Reggie laughed. “Sorry, sorry. We can’t make crimes for you. But why did you talk? There was nothing to talk about.” “I say, you know, that’s a bit thick,” the crime specialist protested. “My dear chap,” said Reggie modestly, “if the doctor on the spot hadn’t happened to be me, you would never have thought of the case. Nothing else in it.” “Oh, well, come now, Mr. Fortune! I mean to say--what about the C.I.D. holding up all the old man’s papers and turning down his executor?” Reggie was not surprised, he was bewildered. “Say it again slowly and distinctly,” he entreated, and when that was done he was as one who tries not to laugh. “And very nice too. My dear fellow, what more do you want? There’s a story for you.” “Well, it’s never been officially denied,” said the young man. “Fancy that!” Reggie chuckled. “But between ourselves, Mr. Fortune----” “It’s a great story,” Reggie chuckled. “But really--Well, I ask you!” and he slid away. In the hotel lounge he found Bell and Lomas and cocktails. “Pleasure before business, as ever,” he reproached them, and ordered one for himself. “And what have you been doing, then?” Lomas asked. “I have been consoling the Fourth Estate. That great institution the Press, Mr. Lomas, sir. Through one of Gilligan’s young lions. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings----” “I wish you wouldn’t talk to reporters,” Lomas complained. “You’re so haughty. By the way, what was Ludlow Blenkinhorn doing here?” He referred to a solicitor of more ability than standing. “Osbert was here and his solicitor, the young Deans and their solicitor. Who was old Blenkinhorn representing?” Bell and Lomas looked at each other. “Didn’t see the fellow,” said Lomas. “Mr. Fortune’s quite right, sir. Blenkinhorn was standing with the public. And that’s odd, too.” “Highly odd. Lomas, my dear old thing, I wish you’d watch Blenkinhorn’s office and Osbert’s flat for any chaps who look a bit exotic, a bit foreign--and follow him up if you find one.” Lomas groaned. “Surely we’ve done with the case.” “Ye-es. But there’s some fellow who hasn’t. And he has a pretty taste in poisons. And he’s still wanting papers.” “We’ve nothing to act on, you know,” Lomas protested. “Oh, not a thing, not a thing. But he might have.” Lomas nodded and Superintendent Bell went to the telephone.