Harrison Smith embraced the opportunity of pouring out a perfect deadener for his host into which he discreetly added a pinch of cigar ash from a convenient stump (a concoction which in the absence of more potent drugs will produce very gratifying results). While he was so employed Mr. Royston descanted freely on the subject of lovely women in the choice of which he declared himself to be an epicure. "See that one--pho' frame--piano. Tho'bred--perfect tho'bred--a darling--love 'er--love 'em all." "That's the talk," said Harrison Smith who was cursing the enforced delay. "Drink her health, old man, and no heel taps." Mr. Royston rose nobly to the occasion and swallowed the contents of his glass at a single gulp. "Blesh 'em!" he said. "Blesh 'em." He seized the arm of his chair while the room spun round him in a dizzy whirl. "Blast you, Petersh," he cried. "Thash pre-war whiskey. Sh-shot me clean through the brain pan. C-caught in the brewersh web." He swayed a little and settled down on the floor by sections. Harrison Smith stooped and put a cushion beneath his head. "All ri' soon--qui' all ri'. Fac' is I'm one of the ruins Crom'll knocked about a bit." The voice tailed away into a deep, slumberous groan. A minute later Harrison Smith was at the door of Barraclough's flat on the landing below. The fourth key on the bunch turned the latch and silently as a cat he slipped into the hall. A quick observation of the chambers above had given him a fair idea of which room was which and he had no trouble in locating the study door in the dark. Before turning on a light he assured himself that the window curtains were drawn. He realised the need to be very silent in all his actions since Barraclough's servant was in all probability sleeping on the premises and ex-service men of the regular army have an awkward knack of sleeping lightly. He closed the door without even a click from the latch, then turned up a standard lamp that stood on the writing table. In the pen tray beneath the lamp was a blue pencil--a new one--since obviously it had never been sharpened and the chalk point was scarcely worn at all. The other end of the pencil had been deeply bitten in a dozen places, a circumstance which Harrison Smith noted with satisfaction. The other pencils and pens in the tray bore no teeth marks. It was reasonable, therefore, to surmise that its owner had been engaged in some knotty and puzzling problem at the time of use.