Anthony made a gesture with his arm towards another part of the garden before he answered. “At twenty-two minutes past one this morning I awoke very suddenly. I’m a very light sleeper and the slightest sound is sufficient to wake me. What I had heard was a step passing my bedroom door. Of course I couldn’t be sure which direction the steps had taken. But I slipped out of bed and opened my door. I stood listening for some time and then I heard the steps coming back. Whoever it was, was coming upstairs again. Naturally I had to bolt back into my bedroom, but I held the door handle so that I could open it quickly and noiselessly immediately the prowler had passed. I just had time to see the gentleman disappear into the room next to yours. You may guess that I went back to bed and did a little bit of quiet thinking.” “By Jove!” exclaimed Peter. “The plot thickens! Who the blazes was it—any idea?” “I know who it was,” replied Anthony. “It was the gentleman who had ‘brekker’ with us this morning—Mr. Morgan Llewellyn! You may remember what he thought about the library being shut up.” Peter whistled softly. “You mean that he was trying to get in there, in the night?” “I think it extremely probable,” declared Anthony. “And the question is what is it that’s attracting him there? That’s what we’ve got to find out—that’s why I’ve told you.” “Did he get in do you think?” queried Peter, “because if he did, the mischief’s done.” “Not he,” grinned Anthony. “Sergeant Clegg saw to that, quite thoroughly. Now come along over to the other side. We’ll see if we can run across Patrick O’Connor.” Maidment, the gardener, was earthing up potatoes in the kitchen garden as they approached. He straightened himself as he wished them “Good morning.” “O’Connor,” he said, in answer to Anthony’s question. “You’ll find him up there in the potting-shed.” He pointed past the cucumber frames that lay on his right to a shed at the end of the path. “Perhaps you’d like me to be accompanying you?” he continued. “Maybe I’ll be able to help you?” Anthony waved his offer on one side. “Thanks—but we’ll see him alone—you stay here.” As they reached the shed, a tall lad stepped out, and Bathurst immediately recognized that here was a case of inherited physique. He seemed surprised to see his visitors and made as though to turn back into the potting-shed. Anthony touched him on the arm—then bent down and whispered something into his ear. The lad’s face cleared and he beckoned them inside. “You gentlemen gave me a bit of a start,” he declared. “I’m a bit jumpy I suppose since yesterday. This sort of thing gets on your nerves, you know, sir—you can’t help it.” Peter Daventry wondered what the message was that Bathurst had passed on. What possible connection could there be between the two of them? But his wonderings were summarily cut short. Anthony’s next remark showed that he was speedily getting to business. “Where is the bicycle, O’Connor?”