Jack went into the larder and brought out some cold meat, brewed a pot of coffee, and sat in silence, watching the famished detective dispose of the viands. “I feel a man now,” said Michael as he finished, “for I’d had nothing to eat except a biscuit since eleven this morning. By the way, our friend Stella Mendoza is staying at Griff Towers, and I’m afraid I rather scared her. I happened to be nosing round there an hour ago, to make absolutely sure of my bird, and I looked in upon her—to her alarm!” There came a sharp rap at the door, and Jack Knebworth looked up. “Who’s that at this time of night?” he asked. “Probably the policeman,” said Michael. Knebworth opened the door and found a short, stout, middle-aged woman standing on the doorstep with a roll of paper in her hand. “Is this Mr. Knebworth’s?” she asked. “Yes,” said Jack. “I’ve brought the play that Miss Leamington left behind. She asked me to bring it to you.” Knebworth took the roll of paper and slipped off the elastic band which encircled it. It was the manuscript of “Roselle.” “Why have you brought this?” he asked. “She told me to bring it up if I found it.” “Very good,” said Jack, mystified. “Thank you very much.” He closed the door on the woman and went back to the dining-room. “Adele has sent up her script. What’s wrong, I wonder?” “Who brought it?” asked Michael, interested. “Her landlady, I suppose,” said Jack, describing the woman. “Yes, that’s she. Adele is not turning in her part?” Jack shook his head. “That wouldn’t be likely.” Michael was puzzled. “What the dickens does it mean? What did the woman say?” “She said that Miss Leamington wanted her to bring up the manuscript if she found it.” Michael was out of the house in a second, and, racing down the street, overtook the woman. “Will you come back, please?” he said, and escorted her to the house again. “Just tell Mr. Knebworth why Miss Leamington sent this manuscript, and what you mean by having ‘forgotten’ it.” “Why, when she came up to you——” began the woman. “Came up to me?” cried Knebworth quickly. “A gentleman from the studio called for her, and said you wanted to see her,” said the landlady. “Miss Leamington was just going to bed, but I took up the message. He said you wanted to see her about the play, and asked her to bring the manuscript. She had mislaid it somewhere and was in a great state about it, so I told her to go on, as you were in a hurry, and I’d bring it up. At least, she asked me to do that.” “What sort of a gentleman was it who called?” “A rather stout gentleman. He wasn’t exactly a gentleman, he was a chauffeur. As a matter of fact, I thought he’d been drinking, though I didn’t want to alarm Miss Leamington by telling her so.” “And then what happened?” asked Michael quickly. “She came down and got in the car. The chauffeur was already in.” “A closed car, I suppose?” The woman nodded. “And then they drove off? What time was this?”