"Mr Carrados and I will finish our investigation in my room," interposed Straithwaite, with quiet assertiveness. "I should advise you to lie down for half-an-hour, Stephanie, if you don't want to be a nervous wreck to-morrow." "You must allow the culprit to endorse that good advice, Mrs Straithwaite," added Carrados. He had been examining the second pair of gloves as they spoke and he now handed them back again. "They are undoubtedly of the same set," he admitted, with extinguished interest, "and so our clue runs out." "I hope you don't mind," apologized Straithwaite, as he led his guest to his own smoking-room. "Stephanie," he confided, becoming more cordial as two doors separated them from the lady, "is a creature of nerves and indiscretions. She forgets. To-night she will not sleep. To-morrow she will suffer." Carrados divined the grin. "So shall I!" "On the contrary, pray accept my regrets," said the visitor. "Besides," he continued, "there is nothing more for me to do here, I suppose...." "It is a mystery," admitted Straithwaite, with polite agreement. "Will you try a cigarette?" "Thanks. Can you see if my car is below?" They exchanged cigarettes and stood at the window lighting them. "There is one point, by the way, that may have some significance." Carrados had begun to recross the room and stopped to pick up the two fictitious messages. "You will have noticed that this is the outside sheet of a programme. It is not the most suitable for the purpose; the first inner sheet is more convenient to write on, but there the date appears. You see the inference? The programme was obtained before----" "Perhaps. Well----?" for Carrados had broken off abruptly and was listening. "You hear someone coming up the steps?" "It is the general stairway." "Mr Straithwaite, I don't know how far this has gone in other quarters. We may only have a few seconds before we are interrupted." "What do you mean?" "I mean that the man who is now on the stairs is a policeman or has worn the uniform. If he stops at your door----" The heavy tread ceased. Then came the authoritative knock. "Wait," muttered Carrados, laying his hand impressively on Straithwaite's tremulous arm. "I may recognize the voice." They heard the servant pass along the hall and the door unlatched; then caught the jumble of a gruff inquiry. "Inspector Beedel of Scotland Yard!" The servant repassed their door on her way to the drawing-room. "It is no good disguising the fact from you, Mr Straithwaite, that you may no longer be at liberty. But I am. _Is there anything you wish done?_" There was no time for deliberation. Straithwaite was indeed between the unenviable alternatives of the familiar proverb, but, to do him justice, his voice had lost scarcely a ripple of its usual sang-froid. "Thanks," he replied, taking a small stamped and addressed parcel from his pocket, "you might drop this into some obscure pillar-box, if you will." "The Markham necklace?"