“We’ve lost them, I’m afraid,” French said at last. “We had better go back to the Yard. As soon as that description gets out we may have news at any minute.” A quarter of an hour later they passed once more through the corridors of the great building which houses the C.I.D., and reached French’s room. There sitting waiting for them was the melancholy private detective, Speedwell. He rose as they entered. “Afternoon, Mr. French. Afternoon, Mr. Cheyne,” he said ingratiatingly, rubbing his hands together. “I got your message, Mr. French, and I thought I’d better call round. Of course I’ll tell you anything I can to help.” French beamed on him. “Now that was good of you, Speedwell; very good. I’ll not forget it. Did Simmons tell you what had happened?” “Not in detail—only that Blessington, Sime, and the Dangles were wanted.” “Well, Mr. Cheyne here and Miss Merrill were out there last night,” he shook his head reproachfully at Cheyne while a twinkle showed in his eyes, “and your friends got hold of Miss Merrill and we can’t find her. Mr. Cheyne they enticed into the house with a fair story. They led him to believe that Miss Merrill would be in her studio when he got back to town and gave him her purse, which they said she had dropped. It contained a time bomb, and only the merest chance saved Mr. Cheyne from being blown to bits. There are charges against the quartet of attempted murder of Mr. Cheyne, and of abduction of Miss Merrill. Can you help us at all?” Speedwell shook his head. “I doubt it, Mr. French, I doubt it, sir. I found out a little, not very much. But all the information I have is at your disposal.” Cheyne stared at him. “But how can that be?” he exclaimed. “You were in their confidence—to some extent at all events. Surely you got some hint of what they were after?” Speedwell made a deferential movement, and his smile became still more oily and ingratiating. “Now, Mr. Cheyne, sir, you mustn’t think too much of that. That was what we might call in the way of business.” He glanced sideways at Cheyne from his little foxy close-set eyes. “You can’t complain, sir, but what I answered your questions, and you’ll admit you got value for your money.” “I don’t understand you,” Cheyne returned sharply. “Do you mean that that tale you told me was a lie, and that you weren’t employed by these people to find the man who burgled their house?” Speedwell rubbed his hands together more vigorously. “A little business expedient, sir, merely an ordinary little business expedient. It would be a foolish man who would not display his wares to the best advantage. I’m sure, sir, you’ll agree with that.” Cheyne looked at him fiercely for a moment. “You infernal rogue!” he burst out hotly. “Then your tale to me was a tissue of lies, and on the strength of it you cheated me out of my money! Now you’ll hand that £150 back! Do you hear that?” Speedwell’s smile became the essence of craftiness.