“To a perfectly colourless woman whom nobody seems to have met, though I believe she is seen out at some of the parties Lewinstein gives,” he said. “Do you know anything about the fortune of Miss Joyce Wilberforce?” “Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds,” said the other promptly. “Held absolutely by his lordship as sole trustee. The girl’s uncle thought an awful lot of him, and my own opinion is that, in entrusting the girl’s fortune to Claythorpe, he was a trifle mad.” The men’s eyes met. “Is Claythorpe crooked?” asked Dawes bluntly, and the detective shrugged his shoulders. “Heaven knows,” he said. “The only thing I am satisfied about is his association with Four Square Jane.” Peter looked at him with a startled gaze. “What on earth do you mean?” he asked. “Well,” said the inspector, “don’t you see how all these crimes which are committed by Four Square Jane have as their object the impoverishment of Claythorpe?” “I have formed my own theory on that,” said Peter slowly. “I thought Four Square Jane was a society crook doing a Claude Duval stunt, robbing the rich to keep the poor.” The inspector smiled. “You got that idea from the fact that she gives the proceeds of her jewel robberies to the hospitals. And why shouldn’t she? They’re difficult to dispose of, and as a rule they’re easily retrievable if old man Claythorpe will pay the price. But you never heard, when she took solid money, that that went to hospitals, did you?” “There have been instances,” said Peter. “When it wasn’t Claythorpe’s money,” said the other quickly. “When it was only the money belonging to some pal of Claythorpe’s as shady as himself. The impression I get of Four Square Jane is that she’s searching for something all the time. Maybe it’s money--at any rate, when she gets money she sticks to it; and maybe it’s something else.” “What is your theory?” asked Dawes. “My theory,” said the inspector slowly, “is that Four Square Jane and Claythorpe were working in a crooked game together, and that he double-crossed her and that she is getting her revenge.” * * * * * Lord Claythorpe had his office in the City, but most of his business was conducted in a much smaller office situated in St. James’ Street. The sole staff of this bureau was his confidential clerk, Donald Remington, a sour-faced man of fifty, reticent and taciturn, who knew a great deal more about his lordship’s business than possibly even Lord Claythorpe gave him credit for. After his interview with the detective, Lord Claythorpe drove away from the city to the West End, and went up the one flight of stairs which led to the little suite--it was more like a flat than an office and occupied the first floor of a shop building, being approached by the side door--in an absent and abstracted frame of mind. The silent Remington rose as his master entered, and Lord Claythorpe took the seat which his subordinate had occupied. For fully three minutes neither man spoke, and then Remington asked: