“That’s fine,” said Mr. Doyle, without conviction. This was a snag he had not foreseen. He blessed himself for the happy piece of foolery which had caused Nesbitt and himself to dress for their part and cover their faces with the mufflers. In the meantime Dora would certainly have to lie low till she got back to London. “Now, sir,” the Inspector’s voice remarked in rolling tones. “Now, Mr. Doyle, if you’ll come with me down the road to where you’re staying, I’d just like to ask the members of the household there if they heard anything. Mr. Howard, isn’t it? Who else is there?” For the fraction of a second Mr. Doyle lost his head. “Nobody!” he said swiftly. To his guilty mind it seemed as if the Inspector’s eye became suddenly less genial. “What, nobody else?” he said. “Nobody!” repeated the guilty one firmly. “No maids, even?” Mr. Doyle drew a breath of relief. “No, no maids. Their maids come in by the day. Mr. Howard and I were quite alone this evening.” “Who keeps house for him, then?” “Oh, his sister. Er—Miss Howard. But she’s away for the week-end.” Mr. Doyle cocked an anxious eye at the door, to reassure himself that Laura was not coming down the passage towards them at that moment, complete with handcuff and accomplice. “Oh, I see. Well, come along, then, sir. And, Graves, you’d better come, too. Thank you, Mr. Nesbitt, sir; I think I’ve finished here now. But it’s a pity you threw that note away. If you only remembered where you’d thrown it, I’d have a search made. Try and think during the next few hours. Mrs. Nesbitt might know; ask her. It’d be a valuable clue. Are you ready, then, Mr. Doyle, sir?” As Doyle went out of the room he caught a look from Guy. The look said quite plainly: “Come back here when you’ve got rid of him.” Doyle nodded. Followed by the constable, they made their way out to the road. “And while I’m speaking to Mr. Howard,” remarked the Inspector very airily. “I expect you’d like to be telephoning your report through to _The Courier_, wouldn’t you?” Doyle nodded. He had already taken the opportunity of ringing up _The Courier_, and asking the editor to hold a couple of columns for him if possible as he had a scoop of the first magnitude, and without divulging too much of its nature, he had succeeded in obtaining exceedingly good terms if it should, in the editor’s opinion, come up to its rosy forecast; it was too late to send one of _The Courier_’s own men down, and Doyle, being a freelance, had been able to make almost his own terms. They were very good terms indeed, and they provided for the future as well as for the present. Mr. Doyle ought to have been exceedingly buoyant.