“I knew then that I had solved the puzzle! Take the initial letters of each word—I’ll put them in English form to help you—I—CH—TH—S. You have there four of the five Greek letters that make up the Greek word for ‘Fish’! ’ICHTHUS! In relation to that—the Early Christians in the agonizing days of their first bitter persecutions used to signify their secret allegiance to the Christ by drawing a fish upon the ground when they encountered a stranger of whose Faith they were doubtful. He was tested by that sign. When I thought of that fish on the other screen I knew I was home at last. It then remained for me to entice the murdering devils here—I thought the empty house would lure them—it was all so beautifully convenient with Butterworth left behind. Mortimer brought the tapestry screen down by car, and Butterworth, who induced him down, of course, had the other in safe hiding somewhere. They were desperately impatient to turn their knowledge to account and profit. The rest you know! When I saw the screens for the first time to-night I guessed the fish had a secret cavity somewhere—luckily at the second attempt I found it.” Stewart and Goodall advanced to him with outstretched hands. “A wonderful piece of work, Mr. Bathurst,” said the former, “and worthy of the heartiest congratulations.” “Mine also,” grunted the Inspector. “I’m very much in your debt—like Mr. Stewart here.” Anthony, flushed with triumph, waved their praise on one side. “There’s one thing I _can_ take credit for,” added Peter. “I told you he was a liar when he tried to implicate Miss Lennox—I was certain of it.” Goodall laughed at Daventry’s plea for recognition—then turned to Anthony. “One last point, Mr. Bathurst. What made you state to me that the woman we were looking for suffered from hay fever?” “Come, Goodall,” replied Mr. Bathurst. “Remember Druce’s evidence—continuous sneezing—Atkins’ evidence—the occasional use of dark spectacles by a woman possessed of excellent sight—a few fragments of ‘Asthma Cure’ on the mantelpiece of the room at Blanchard’s Hotel—Rabjohns’ story of the odor in the bedroom—the time of the year, June—it was a comparatively easy matter to deduce a hay-fever patient—any more questions?” “No more,” said the Inspector promptly and decisively. “I’m perfectly satisfied.” “There’s still that awkward will,” put in Charles Stewart. “That’s got to be faced.” “Quite easy, Mr. Stewart,” said Anthony. “Miss Lennox will marry a very rich man, so that forfeiting her share of your father’s money will matter little to her. That will leave you free and unhampered to marry Miss Armitage—I think that’s the lady’s name, isn’t it? And when we remember that the metal-work screen—_your_ property, Mr. Stewart—was the one that contained the ‘Cardinal’s Great Gift’—what better wedding present could you give Miss Marjorie Lennox than the ‘Black Twenty-Two’?” He pointed to the table. “Splendid compensation—you know.”