Susan turned to Storm with a smile. "Is Uncle's school life so terrifically important?" she asked sweetly. "Fearfully," Storm assured her gravely. She shook her head, and all mischief was in her eyes. "You're forgiven," she said, and the simple Joe blinked uncomprehendingly at the laughter that followed. The rest of the meal was delightful, and Storm listened soberly to the account of Blaythwayt's literary aspirations, interspersing the recital at intervals with the most innocent expressions of admiration. "About this Triangle, though--seriously!" he said later. "There's going to be trouble, and it's going to be tough! You've heard what they've done already--tried to poison me, shot me up, and sent the gentle Gat gunning for Susan. And that's before they've committed a single crime against the men they've threatened. I say 'threatened,' although no threats have been put on paper in so many words. But I guess if I got one of those little valentines I'd look under my bed before I got into it, whether they said, 'This is where you get yours,' or not! What do you make of it?" "Crime on a big scale," said Blaythwayt impressively. "It's a solid possibility, as a commercial investment, to a man with capital and genius." Joe's simplicity was his great charm. "As I see it, Captain Arden, criminals would never be caught if they didn't leave Clues. Consequently, in order to be a successful criminal, all you have to do is to master the art of not leaving Clues. And, as a detective, you will only run the Triangle to earth by looking for and following up Clues. The ordinary police methods of searching for Clues are inadequate. There are too many hindrances--you should be able to enter houses without search warrants, take people into custody and interrogate them on the slightest provocation, and adopt any means you choose in order to accumulate evidence. The Detective should be above the Law." Storm shook his head. "I'm not a pukka detective," he said, "and Teal owes me ten bob." "Are you being funny," demanded Susan, "or is there likely to be more trouble?" He looked at her steadily, eyes half closed, his cigarette between his lips. "You're scared!" he said. "Well, I'm not absolutely praying to be killed." There was a short silence, for he had no wish to alarm her unduly. And yet, to minimise the danger would not be the thought of anyone but a born fool. He turned his eyes on Blaythwayt. "Are _you_ scared?"