The card in Remington’s half-clenched fist was loosely held, and the detective gently withdrew it. It was a visiting-card, and the name inscribed thereon was, “Mr. Jamieson Steele, Civil Engineer.” Peter Dawes whistled, and then walked across to the safe. “That’s queer,” he said, and swung the door of the safe closed in the hope of finding something behind it. He found something, but not what he had expected. In the centre of the green steel door was a small label. It was a label bearing the mark of Four Square Jane. VI Four Square Jane had committed a murder! It was incredible. All Peter Dawes’ fine theories went by the board in that discovery. This was not the work of a society crook; it was not the work of a criminal philanthropist; there was evidence here of the most cold-blooded murder that it had been his business to investigate. Summoned from his bed at three o’clock in the morning, Lord Claythorpe came to his office a greatly distressed man. He was shivering from sheer terror when he told the story of the securities which had been in the safe when he had left the office. “And I was warned. I was warned!” he cried. “Poor Remington himself begged me not to do it. What a fool I am!” “What was Remington doing here?” asked Peter. The body of the murdered man had long since been removed to the mortuary, and only the dark stain on the floor spoke eloquently of tragedy. “I haven’t any idea,” said his lordship. “I simply dare not let myself think. Poor fellow! It is a tragedy, an appalling tragedy!” “I know all about that,” said Peter drily. “Murders usually are. But what was Remington doing in this office between eleven at night and one o’clock in the morning?” Lord Claythorpe shook his head. “I can only offer you my theory,” he said, “for what it is worth. Poor Remington was greatly worried about the securities being in this office at all, and he begged me to get a caretaker, a commissionaire or somebody, to sit in the office during the night. Very foolishly I rejected this excellent suggestion. I can only surmise that, worried by the knowledge that so many valuable securities were in this inadequate safe, Remington came in the middle of the night, intending to remain on guard himself.” Peter nodded. It was a theory which had the appearance of being a feasible one. “Then you think that he was surprised by the burglar?” “Or burglars,” said Lord Claythorpe. “Yes, I do.” Peter sat at his lordship’s desk, tapping at the blotting-pad with his fingers. “There is a lot to support your theory,” he said. “From the appearance of the body and the weapon in his hand, it is a likely suggestion that he was defending himself. On the other hand, look at this.” He took a crumpled envelope from his pocket and laid it on the table. It was stained with blood and the flap was heavily sealed.