“Tell him to ’phone the moment he comes in,” he said, and went to his desk to examine, for the third time that day, the old music-hall programmes and playbills, photographs, cuttings from the _Era_ and the _Stage_, the data which he had collected in the course of the day. At one o’clock his housekeeper came in and asked if anything more would be required. “Nothing at all,” said Mr. Reeder. And then a thought struck him. “Where do you sleep?” “In the room above, sir.” “Above this?” said Mr. Reeder hastily. “No, no, I think you’d better stay in the kitchen until I hear from Mr. Gaylor. If you could make yourself comfortable there, in fact if you could sleep there, I should be very much obliged. There is nothing to be alarmed about,” he said, when he saw consternation dawning in her face. “It is merely that I may want to--um--send a detective upstairs to--um--overhear a conversation.” It was a lame excuse. Mr. Reeder was a poor liar; but his housekeeper was a very simple soul, and, except that she insisted upon going up to make the room tidy, agreed to retire to the basement. She had hardly gone when Gaylor came through, and for five minutes he and Reeder spoke together. After this the detective settled down to await his coming, and Inspector Gaylor did not arrive alone, but brought with him two expert officials from the Explosives Department. One of them had a delicate spring balance, and with this the package was weighed. “Allow an ounce and a quarter for the wood,” said the expert, “and that’s the exact weight of a Mills bomb. I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Reeder.” He held the package to his ear and shook it gently. “No, nothing more complicated.” He took a case of instruments from his pocket and removed a slither of wood from the lid. “Yes, there’s the lever, and the pin’s out,” he said after examining it under a strong light. He cut away the side, and revealed a black, segmented egg shape, grinning as he recognized an old friend. “You see that?” He pointed to a little hole at the end of the box. “The fellow who brought this was taking no risks: he kept an emergency pin through until it was delivered. I’ll have this out in a jiff.” It was no idle promise. Mr. Reeder watched with interest as the skilful fingers of the man removed the lid, catching the lever at the same time and holding it firm against the swelling side. From his pocket he took a steel pin and thrust it home, and the bomb became innocuous. “You’ve kept every scrap of paper, of course?” said Gaylor. “There was no other packing but this?” Every piece of paper was carefully folded and put in an envelope, and the two explosive experts went down to pack away Mr. Reeder’s dangerous gift. “There was a lot you didn’t tell the chief,” said Gaylor at parting. “That’s the trouble with you, you old devil!” Mr. Reeder looked pained. “That is not a very pleasant expression,” he said.