“It is,” he said briefly. “It is a great tragedy, and I don’t know how I shall excuse myself to the poor girl.” “You, of course, know what the securities were?” said Peter in a dry, matter-of-fact voice, as he sat down once more at the table. In that moment he betrayed no more emotion than if he had been investigating the most commonplace of shop robberies. “I have a list,” said Claythorpe, and for nearly an hour he was detailing particulars of the bonds which had been stolen. Peter finished his inquiry at four in the morning, and went to his office to send out an all-Britain message. It was not like Jane, this latest crime. It was certainly not like Jane or her assistant--if she had an assistant--to leave an incriminating visiting-card in poor Remington’s hand. Peter Dawes was wise in the ways of criminals, both habitual and involuntary. He had seen a great deal of the grim side of his profession, and had made a careful study of anatomy, particularly in relation to murdered people. He was satisfied in his own mind that the card that was held in the lightly clenched fist of the dead man had been placed there after he had been shot. He expressed himself frankly to his chief. “The card is evidently a plant to lead us off the track; and if it was put there by Four Square Jane it was designed with the object of switching suspicion from her on to the unfortunate Steele.” “Do you think you’ll catch Steele?” asked the chief. Peter nodded. “Yes, sir, I can catch him just when I want him, I think,” he said. “It was only because we didn’t want to take this man that we have let him go loose so long. He was a fool to run away, because the evidence against him was pretty paltry.” Dawes had a large number of calls to make the following morning, and the first of these was on a firm of safemakers in Queen Victoria Avenue. He had the good fortune to find that the sales manager had been in control of the store for the past twenty years, and that he remembered distinctly selling the safe to Lord Claythorpe. “That’s a relief,” smiled the detective. “I was afraid I should have to go all over London to find the seller. How many keys did you supply?” “Two,” said the man. “One for his lordship, and one for Mr. Remington.” “Was there any difference in the two keys?” “None except the marking. Have you one of the keys here?” The detective produced it from his pocket, but when the salesman put out his hand for it he shook his head, with a smile. “No, I’ll keep it in my own hand, if you don’t mind. I have a special reason,” he said. “Perhaps you will describe the marking.”