Anthony heaved a sigh of relief. Emily’s statement meant that Peter Daventry had telephoned Scotland Yard as he had arranged with him and through the offices of Inspector Goodall had been put through to the flat. He had realized that failure to deliver his message might conceivably be a source of anxiety to Anthony and had very sensibly endeavored to allay possible fears by the injunction not to worry. It was simply a question now of waiting for the promised ring and hearing what Peter had to tell him. Meanwhile he would seek the seclusion of an easy chair, fill his pipe, and concentrate on the secret of the screens. “The riddle cannot be read from one of the twain—alone.” As far as he could see only the screen stolen from Stewart’s museum room contained anything in the nature of a message. “_Timeo Danaos_,” he reflected. “‘I fear the Greeks’—once again, ‘why the Greeks’?” His mind went back to his Uppingham days and groped for the Virgil context. He was delighted to find that his memory didn’t fail him. “_Quid quid id est, timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, sic fatus validis ingentem viribus hastam_” . . . what the blazes came next—anyhow it didn’t matter much that was evident—none of it seemed to have any intelligent bearing on Thibaut Girardier . . . yet he had put “_Timeo Danaos_” on the one screen . . . what was it Daventry had said was on the other . . . the two would have to be taken together if any sense was to be knocked out of them . . . those animals . . . he could understand the Lion, and the Leopards . . . and the fleur-de-lis . . . why the devil was the Fish there . . . he had read enough that morning to authenticate most of it . . . but that Fish . . . “I fear the Greeks” . . . what was that he had read . . . The telephone bell rang peremptorily. He lifted the receiver. “Speaking, Daventry! What is it?” CHAPTER XXI Mr. Ferguson of New York