“But when I tell you, in answer to your question, that one day I think he is and the next day I think he isn’t, you will realize how badly they’ve got me bothered. It’s not a long story, Okewood, and you may as well hear it because, I tell you honestly, the thing’s got too big for one man to handle alone; I ought to give the whole of my attention to it, but I can’t; I’m too busy. If I did, I should have to neglect other more important affairs, and that is precisely what this campaign of deviltry is meant to achieve.” The Chief drew meditatively on his cigar. “You knew Finucane, I think?” “Who was lately in Brussels for you?” The Chief nodded. “Rather. But why ‘knew’?” “He’s vanished, Okewood!” “Kidnapped or . . .?” “Murdered, almost certainly. It’s more than a week since it happened. He knew too much!” Desmond nodded his assent. Brussels, the half-way house to everywhere in Europe, is the report centre for the espionage services of every great European Power. The Secret Service agent who can make good in Brussels has little left to learn about the game. “Yesterday a week ago Finucane crossed over from Brussels to see me,” the Chief resumed. “Between ourselves, Finucane has been tightening up our report centres in industrial Germany. You know Finucane, Okewood: no Vere de Vere about him, but a devilish clever fellow and a damned judgmatical briber. His reports on the German situation have been admirable, and the Prime Minister was delighted. Finucane came over to get his head patted and also to submit certain plans for the development of our arrangements in Germany. “Finucane got in from Brussels on Friday evening by the train that reaches Victoria at nine-twenty-five. He was to see me on the following morning. He engaged a room at the Nineveh, changed into evening dress, and went off to get a bite to eat and see life at the Hexagon. At five minutes to midnight he left the Hexagon alone and apparently perfectly sober. He never reached his hotel and has neither been seen nor heard of since!” Desmond whistled. “Did he have the goods on him?” The Chief laughed dryly. “Not Finucane! He carried it all under his hat!” “And you’ve got no trace of him, no clue?” Somewhere in the house an electric bell trilled. The Chief looked at his watch.