“He looks all right now,” said Henry. “He is all right except on his own particular subject. He’d discuss politics, unemployment, foreign affairs, or anything else, and you wouldn’t notice anything, but the minute he comes to his own subject everything worries and irritates him. He’s lost grip. As far as I can make out, he leaves everything to his daughter and the secretary. They are competent enough, but....” Henry did not finish his sentence. “Ah yes, the secretary,” said Sir Julian. “What’s his name? Yes, Ember, Jeffrey Ember....” He turned an indicator under his hand, and spoke rapidly into the telephone beside him. “As soon as possible,” he concluded. “This girl now,” he said, looking at Henry. “I don’t see how this statement of hers can be squared with any of the facts as we know them.” As he spoke he picked up the notes which Henry had taken in the dark cupboard. “She made a suggestion herself,” said Henry. He paused, and looked with a good deal of diffidence at Sir Julian. “Well?” “It is just within the bounds of possibility that the Government experiments are being used as a blind. That was her suggestion, sir.” Sir Julian was busily engaged in drawing on his blotting-paper. He drew in rapid succession cats with arched backs and bottle-brush tails, always beginning with the tail and finishing with the whiskers, three on each side. Henry rightly interpreted this as a sign that he was to continue. “The conversation which was overheard at Molloy’s flat referred to a Formula ‘A,’ which cannot possibly be the Formula ‘A’ which we know. There may be a Formula ‘A’ of which we know nothing, and it may constitute a grave danger. Ember”—Henry paused—“Ember is not only in a position of great responsibility with regard to our—the official Formula ‘A,’ but he also appears to be mixed up with this other unofficial and possibly dangerous Formula ‘A.’ The question, to my mind, is, ‘What about Ember?’” Sir Julian continued to draw cats. Suddenly he looked up, and said: “How long has Patterson been there?” “A fortnight,” said Henry. “We recalled Jamieson, you remember, and sent him down.” “Then, if there were unofficial experiments, they would be before his time?” “Yes,” said Henry. “Would it be possible—no, I’ll put it another way. Officially Luttrell Marches is impregnable, but unofficially—come March, the place practically belongs to you—is there any way in which there might be coming and going that would defy detection? You see, your hypothesis demands either wholesale corruption of Government workmen, or the introduction of other experiments.” There was a pause. Then Henry said: “In confidence, sir, there _is_ a way, but, to the best of my knowledge, it is known only to myself and one other person.” “It might be discovered.” “I don’t think so. It never has been.”