“Well?” inquired Anthony—“and what do you make of all that?” “Dashed if I know,” replied Peter. “Who is this St. Maure Johnny anyway, and what is it that he’s gassing about?” Anthony pointed to the title page again. “‘One-time Page to Mary Stuart,’” he quoted; “I presume he escaped from the wreck of that lady’s fortunes and lived to a ripe old age to inflict these memories on us.” “What the hell does he mean by the ‘Black Twenty-Two’?” questioned Peter irreverently. Anthony shook his head. “I can’t answer that, Daventry—my history’s too rusty altogether. I shall have to undertake a little research on my own before I can properly tell you that—but at any rate, I promise you, it sha’n’t be long.” He rubbed his hands. “Make a copy of that for me, will you—and then we’ll put the message back on the bookshelf. It won’t be the first time that that particular piece has been copied.” Peter set to work on his task. “When Goodall comes back,” continued Anthony, “we shall have several little things to show him. Daventry, I owe you an eternal debt of gratitude. I wouldn’t have missed this case for worlds—this time next week I shall be bored stiff—I shall have nothing exciting to occupy my mind.” Peter stared. “What exactly do you mean—what about this affair—aren’t you going to stick to it and see it out?” “Of course,” responded Anthony, “but it will be all over by then—because in about three days at the most, I shall have much pleasure in the performance of three duties. Firstly, I shall introduce the police to the murderer of Mason the night-watchman—secondly, I shall introduce the police and you yourself to the murderer of Laurence P. Stewart, and thirdly, I have high hopes of reading to a distinguished audience _the secret of the screens_.” Peter handed him the copy for which he had asked. Words failed him. But he permitted himself one exclamation—unhappily it was not altogether free from profanity. A little failing of Mr. Daventry! CHAPTER XVIII The Room at Blanchard’s Hotel Outside the library Anthony ran into Charles Stewart. “With your permission, Mr. Stewart,” he said, “I should like to run up to town this evening on an urgent matter. I’ve just telephoned Goodall and made arrangements to see him this side of nine o’clock to-night.” Stewart lifted his eyebrows. “Any startling discoveries, Mr. Bathurst?” “Not exactly startling—but I want to look into one or two things that have suggested themselves to me, at the London end of the tangle—I’m sure you understand.” Stewart bowed. “I presume you are accompanying Mr. Bathurst, Mr. Daventry—I had hoped that we could have——” Before Peter could frame an affirmative reply, Anthony had spoken for him. “Mr. Daventry will be remaining here until I return,” he intervened. Stewart’s face showed a certain amount of surprise, but he accepted Anthony’s statement without demur. “I’ll get Llewellyn to look up a train for you, Bathurst, and get one of the cars ordered for you.”