Both the chemist and his assistant had seen Mr. Schmidt. He had called to have medicines made up and to purchase surgical supplies. “Surgical supplies?” Mr. Reeder was almost excited. “Dear me, how excellently that fits my theory! Pardon me, my dear sir… I--um--was rather carried away. Now, could you describe Mr. Schmidt?” They could describe him quite graphically, and Mr. Schmidt was undoubtedly the dead Litnoff. Mr. Reeder went home to his house in the Brockley Road, feeling rather satisfied with his discoveries. He had no illusion about his “luck.” In a few days the police would discover Litnoff’s home in Lammington Mansions (they found it the next day through the medium of a laundry mark as a matter of fact) and at best he was only those few days ahead of the “regulars.” There were no letters for him, and he had his tea and toast reading the evening newspapers the while, and at nine o’clock was in the act of writing up his diary when he heard the tinkle of the street door bell. The housekeeper left the two visitors in the hall, and announced them to Mr. Reeder with bated breath. “Two young ladies,” she said primly. “I told them you never saw visitors, but one of them said she was going to see you if she had to wait all night.” If Mr. Reeder had harmonized with the tone of sharp disapproval, he would have ordered them immediately to be thrown into the street. “Show them up, please,” he said. One, at least, was Miss Gillette. He guessed the other, and guessed correctly, for Joan Ralph came into the room behind his trying secretary. “I would have telephoned you, but I didn’t think it was safe,” said Miss Gillette almost before she was in the room. “You remember you asked Joan about a diamond clasp, or brooch, or something?” Mr. Reeder offered her a chair. “Have you seen it?” A foolish question, he felt, when he saw Miss Gillette’s visible scorn. “Of course we haven’t seen it. Joan and I went to dine to-night at the Corner House. Then a red haired young man came up and asked Joan if she ever wore plus-fours.” Mr. Reeder leant back in his chair. “If she wore plus-fours?” he repeated a little scandalized. Miss Gillette nodded energetically. “He was terribly nervous,” said Miss Gillette. “I have never known a red-haired man to be nervous before; they are usually rather, well, you know, the other way about, but he started talking a lot of stuff about his father being a jeweller and being ill, and then he mentioned a diamond brooch. He said he had under-valued it. I thought he was drunk. Joan didn’t.” “What was his name?” Joan Ralph shook her head.