“Scotland Yard!” ejaculated his companion. “How in the world did you find that out?” Captain Palliser did not explain how he had done it. Presumably his knowledge was due to the adroitness of the system of “following such things up.” “Scotland Yard has also come to him,” he went on. “Did you chance to see a red-faced person who spent a morning with him last week?” “He looked like a butcher, and I thought he might be one of his friends,” Lady Mallowe said. “I recognized the man. He is an extremely clever detective, much respected for his resources in the matter of following clues which are so attenuated as to be scarcely clues at all.” “Clues have no connection with Joan,” said Lady Mallowe, still more annoyed. “All London knows her miserable story.” “Have you--” Captain Palliser's tone was thoughtful, “--has any one ever seen Mr. Strangeways?” “No. Can you imagine anything more absurdly romantic? A creature without a memory, shut up in a remote wing of a palace like this, as if he were the Man with the Iron Mask. Romance is not quite compatible with T. Tembarom.” “It is so incongruous that it has entertained me to think it over a good deal,” remarked Palliser. “He leaves everything to one's imagination. All one knows is that he isn't a relative; that he isn't mad, but only too nervous to see or be seen. Queer situation. I've found there is always a reason for things; the queerer they are, the more sure it is that there's a reason. What is the reason Strangeways is kept here, and where would a detective come in? Just on general principles I'm rather going into the situation. There's a reason, and it would be amusing to find it out. Don't you think so?” He spoke casually, and Lady Mallowe's answer was casual, though she knew from experience that he was not as casual as he chose to seem. He was clever enough always to have certain reasons of his own which formulated themselves into interests large and small. He knew things about people which were useful. Sometimes quite small things were useful. He was always well behaved, and no one had ever accused him of bringing pressure to bear; but it was often possible for him to sell things or buy things or bring about things in circumstances which would have presented difficulties to other people. Lady Mallowe knew from long experience all about the exigencies of cases when “needs must,” and she was not critical. Temple Barholm as the estate of a distant relative and T. Tembarom as its owner were not assets to deal with indifferently. When a man made a respectable living out of people who could be persuaded to let you make investments for them, it was not an unbusinesslike idea to be in the position to advise an individual strongly. “It's quite natural that you should feel an interest,” she answered. “But the romantic stranger is too romantic, though I will own Scotland Yard is a little odd.” “Yes, that is exactly what I thought,” said Palliser.