He turned to the Air Marshal. “This was the way of it, sir,” he said. “Last night Miss Bardale was seated there at her typewriter typing out your report with her back to the bedroom door. The time was somewhere about ten o’clock. Suddenly from behind her she hears a noise in the kitchen. Her first thought is not for herself, but for her duty to you. She snatches up her papers—your original and the two pages of the fair copy she had made—and puts them in a place of safety before she turns to meet her murderer. When she sees his face, she attempts to flee back into the sitting-room. But, before she can escape, he is on her, choking out her life with his great hairy hands. “Then follows the frantic search to find what he had committed murder to discover, a search frantic, yet methodical in its way, room by room, as you may see. It was the circumstance that he had prolonged the search to the very kitchen that made me think he had possibly not achieved his object. So I took up the hunt where he had left off and . . .” He produced from a drawer in the table a filmy mass of pink edged with lace. “She had rolled your papers up in her nightdress and put it back under the pillow. I found it wedged between the bed and the wall!” Sir Alexander Bannington blew his nose violently. “But who was the murderer?” he asked. Again Desmond consulted his watch. “I may be able to answer that question later,” he said. “For the moment the sooner you get that report in a place of safety the better, sir.” “I’m inclined to agree with you,” replied Bannington. “Are you and your brother coming along?” Desmond shook his head. “My work isn’t finished yet! But Francis will escort you back to the Air Ministry . . .” “No need, I assure you,” said Bannington. “I have my car outside.” “Believe me,” Desmond urged, “it would be better for you to have an escort!” Francis drew his brother aside. “It’s no use trying to get me out of the way, Des.,” he told him. “You’ve got something up your sleeve. Now, haven’t you?” He was smiling, but his brother remained serious. “The important thing,” Desmond said, “is to get that report away quickly. Bannington has no idea of the danger he runs. When you’ve seen his memorandum into the safe, come back here by all means. If I’m not here I’ll be at the Yard. I may have some news for you . . .” Desmond leaned forward and whispered in his brother’s ear. Francis started. Then he said: “But I can’t leave you to face it alone!” “I shan’t be alone,” Desmond answered. “Sergeant Rushbrooke is here to keep me company, and I have asked the Yard to send me down half a dozen men. Farandol was not there when I telephoned just now, but his substitute promised to send at once. They should be here by this. If you should meet them below, send the man in charge up to me, will you?” “Well, Okewood, are you ready?” Bannington came out of the hall with his hat on his head. He held out his hand to Desmond.