“The man spoke to you—did you recognize his voice?” She shook her head. “No—he spoke in a whisper. I did not see his face, though I have an idea that he was wearing a cap. The policeman said he should have taken the number of the car.” “Oh, the policeman said that, did he?” remarked Michael sardonically. “Well, there’s hope for him.” For a minute he was immersed in thought, and then: “I’ll take you to the studio if you don’t mind,” said Michael. He left her to go to her dressing-room, there to learn that work had been suspended for the day, and went in search of Jack. “You’ve seen everybody of consequence in this neighbourhood,” he said. “Do you know anybody who drives a sedan and wears a diamond ring on the little finger of the right hand?” “The only person I know who has that weakness is Mendoza,” he said. Michael whistled. “I never thought of Mendoza,” he said, “and Adele described the hand as ‘small and womanly.’” “Mendoza’s hand isn’t particularly small, but it would look small on a man,” said Jack thoughtfully. “And her car isn’t a closed sedan, but that doesn’t mean anything. By the way, I’ve just sent instructions to tell the company I’m working to-day. If we let these people stand around thinking, they’ll get thoroughly upset.” “I thought that too,” said Michael with a smile, “but I didn’t dare make the suggestion.” An urgent message took him to London that afternoon, where he attended a conference of the Big Five at Scotland Yard. And at the end of the two-hour discussion, the conclusion was reached that Sir Gregory Penne was to remain at large but under observation. “We verified the story about the lifting of this girl in Borneo,” said the quiet-spoken Chief. “And all the facts dovetail. I haven’t the slightest doubt in my mind that Penne is the culprit, but we’ve got to walk very warily. I dare say in your department, Captain Brixan, you can afford to take a few risks, but the police in this country never make an arrest for murder unless they are absolutely certain that a conviction will follow. There may be something in your other theory, and I’d be the last man in the world to turn it down, but you’ll have to conduct parallel investigations.” Michael ran down to Sussex in broad daylight. There was a long stretch of road about four miles north of Chichester, and he was pelting along this when he became aware of a figure standing in the middle of the roadway with its arms outstretched, and slowed down. It was Mr. Sampson Longvale, he saw to his amazement. Almost before the car had stopped, with an extraordinary display of agility Mr. Longvale jumped on the running-board. “I have been watching for you this last two hours, Mr. Brixan,” he said. “Do you mind if I join you?” “Come right in,” said Michael heartily. “You are going to Chichester, I know. Would you mind instead coming to the Dower House? I have something important to tell you.”