To say that Goodall and his companions were dumbfounded is no exaggeration. Events were crowding upon them this morning with a vengeance. The announcement of this second murder took their breath away. It startled them and threw them off their balance much more effectively than the first calamity had done. Mason was a night-watchman! Stewart was a millionaire! The former could be very easily replaced—the latter’s death was a tragedy in more senses than one. Goodall knew perfectly well that any failure on his part to find the murderer of Mason would occasion no questions in Parliament and would cause the Home Secretary no loss of sleep. But now that Laurence P. Stewart was caught in the wheels of the murder-machinery he was painfully conscious that he must be “up and doing.” The case might be his, too! “How did that news reach you, Mr. Linnell?” was his first question. “From my partner, Mr. Daventry. He has just had a ’phone-call from Stewart’s home in Berkshire—from Stewart’s son, I understood him to say.” “What made Stewart’s son telephone so quickly to your office?” Linnell rubbed his cheek with his fingers. “He didn’t explain the reason to me just now—Daventry didn’t, I mean. I can only surmise that young Stewart knew that we had received instructions from his father concerning the sale of those antiques and wished possibly to countermand them—considering the fresh and tragic circumstances.” “H’m,” muttered the Inspector. “I suppose that’s possible. When was Stewart murdered, did you say?” “They believe—some time last night. Naturally, I wasn’t able to glean extensive details—even if my partner had been in a position to give them to me. But from what he did tell me, I imagine that the body was discovered early this morning.” Goodall looked thoughtful. “Hardly looks like the same people! Assynton must be a matter of seventy miles from London—getting on for a couple of hours’ journey at least—that means they would have to leave there somewhere about nine-thirty, assuming Stewart to have been killed first, and accepting Druce’s evidence as reliable—h’m—possible but not probable—have to find out when Stewart was last seen alive.” He turned to Linnell. “Extremely useful your turning up here, Mr. Linnell. There does seem to be a connection between the two affairs—difficult though it may be to discover it. I’ll come and see your Mr. Daventry later on.” “I shall be delighted. There’s our address.” He handed his card to the Inspector. Goodall fingered it, thinking carefully. “Mr. Forshaw!” he called. “Mr. Forshaw, Junior!” “Yes, Inspector!” “You stated just now that you interviewed Mr. Linnell’s partner yesterday.” “That’s so, Inspector. Yesterday afternoon, to be precise.” “What happened exactly—tell me?”