Goodall gave him a quick nod of praise, then turned to Anthony. “Do you know what I’m thinking, Mr. Bathurst?” he said. “I’m thinking that this lady and gentleman who left this hotel so suddenly are the identical pair that lunched with Mr. Daventry. What do you think, yourself?” Anthony considered for a brief moment. “Yes, Inspector, I’m inclined to agree with you—I _was_ thinking the same, myself. And when you get them you’ll clap your hands on the murderer of poor Mason, the night-watchman—you can bet your bottom dollar on that.” Goodall’s jaw set tight. “Well, I _shall_ clap my hands on them—if it means chasing them over two continents. At the same time—I’ve got precious little to go upon—two people from New York that put up at an hotel for a week and then walk out of it suddenly. It’s a needle in a haystack job, very probably,” he concluded pessimistically. “You have two other facts besides that, Inspector,” added Anthony. “They possess a tapestry fire-screen, stolen from Day, Forshaw and Palmers’, and the lady sneezes.” Goodall snapped his fingers impatiently. “All the same, Mr. Bathurst—that won’t help me overmuch. But with regard to what you just said about the screen—have they one screen or two?” “That’s difficult to say, Inspector. I don’t know what to think—upon reflection, perhaps two.” “That’s what I think,” agreed Goodall, “and when I’ve had my little interview with Miss Lennox and Llewellyn—I’ll decide upon a plan of action.” Half an hour later he joined Anthony and Peter. “I’m running up to Blanchard’s Hotel,” he announced. “It’s imperative that I should have a look round there—there may be a most valuable clue left behind—you never know. What will you do, Mr. Bathurst?” “I’m calling on a gentleman whose name has been mentioned more than once in connection with this case, Inspector—a gentleman who lives very near—Colonel Leach-Fletcher.” Goodall’s face brightened. “Exactly my own idea,” he exclaimed, “it was just on the cards that I called on him myself before getting my train up to town.” He stopped and thought—then swung round quickly on the two men. “And I will, Mr. Bathurst,” he declared, “I’ll come with you—if anybody can tell us anything it’s this Colonel chap.” “Right‑o, there’s no time like the present. What about getting away now?” “Delighted—I’ll just run back and tell Clegg.” Goodall dashed back and within a couple of minutes had made a start. “The address is ‘Neuve Chapelle’—it’s a charming bungalow, I’m given to understand, on the road to Rockinge—a matter of about four miles. The gallant Colonel, I presume, judging from the name he has given his bungalow, saw service in the European War—I expect Stewart found him an interesting and delightful neighbor.” “No doubt,” agreed the Inspector, “I hear from Clegg that they were pretty close cronies.”