That afternoon the detective visited Lord Claythorpe. He found that gentleman in very close consultation with a grave Mr. Lewinstein. To the credit of that genial Hebrew financier it must be said that, however optimistic might be the prospectuses he framed from time to time, he was undoubtedly straight. And Mr. Lewinstein’s gravity of demeanour was due to a doubt which had arisen in his mind for the first time as to the trustworthy character of his lordly business associate. They greeted the detective--his lordship suspiciously and a little nervously, Lewinstein with evident relief. “Well,” asked Claythorpe, “have you made any discovery?” “Several,” said Peter. “We have been able to reconstruct the crime up to a point, and we have also proved that Mr. Steele was in Falmouth when the murder was committed.” A little shade passed over the sallow face of Lord Claythorpe. “How could you prove that when you don’t know where he is?” he asked. “We found where he was, all right,” said Peter with satisfaction. “And you have arrested him, of course?” demanded his lordship. “I mean for the forgery.” The other smiled. “Honestly, Lord Claythorpe, do you seriously wish us to arrest Jamieson Steele, in view of the overwhelming evidence in support of his contention that the cheque was given to him by you, and signed by you?” “It’s a lie!” roared Lord Claythorpe, bringing his fist down on the table. “It may be a lie,” said Peter Dawes quietly, “but it is a lie the jury will believe, and I can’t believe that the outcome of such a prosecution will be very profitable to your lordship.” Claythorpe was silent. Presently he looked up and caught Lewinstein’s eye, and Lewinstein nodded. “I quite agree,” said that gentleman seriously. “I never thought there was much of a case against young Steele. He was a good boy. Why he got rattled and ran away heaven only knows.” Claythorpe changed the subject, which was wholly disagreeable to him. “Have you found anything else?” “Nothing except this,” said Peter, taking a key from his pocket and laying it on the table before Lord Claythorpe. “Will you be kind enough to show me your key?” Claythorpe looked at the other for fully a minute. “Certainly,” he said. He disappeared from the room and returned with a bunch of keys, on the end of which lay the facsimile of that which lay on the table. Peter took the key and examined it. He looked at the inside of the loop, and as he did so an involuntary cry broke from Claythorpe’s lips. “A jumping tooth,” he mumbled in apology. “Well, what have you found?” “I’ve found that your keys have got slightly mixed,” said Peter. “You have Remington’s, and the key found in the office after the murder is yours!” “Impossible!” said Lord Claythorpe. “It is one of the impossible things that has happened,” said Peter. “Well, there’s an explanation for that,” Claythorpe began, but Peter stopped him.