“You’ve got to do it,” insisted the other energetically. “You’re the only detective in London in whom I’ve any confidence. I know you’re attached to the Public Prosecutor’s Department, but I’ve been making a few inquiries too,” he said with a little smile, “and I hear that you take outside commissions.” “Banks,” said Mr. Reeder reverently. “Banks--not private work.” “I shall insist!” Clive was very earnest. “I’ve told Anna everything--about my beastliness in regard to young Southers. Honestly, I still think that Ligsey’s story was true and that Southers _was_ making something on the side. A lot of decent fellows, otherwise perfectly honest, do that sort of thing, and I’m not condemning him. In fact, when I expressed my--what’s the word for being shocked?” “Horror, amazement?” suggested Mr. Reeder. “Well, whatever it was--I was being a hypocrite. I myself have not always been rich. I’ve known what it is to be devilishly poor. If I hadn’t made good speculations when I was quite a kid, I should probably be worse off than Southers.” “You’re rather fond of the young lady?” said Mr. Reeder after an interregnum of silence. Again Desboyne laughed. “Of course I am! The fact that a man is engaged to another girl--and the sweetest girl in the world--doesn’t prevent him philandering. Of course, it’s a caddish thing to do, and it’s got me into quite a lot of trouble, but the fact remains, I am terribly fond of Anna. I won’t say I love her like a brother, because I’m tired of being a hypocrite. I’m going to try to get Southers out of the mess he’s in; and that doesn’t mean I love _him_ like a brother, either! Now, Mr. Reeder, what do you want to see me about, if it isn’t to tell me that you’re taking up this case?” All that Mr. Reeder wanted to see Clive Desboyne about was spring cleaning, but he could not say this. He had, however, a good excuse for calling: Ligsey was apparently alive, he explained. Clive Desboyne was not impressed. “I didn’t worry whether he was alive or dead,” he said frankly. “Naturally, I do not know what theory the police have, but I understood from the newspapers that they were concentrating on the murder of Attymar--that is the charge against John Southers. If Ligsey is alive I’m hardly likely to meet him, unless, of course, he feels, as so many of these crooks do, that once one has given them money they’re entitled to a pension! If I hear from him I’ll let you know.” As they came out into the hall Mr. Reeder’s eyes wandered up and down the bare walls. “You will have this repainted, Mr. Desboyne?” he asked. “At present it is rather a delicate cream. If I were you I should have it painted green. Green is a very restful colour, but possibly my views are--um--suburban.” “I think they are,” said the other good-humouredly.