may depend. He was much upset, as I told you, at his opinion at the inquest being turned down by the coroner. This may have an interesting sequel, not calculated to set Jessica’s mind at rest.” “And may strengthen Preston’s hand. I believe that, all along, he and Blenkiron have suspected La Planta.”