“That’s queer, I was just going to ring you up,” said Desboyne. “Have you taken up the case?” “I am wavering,” replied Reeder. “Before I reach a decision I’d like to have another talk with you. Could I call at your flat to-night about--nine?” There was a little pause. “Certainly. I was going out, but I’ll wait in for you.” At the conclusion of this call Mr. Reeder again leaned back in his chair, but this time he was not smiling; he was rather puzzled. Perhaps he was thinking of Ligsey; possibly he was impressed by the generosity of this man who was ready to spend a considerable part of his fortune to prove the innocence of a man he disliked. Whatever trains of thought started and slowed, switched into side-tracks or ran off into tributary lines, they all arrived at one mysterious destination.… “It will be spring-cleaning,” said Mr. Reeder, as he got up from his chair. CHAPTER VII Reeder spent the rest of the afternoon in the West End of London, calling upon a succession of theatrical agents. Some were very important personages who received him in walnut-panelled salons; a few were in dingy offices on third floors; one, and the most important of these, he interviewed in the bar of a public-house in St. Martin’s Lane--a fat and seedy man, with a fur collar and frayed cuffs, a half-stupid tippler with no business but many reminiscences; and, as he proudly claimed, “the best collection of old theatrical programmes in London.” Mr. Reeder, who was a good listener and very patient, heard all about the agent’s former grandeur, the amount of commission out of which eminent artistes had swindled him, and at last he accompanied his bibulous companion to his lodgings off the Waterloo Road, and from seven till eight was engrossed in masses of dog-eared literature. Mr. Reeder had a meal in a Strand restaurant and drove to Park Lane. As the lift carried him to the floor on which Desboyne’s flat was situated---- “I’m sure it’s spring cleaning,” murmured Mr. Reeder to himself. He rang the bell of the flat and waited. Presently he heard the sound of footsteps echoing hollowly in the hall. Clive Desboyne opened the door with an apologetic smile. “I hope you don’t mind the place being in confusion?” he said. “We’ve started our spring cleaning. The truth is, I’d arranged to go away to-day if this wretched business hadn’t turned up.” The carpet had been taken up from the floor of the hall, the walls had been stripped, and the crystal pendant which lit the hall showed through a gauze covering. Clive Desboyne’s own study had, however, been left untouched by the decorators. “I’m going to clear out to an hotel to-morrow. It’ll probably be the Ritz-Carlton, but if you want me urgently my solicitors will be able to put us in touch. Now, Mr. Reeder, you’re going to do this for Anna and me?” Mr. Reeder shook his head feebly.