Many a clerk of Simon Lock’s had suffered sudden dismissal for a far slighter peccadillo than this sally on the part of Mr. Oakley. The fact was, Simon Lock was too surprised at the pleasantry, coming as it did from a man who seldom joked, to take any practical notice of it. The two men--the clerk and the Napoleon of finance--glanced at each other. ‘You are in a devilish merry humour tonight, Oakley!’ exclaimed Simon Lock. ‘It is my birthday, sir.’ ‘How old are you?’ ‘Between thirty and sixty, sir.’ ‘Listen,’ said Lock: ‘you shall come and dine with me. I never knew you in this mood before. I don’t feel like laughing myself, and I may give you the sack before we get past the fish; but come if you like.’ ‘With pleasure, sir.’ So they dined together in the great diningroom of the mansion, with a footman apiece, and a butler behind the footmen. Mr. Oakley’s mood was certainly singular to the last degree. Some people might have thought that his careless hilarity was due to the effects of intoxication, but this was not the case. And yet surely no one except a drunken man would have dared to behave to Simon Lock as he behaved. Mr. Oakley made deliberate fun of his master before the three menials, and the master never flinched nor jibbed. The fish was safely passed without an explosion, and the joint, the poultry, the sweets, and the priceless Cheshire cheese followed without mishap. When the coffee and cigars came round Simon Lock dismissed his servants. ‘Oakley,’ he said, ‘why are you going to give me notice to leave?’ ‘I had no intention of leaving you, sir.’ ‘I could swear,’ said Lock, ‘that you had had the offer of a better place, and were just amusing yourself with me before giving notice. It would be like you to do that, Oakley. You were always a bit of a mystery. I suppose you have come to the conclusion that Simon Lock’s career is over?’ ‘Nothing of the kind, sir. I have merely been jolly because it is my birthday.’ ‘Well, Oakley, as it is your birthday, I don’t mind confessing to you that I am in something of a hole.’ ‘Over the La Princesse shares?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘It is a pity,’ said Oakley, ‘that we have been unable to lay our hands on Richard Redgrave.’ ‘You think, then, Oakley, that Redgrave, if we could catch him and make him speak, might be able to throw light on this little affair?’ ‘At any rate,’ said Oakley, ‘he might tell you why he so suddenly threw up his job.’ ‘Yes, I would give something to get hold of Redgrave.’ ‘I felt that so strongly, sir, that I have myself been down to his place twice.’ ‘And have discovered nothing?’ ‘Nothing. But----’ ‘Well, what is it?’ ‘I was just thinking about the death of Featherstone. Featherstone lived in a couple of rooms in Blenheim Mansions, off the Edgware Road. Furnished rooms they were, let by a woman who has two flats on the same floor, and lets them out in small quantities to bachelors.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘I wanted a couple of rooms myself.’