“Ah, Fortune, good man. Why didn’t you ask for me? I’m at the inn in the village.” “That’s very haughty of you. Why not in the house? Have you put Lady Lunt’s back up? Or has she put up yours?” “Oh, best to have a free hand, don’t you know? Well, what do you make of it?” Reggie shrugged. “Curious features, what? What I want to know is, was that blow on the head before the shot or after?” “What you want is not a surgeon, it’s a clairvoyant. Anyway, you don’t want me. You’ve got your man.” “Have I?” Lomas put up his eyeglass. “You mean Cranford? Now how did you know about Cranford?” “Sorry, Lomas. Nothing doing. I’m the independent expert this time.” Lomas frowned. “My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow! Unless you’re acting for some one, you’ve no business here, don’t you know.” “I’m acting for some one all right--for V. Cranford.” “Hallo! You’ve made up your mind?” Barnes cried. Lomas dropped his eyeglass. “Ah! Well, well. Things must be as they may, what? It’s a pity. Afraid you’ve made a bad break this time, Fortune. It’s a straight case.” “I wonder,” Reggie said. “My dear fellow, I’d hate you to be at a disadvantage.” Lomas seemed suddenly to have become older, paternal, protective. “Well--it’s not strictly official--but I may tell you we’ve found the pistol. It was in Cranford’s rooms.” “A Smith-Southron .38? Fancy! I don’t suppose there’s more than half a million of them in circulation. It’s a good gun. I’ve got one myself somewhere.” “My dear fellow!” Lomas was young and jaunty again. “Why try to bluff me? Lunt was killed by a particular kind of pistol. And we find the particular man to whom all suspicion points owns one of these pistols. It’s quite simple, don’t you know?” “Yes, oh, yes, ‘Doosid lucid, doosid convincing.’ But I wonder why you want to convince me?” That was the first skirmish over the Lunt case, and Reggie, Gerald Barnes discreetly excusing himself, ate a little _tête-à-tête_ lunch with Radnor Hall--not in the silver panelled dining-room. When the servants were gone, “I don’t want to hear anything under false pretences, Mr. Hall,” Reggie explained. “I shall act in this case for Cranford.” “Is that so?” Radnor Hall rubbed his back hair. “I guess I’ll take you right in to Lady Lunt.” Lady Lunt stood in front of the fire with a cigarette in her mouth. She was a big woman, a little flat of figure and gaunt of face, but still handsome. She thrust a hand on Reggie, gripped his hand, and shot a “Glad to see you,” at him. Reggie was sorry he could not act for Lady Lunt, but had to consider that Cranford had the first claim on him. “I don’t mind,” she cried. It seemed her habit to be explosive. “If you’re against the police, that’s good enough for us. Eh, Radnor?” “Sure,” said Radnor Hall, who was watching Reggie closely. “I want you to hear what we’ve got to say about the case,” the lady explained. “We think it matters.”