Sir James Brownsmith thought that on the whole he would walk home from Piccadilly to Harley Street. The chauffeur touched his hat, and the car moved on. The eminent surgeon had ample food for reflection; it seemed to him that he was on the verge of a great discovery. Somebody accosted him two or three times before he came back to earth again. "That you, Townsend?" he asked, abruptly. "You want to speak to me? Certainly. Only as I am rather tired to-night if you will cut it as short as possible, I shall be glad." "I am afraid I can’t, Sir James," Inspector Townsend replied. "Indeed I was going to suggest that I walked as far as your house and had a chat over matters." Sir James shrugged his shoulders, and Harley Street was reached almost in silence. In the small consulting-room the surgeon switched on a brilliant light and handed over cigars and whisky and soda. "Now go on," he said. "It’s all about to-night’s business, I suppose?" "Precisely, sir. You’ve helped us a good many times with your wonderful scientific knowledge, and I dare say you will again. This Piccadilly mystery is a queer business altogether. Do you feel quite sure that the poor fellow was really murdered, after all?" Brownsmith looked fixedly at the speaker. He had considerable respect for Townsend, whose intellect was decidedly above the usual Scotland Yard level. Townsend was a man of imagination and a master of theory. He went beyond motive and a cast of a footmark—he was no rule-of-thumb workman. "On the face of it I should say there can be no possible doubt," said Sir James. "Murdered by strangulation, sir? The same as that man at Streatham. As you have made a careful examination of both bodies you ought to know?" "Is there any form of murder unknown to me, Townsend?" Sir James asked. "Is there any trick of the assassin’s trade that I have not mastered?" "Oh, I admit your special knowledge, sir! But it’s a trick of mine to be always planning new crimes. I could give you three ways of committing murder that are absolutely original. And I’ve got a theory about this business that I don’t care to disclose yet. Still, we can discuss the matter up to a certain point. Both those men were destroyed—or lost their lives—in the same way." "Both strangled, in fact. It’s the Indian Thug dodge. But you know all about that, Townsend?" "We’ll admit for the moment that both victims have been destroyed by Thugee. But isn’t it rather strange that both bodies were found in close juxtaposition to valuable orchids? We know, of course, that Sir Clement’s orchids are almost priceless. The Streatham witness, Silverthorne, says that a very rare orchid was recently placed in the Lennox conservatory. Now, isn’t it fair to argue that both murdered men lost their lives in pursuit of those orchids?" Sir James nodded thoughtfully. He had forgotten the Cardinal Moth for the moment.