"Certainly I can, provided you stand the tolls," he said. "Electricity is as rapid here as in the United States, and if this magnate is on one of these islands we can get his address in four or five hours, if we have any kind of luck. Suppose we wire the twenty larger cities and towns, about the same number of summer resorts, and the leading golf centres?" "Great scheme, Flynn!" I declared, "you're a natural detective." "Natural nothing," growled that clever individual, "it's a part of the regular grind. It should be no great trick to find a man worth thirty millions in an area not much bigger than Illinois." He wrote a telegram, dictated the list of places to his stenographer and turned to me. "Any engagement for dinner?" he asked, and when I said I had none he suggested we go to the Savage Club. We did so, and that dinner was the first enjoyable episode in many dismal weeks. The quiet charm of the old club, together with its famous ale, had a soothing effect on my nerves, and after several pleasant hours we took a cab back to his office. Flynn disappeared for a minute and when he returned he handed me a stack of telegrams. "There are some reports already in," he said. "Look them over while I attend to the work for which I'm supposed to draw salary." I read them hurriedly. There was no news of the Hardings from Birmingham, Manchester, Nottingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Brighton, Blackpool, and a score of other places. Then I opened one from Glasgow. They had been in Glasgow, but had left. I was on the trail, and announced the news to Flynn. He smiled and again bent over his work. In a few minutes a boy came in with more telegrams. They had been in Edinburgh on the day following their visit to Glasgow, but were not there now. "They were in Edinburgh four days ago," I declared. "Probably headed for St. Andrews," said Flynn, stopping in the middle of a sentence he was dictating. "Don't bother me, Smith, I'm busy." I spent the next half hour studying a map of Great Britain on which I mentally traced _Her_ course from London to Glasgow and from there to Edinburgh. Another batch of telegrams from Plymouth, Hull, Dublin, Southampton, Newcastle, York, Hastings, and lesser places was silent concerning the missing Hardings. It was ten o'clock in the evening when the boy handed me three envelopes. I read the first two and threw them on the floor. Without glancing at the date line I read the third one. It ran: "Robert L. Harding, wife and daughter at the Caledonia.--Jones." It was dated St. Andrews. "I've found them!" I declared. Flynn was just closing his desk. His day's work was ended and he was in better humour. "Where are they?" he asked, throwing a mass of stuff into a waste basket. "St. Andrews." "Of course. Every American golf crank heads for St. Andrews from the same fanatical instinct which impels a Mohammedan to steer for Mecca."