That Nanette had been hiding in the establishment of M. Pierre, I no longer doubted. And that Milton had some part in the comedy was clear enough. Poor fellow, I regarded him in a more charitable spirit than Jack had at command. Nanette had been using him--for what purpose I could not imagine--and his reward would be small. Some association between Nanette, at M. Pierre’s, and Milton, in the entrance of the Modern Gallery, seemed to be established. But since Nanette’s photograph was not in the gallery, why this association--and conveying what? Nothing--in so far as my bewildered brain served me. So I mused, as I drifted along Pall Mall. I determined to hunt up O’Shea, when, suddenly, I saw something which called me to prompt action. A taxi turned a corner at the very moment I was about to cross. In it sat Nanette--and Adolf Zara! It is in such moments of stress as this that vacant cabs magically disappear from the streets. No fewer than five taximen had solicited my patronage during the few minutes that had elapsed since I had left Jack. Now, with a dangerous agitator wanted by the British Government disappearing in the distance, from end to end of Pall Mall not a taxi was in sight! When at last one crept into view, pursuit was out of the question. If I had been perplexed before, perplexity now gave place to consternation. The comedy of Bond Street had been no more than a gay curtain draped before a stage set for drama. I tried in vain to allot the actors their proper rôles. What part did the missing photograph play? How came Zara in the cast? What of Milton? And what of Nanette? It was not far to my chambers, and I hurried back, with the intention of ’phoning O’Shea. I met him at the door. Those who enjoyed the privilege of seeing Edmond O’Shea in action relate that when things were going hopelessly wrong he would fix his monocle immovably in his eye and retain it there, contrary to regulations, throughout the hottest fighting. He was wearing it now. “Hallo, O’Shea!” I called. “This is lucky! I want to see you badly.” “I came to see _you_, Decies,” said he. “There is something I wish you to know.” Having opened the door and hurried him upstairs: “Don’t jump to conclusions,” I began. “But Nanette met Zara this afternoon.” O’Shea stared at me incredulously. “Where?” he demanded. “I don’t know where. But I saw them together not ten minutes ago.” He hesitated for a moment; then: “Tell me all about it,” he said calmly. In as few words as possible I outlined the events of the day, terminating with my glimpse of Nanette and Adolf Zara together in Pall Mall. “It is a blank mystery to me, O’Shea,” I said. “I simply cannot understand what it’s all about.” “To me,” he replied, “it is equally, but painfully, clear.” “What do you mean?” “In the first place,” said he, “our friend the inspector borrowed your negative of Nanette.” “The inspector! In heaven’s name, what for?”