“Hallo, Nesbitt,” he said, as if not noticing the other three. “Saw your lights on and your library windows open, so I walked over. Hope you don’t mind. George wanted to know rather particularly whether you could—but am I interrupting a conference or something?” “Not a bit,” said Guy heartily. “Let me introduce you. Mr. Foster, Inspector Cottingham—Mr. Doyle. You’ve just come at the right moment, Doyle. The most extraordinary things have been happening here this evening.” “Really?” said Mr. Doyle with polite interest. The Inspector’s frown had brightened, only to darken a moment later. He tapped his pencil with his teeth. Evidently the new arrival was not the person who ought to be turning up. Guy hastened to put things on a different footing. “Mr. Doyle is staying with our next-door neighbours,” he told the Inspector. “Just the man you want to see. You’ll want to ask him whether they’ve seen anything of all this business, won’t you?” The Inspector, who had not thought of any such thing, brightened again. Guy had spoken with such deference in the presence of the expert that nobody could have taken offence. Instead, the Inspector took the suggestion. “That’s right, sir,” he agreed paternally. “I shall want to put a few questions to Mr. Doyle in a minute.” “Well, just give him an outline of the affair, Inspector, will you? I’m going off to see if I can’t find a decanter of something. I think the occasion requires it.” He went out of the room. The Inspector, who had begun to look somewhat doubtful at Guy’s first suggestion, changed his expression before the second one. Of course, if they were all going to be friends together, as it were. . . . He embarked on a brief résumé of the chief facts, as gleaned from his two witnesses. Mr. Doyle commented fittingly. When Guy returned Mr. Doyle was displaying the gifts which fitted him for the exacting profession of journalism. “This is great, Inspector,” he was saying warmly. “You’ve got the most magnificent opportunity ever presented to an Inspector of Police. Properly handled, this business is going to make your name for you.” “It may do me a bit of good, sir, yes,” agreed the Inspector modestly, wondering whether this engaging young man had ever heard of the Garfield case, and if not, how he could tactfully enlighten him. “Do you a bit of good! My dear chap, it’s going to make you famous. And look here,” added Mr. Doyle very innocently, “I may be able to be a little use to you. I’m a journalist, did you know? I can guarantee you a couple of columns in _The Courier_, with your name splashed about all over it. Nothing like publicity in a big London paper to help a good man to get on, you know.” Mr. Doyle managed to convey the impression that he had the editor and organisation of _The Courier_ attached to the end of a string, only waiting for him to jerk it.