The Sergeant thought for a moment. “How far away are your bedrooms?” he demanded. “Mine is on the floor above this,” answered Charles Stewart. “Llewellyn’s is above that.” “Where is your father’s?” “Next to mine! The only other bedroom on that floor is used by Miss Lennox.” “And the servants?” “On the same floor as Llewellyn’s. On the other wing.” “Thank you, Mr. Stewart. I don’t think I shall need Mr. Llewellyn any more for the present. Thank you, Mr. Llewellyn.” The secretary bowed and thanked the Sergeant, not without a touch of irony. Charles Stewart turned to him as he walked to the door. “You might get that cable off to New York, that I mentioned to you previously, and also ’phone to that firm in Cornhill who were acting for my father to-morrow, will you? Explain the circumstances and tell them to consider their instructions cancelled. I can’t see any reason why I should go ahead with those purchases now. Stay, though, a minute—get them for me and I’ll speak to them—I’ll tell them all about the whole affair. Probably that will avoid any misunderstanding.” Llewellyn took his instructions quietly and went out. Charles Stewart gestured to the Sergeant. “My father intended to purchase two or three more very special antiques—he was always anxious to add to his collection. Now that this dreadful thing has happened—I don’t care to go on with it.” “I understand exactly how you feel, sir. It does you credit.” “Whom will you see next, Sergeant? Or have you finished for the time being?” Clegg looked at his note-book—then wetted the point of his pencil, thoughtfully. “I should like a few words with the lady that’s been mentioned, Mr. Stewart. This ward of your father’s—Miss Lennox.” Stewart turned quickly. “I don’t think she’ll be able to——” The door moved and Llewellyn entered. Charles Stewart frowned. “I’ve got through to Cornhill, Mr. Stewart. If you would come along—they’re holding the line. Mr. Linnell is out—Mr. Daventry, the junior partner, is speaking.”