"This is not exciting," he remarked, and re-locked the door on the outside with his instruments. They returned to the library, and he gave Henderson his instructions. "Of course, it's all wrong," he concluded. "The Triangle are so keen on broadcasting their visiting cards--why haven't we got a memento of their call?" While Henderson talked to the girl, Storm embarked on a fresh search of the house. He combed every inch of every room and corridor, and was raking the study upstairs when Lord Hannassay himself arrived. Storm heard the voices downstairs, and came down with the irritating belief that he had overlooked something. As a matter of fact, he had, for as he descended the stairs he saw something gleaming at the edge of the rug in the hall. It was a silver triangle similar to the one Inspector Teal had showed him, and had obviously been kicked out of sight when they charged in--it was barely visible except when it caught the light in a certain way. Susan was just telling Lord Hannassay her story when Storm stroked in. "Look for the trade mark on every genuine article," he said. "I hate these anonymous presents!" He held out the token in one triumphant palm as he spoke, and the peer turned to greet him with a smile. "Oh, Captain Arden----" His voice trailed away, and they saw him suddenly go white. Henderson was just in time to catch him as he fell. Inspector Teal stood on the threshold, a burly figure, hat in hand. "I just dropped in----" he was starting to explain, and then he caught sight of the limp form in Henderson's arms and his jaw dropped. Storm put an arm around Hannassay and brushed Henderson aside. Then he jerked the unconscious man from the floor and, heavy as he was, carried him without any apparent effort to the chesterfield. He left the two detectives to apply restoratives, and led the girl over to the window. Storm was the last man on earth she would ever have associated with nerves. He was too essentially virile--dynamic--and there was too much grim strength in every line of his lean, tanned face. His eyes were as cold and steady as chilled granite, and his every least movement showed the supple grace of the born fighting man. And yet the hand he laid on her arm trembled, and when he spoke she was amazed to detect the faintest unevenness in his voice. "Hannassay fainted as though he'd seen a ghost, didn't he?" he said. "And I know the ghost. My God!---- Life's queer!" "Was it the Triangle you showed him?" she asked. He shook his head, and his white teeth gleamed in a mirthless smile. "The Triangle brought it, but the ghost's name was Mattock!" said Storm. CHAPTER V BLAYTHWAYT ON CLUES In spite of the hour, the nucleus of a crowd had already gathered outside, with that peculiar instinct for the morbid which is the gift of crowds; and Storm had to fight his way to a taxi through the first batch of eager reporters.