“There’s a telegram for you, sir,” said the porter. He went into the manager’s office and returned with a buff envelope, which Michael tore open. For a time he could not comprehend the fateful message the telegram conveyed. And then slowly he read it to himself. “A head found on Chobham Common early this morning. Come to Leatherhead Police Station at once. “STAINES.” An hour later a fast car dropped him before the station. Staines was waiting on the step. “Found at daybreak this morning,” he said. “The man is so far unknown.” He led the way to an outhouse. On a table in the centre of the room was a box, and he lifted the lid. Mike took one glance at the waxen face and turned white. “Good God!” he breathed. It was the head of Lawley Foss. CHAPTER XXIII CLUES AT THE TOWER MICHAEL gazed in fascinated horror at the tragic spectacle. Then reverently he covered the box with a cloth and walked out into the paved courtyard. “You know him?” asked Staines. Michael nodded. “Yes, it is Lawley Foss, lately scenario editor of the Knebworth Picture Corporation. He was seen alive last night at eleven o’clock. I myself heard, if I did not see him, somewhere about that time. He was visiting Griff Towers, Sir Gregory Penne’s place in Sussex. Was there the usual note?” he asked. “There was a note, but it was quite unusual.” He showed the typewritten slip: it was in the station inspector’s office. One characteristic line, with its ill-aligned letters. “This is the head of a traitor.” That and no more. “I’ve had the Dorking police on the ’phone. It was a wet night, and although several cars passed none of them could be identified.” “Has the advertisement appeared?” asked Michael. Staines shook his head. “No, that was the first thing we thought of. The newspapers have carefully observed, and every newspaper manager in the country has promised to notify us the moment such an advertisement is inserted. But there has been no ad. of any suspicious character.” “I shall have to follow the line of probability here,” said Michael. “It is clear that this man was murdered between eleven o’clock and three in the morning—probably nearer eleven than three; for if the murderer is located in Sussex, he would have to bring the head to Chobham, leave it in the dark and return before it was light.” His car took Michael back to Chichester at racing pace. Short of the city he turned off the main road, his objective being Griff Towers. It was late when he arrived, and the Towers presented its usual lifeless appearance. He rang the bell, but there was no immediate reply. He rang again, and then the voice of Sir Gregory hailed him from one of the upper windows. “Who’s there?” He went out of the porch and looked up. Sir Gregory Penne did not recognize him in the darkness, and called again: