“You’ve got it. Well, old Gerald was actually stopping in the house at the time. He always regards Bathurst as an absolute marvel. Cleared up the case when it had got the Police absolutely ‘stone cold.’ He never tires of singing Bathurst’s praises!” “Where is he now? Do you know?” Peter stroked his chin. Hadn’t Gerald told him Bathurst was living in London somewhere? “No, I don’t. There you’ve got me! Still—old Gerald may know. I’ll give him a ring.” He unhooked the receiver. “Give me ‘Wedderburn and Rathbone,’ will you—the Accountants—Devonshire Place—will you _please_—I’ve forgotten the number. Oh! Thank you!” He waited for a moment or two. “Yes. Mr. Gerald Daventry, that’s it! Oh—hallo, Gerald—Peter speaking. Could you possibly put me into touch with Anthony Bathurst? Eh? . . . Yes, something after his own heart, where . . . Leyton . . . thanks very much.” He turned to Linnell. “Gerald says we shall probably find him at Leyton this afternoon, on the members’ pavilion. Middlesex are playing Essex, and he rarely misses any of the Middlesex games. He’ll come down himself—Gerald, I mean—and if Bathurst is there—he’ll introduce us.” “All right, then, Peter. You get along—and if it can be arranged satisfactorily, we’ll ’phone Stewart when you return.” “Won’t you come along too? Come and see your adopted shire!” “No. I’ll stay here. I’ve had enough excitement for one day.” Peter grinned! “You’re a superlative optimist,” he exclaimed, “I must introduce you to a friend of mine who’s a baseball ‘fan.’ He’d be tickled to death to hear you connect cricket with excitement.” A step sounded in the corridor outside. Linnell and Peter glanced quickly in the direction of the door. Then Linnell heard a voice that he recognized only too well. “Come in, Inspector,” he announced. “I was half expecting you.” “Thank you, Mr. Linnell. I thought no harm would be done if I came along and dropped in on you as I suggested. This gentleman, I presume, is Mr. Daventry?” His keen eyes ran Peter up and down. Peter bowed. “Quite right, Inspector. The man in whom you are interested, I believe.” Goodall shot a quick glance at him—then laughed quietly. “Mr. Linnell’s been talking, I suppose! I certainly got a bit curious—but there—curiosity’s part of my job—and I can’t afford to take anything for granted.” “Any more news, Inspector?” intervened Linnell affably. “Up to the moment—no! I came straight on here. I want to have a look at one or two things! That letter from Stewart—may I see it?” Linnell opened a drawer and handed the letter to him. “H’m,” muttered Goodall. “Assynton postmark—June 7th.” He read it. “I fancy you gave me to understand that you knew nothing about Stewart, till you got this letter. Am I right?” “That is so, Inspector. My only knowledge of him was just ordinary public knowledge.” “I see. What did you do after you got the letter?” “I thought it over and wired back. To get confirmation, as it were!” “And you got a reply?” “This!”