Anthony listened. “Yes—that’s all right, old man. I got your message and of course I knew from that that everything was O. K. down at Assynton . . . What . . . When? . . . Monday? You say Stewart would like me to come down . . . well I should rather like it myself . . . it will suit me all right, too . . . I had intended returning on Monday in any case . . . Goodall will be coming too . . . Ferguson, you said . . . he’s been pretty quick over it, hasn’t he? . . . don’t quite see how it’s been possible . . . right‑o then . . . be very careful over the week-end, won’t you? . . . keep your eyes skinned on every man Jack of ’em . . . Good-bye.” He sank back in his chair. Ferguson of Crake and Ferguson, New York! Laurence Stewart’s solicitors! But how Mr. Ferguson could have arrived in England so quickly after the murder wasn’t clear to him—“he must have flown over,” he remarked to himself somewhat jocularly. His train of thought, however, didn’t last for long. His mind was soon back to the problem of the screens. Where was he when that confounded telephone rang? He closed his eyes in an attempt to recapture his concentration and the exact point to which he had arrived. He had been wondering about two things—he remarked. The Latin tag and the Fish in the center of the screen. It was becoming increasingly plain to him that he would have to get into touch with the Hanover Galleries screen! Without that, he was merely beating the air. He decided to speak to Goodall at once. He was instantly put through. Goodall seemed anxious for news. “We are no nearer a solution this end, Mr. Bathurst,” he announced rather gloomily, “every clue seems to lead nowhere—the pretty pair I’m after seem to have been spirited off the face of the earth.” “I wanted to speak to you about them, Goodall, among other things,” replied Anthony. “Get into touch with the New York police as quickly as you possibly can—I have a strong presentiment that the gentleman we’re after has a considerable reputation as a ‘crook’ over the other side. Who is he? Haven’t the least idea, Goodall—ask them if any particularly promising specimen of the unsavory sort has slipped out of the States recently—from little old New York, in all probability. You can give them a rough description of the man you want.” “Very well,” answered Goodall, “although I think you’re drawing a bow at a venture—still I’ll try it! What else did you want to say?” “I’ve two more pieces of news for you, Inspector—the first will make you sit up a bit.” “I’ve been doing quite a lot of that lately, Mr. Bathurst—what’s the latest development?” “Have a glance at the Personal Column of the ‘Telegraph’ for the 30th of last month—see what you make of it!” “All right,” assented the Inspector. “What else?”