The colonel passed into his bedroom and took off his coat and vest. He searched his drawer and found what looked to be like a pair of braces made of light fabric. These he slipped over his shoulder, adjusting them so that beneath his left arm hung a canvas holster. From another drawer he took an automatic pistol, pulled the magazine from the butt and examined it before he returned it, and forced a cartridge into the breach by drawing back the cover. This he carefully oiled, and then, pressing up the safety catch, he slipped the pistol into the holster and resumed his coat and vest. It was a long time since the colonel had carried a gun under his arm, but his old efficiency was unimpaired. He practised before a mirror and was satisfied with his celerity. He loaded a spare magazine, and dropped it into the capacious pocket of his waistcoat. Then, putting the remainder of the cartridges away tidily, he closed the box, shut the drawer and went back to his room. If all the commissioner had hinted were true, if this mysterious visitor was laying for him because of the 'Snow' Gregory affair, he should have what was coming to him. The colonel was no coward and if this eerie experience had got a little on his nerves, it was not to be wondered at. He drew up a chair to the table, sitting in such a position that he could see the door, took a pencil and a sheet of paper and began to write rapidly. The man's knowledge was encyclopædic. Not once did he pause or refer to a catalogue, and he was still writing when Crewe came in. The colonel looked up. "You're the man I want," he said. He handed the other three sheets of paper, closely covered with writing. "What's this?" asked Crewe and read: "Twenty-three iron bedsteads, twenty-three mattresses, twenty-three----" "Why, what's all this, colonel?" "You can go down to Tottenham Court Road and you can order all that furniture to be taken into No. 3, Washburn Avenue." "Are you furnishing a children's orphanage or something?" asked the other in surprise. "I am furnishing a nursing home, to be exact," said the colonel slowly. "I bought it this morning, and I'm going to furnish it to-morrow. Send Lollie Marsh to me. Tell her I want her to get three women of the right sort to take charge of a mental case which is coming to my nursing home. By the way, you had better telegraph to old Boyton, or better still, go in a cab and get him. He'll probably be drunk but he's still on the medical register and he's the man I want. Take him straight away to Washburn Avenue, and don't forget that it's his nursing home and not mine. My name doesn't occur in this matter and you'd better get a dummy to do the buying for you from the furniture people." "Who is the mental case?" asked the other. "Maisie White," snapped the colonel, and Crewe stared. "Mad?" he said incredulously. "Is Maisie mad?" "She may not be at present," said Boundary, "but----"