Ring Regent 9999 till further notice. Both well!” His eyes narrowed as he reread this—weighing every syllable. “‘M. S.’ might very well be ‘Mary Stewart,’ which in itself might very well be a ‘code word’ used to convey messages relative to this particular little conspiracy;” his thoughts raced on—“then we get a telephone number which is of course the pith of the message that is required to be communicated and an intimation that two people are in good health.” He thought for a moment and then the truth leaped to his brain. “By Jove—nothing of the kind—idiot that I was—‘both well’ is simply ‘Bothwell’—the other code word—just a word I might have looked for in relation to the ‘Mary Stuart’!” He searched the remaining papers through rapidly, in case there were other previous communications of a similar nature. To no effect! This was the only one! Anthony surrendered the files, conscious of an excellent morning’s work—he had started badly, but had finished well. At the first opportunity he walked into a public telephone callbox. He lifted the dog’s-eared Directory that swung at the side of the receiver, true to the tradition of such Directories, and opened it at the “B’s.” His finger traced the names down till he came to the particular one he desired. “Blanchard’s Hotel—Regent 9999.” Mr. Bathurst replaced the Directory and allowed himself the satisfaction of a smile. “But Regent 9999 doesn’t harbor Mr. and Mrs. Bothwell now—if it did once, when they preferred to call themselves Mr. and Mrs. Laurence C. Stewart.” He walked to his flat. “Any message come for me while I’ve been out, Emily?” he inquired of a girl who met him as he entered—a maid on the housekeeper’s staff. “Yes, Mr. Bathurst! A telephone message came through for you about eleven o’clock this morning—I said you were out and that I didn’t know when you would be back—it’s a gentleman that rang up—he’s promised to ring up again in the afternoon—he told me to tell you not to worry about not getting the message in the first place.”