“She was a little mad and indescribably beastly,” said Michael in disgust when he reported, “and the Guildford inquiries don’t help us forward. There’s another agent there, who sends the letters back to London, which they never reach. That is the mystery of the proceeding. There simply isn’t such an address at London, and I can only suggest that they are intercepted _en route_. The Guildford police have that matter in hand.” Staines was very worried. “Michael, I oughtn’t to have put you on this job,” he said. “My first thoughts were best. Scotland Yard is kicking, and say that the meddling of outsiders is responsible for the Head-Hunter not being brought to justice. You know something of inter-departmental jealousy, and you don’t need me to tell you that I’m getting more kicks than I’m entitled to.” Michael looked down at his chief reflectively. “I can get the Head-Hunter, but more than ever I’m convinced that we cannot convict him until we know a little more about—the caves!” Staines frowned. “I don’t quite get you, Mike. Which caves are these?” “There are some caves in the neighbourhood of Chichester. Foss knew about them and suspected their association with the Head-Hunter. Give me four days, Major, and I’ll have them both. And if I fail”—he paused—“if I fail, the next time you say good morning to me, I shall be looking up to you from the interior of one of the Head-Hunter’s boxes!” CHAPTER XXXI JOHN PERCIVAL LIGGITT IT was the second day of Michael’s visit to town, and, for a reason which she could not analyse, Adele felt “out” with the world. And yet the work was going splendidly, and Jack Knebworth, usually sparing of his praise, had almost rhapsodized over a little scene which she had acted with Connolly. So generous was he in his praise, and so comprehensive, that even Reggie came in for his share, and was willing and ready to revise his earlier estimate of the leading lady’s ability. “I’ll be perfectly frank and honest, Mr. Knebworth,” he said, in this moment of candour, “Leamington is good. Of course, I’m always on the spot to give her tips, and there’s nothing quite so educative—if I may use the term——” “You may,” said Jack Knebworth. “Thanks,” said Connolly. “——as having a finished artiste playing opposite to you. It doesn’t do me much good, but it helps her a lot; it inspires courage and all that sort of thing. And though I’ve had a perfectly awful, dreadful time, I feel that she pays for the coaching.” “Oh, do you?” growled the old man. “And I’d like to say the same about you, Reggie! But unfortunately, all the coaching you’ve had or ever will get is not going to improve you.” Reggie’s superior smile would have irritated one less equable than the director.