Mullins it was, and with the negative information expected and desired, though the professional melancholy of his countenance might have been the precursor of the worst possible news. The hospitals on his rapid round had included Charing Cross, St. Thomas’s, St. George’s, and the Royal Free; but he had telephoned besides to St. Mary’s and St. Bartholomew’s. At none of these institutions had a young gentleman of the name of Upton, or of unknown name, been admitted in the last forty-eight hours. Mullins, however, looked as sympathetically depressed as though no news had lost its proverbial value; and he had one of those blue-black faces that lend themselves to the look, his chin being in perpetual mourning for the day before. “Don’t go, Mullins! I’ve another job for you,” said Eugene Thrush. “Take the telephone directory and the London directory, and sit you down at my desk. Look up ‘chemists’ under ‘trades’; there are pages of them. Work through the list with the telephone directory, and ring up every chemist who’s on the telephone, beginning with the ones nearest in, to ask if he keeps d’Auvergne Cigarettes for asthma. Make a note of the first few who do; go round to them all in turn, and be back here at nine with a box from each. Complain to each of the difficulty of getting ’em elsewhere—say you wonder there’s so little demand—and with any luck you should find out whether and to whom they’ve sold any since Wednesday evening.” “But surely that’s the whole point?” suggested the ironmaster. “It’s the next point,” said Thrush. “The first is to divide the chemists of London into the Animals who keep the cigarettes and the Vegetables who don’t. I should really like to play the next round myself, but Mullins must do something while we’re out.” “While we’re out, Mr. Thrush?” “My dear Mr. Upton, you’re going to step across into the Café Royal with me, and have a square meal before you crack up!” “And what about your theatre?” asked Mr. Upton, to whom resistance was a physical impossibility, when they had left the sombre Mullins entrenched behind telephone and directories. “The theatre! I was only going out of curiosity to see the sort of tripe that any manager has the nerve to serve up on a Friday in June; but I’m not going to chuck the drama that’s come to me!”