“No, Mr. French, not that I know. Unless”—he hesitated—“unless one thing. It may or may not be important; I don’t know. It’s this: Dangle, during these last three or four weeks, he’s been away nearly half the time from London—on the Continent. I don’t know to what country, but it must be France or Belgium or Holland, I should think—or maybe Ireland—because he has crossed over one night and crossed back the next. I know that because of a remark I overheard him make to Sime in a tube lift where I was standing just behind him. It was a Wednesday and he said: ‘I’m crossing tonight, but I’ll be back on Friday morning.’” This seemed to be the sum total of Speedwell’s knowledge, or at least all he would divulge, and he presently departed, apparently cheered by French’s somewhat cryptic declaration that he would not forget the part the other had played in the affair. He perhaps would not have been so pleased had he heard French’s subsequent comments to Cheyne. “A dangerous man, Mr. Cheyne, for an amateur to deal with, though he’s too much afraid of the Yard to try any monkeying with me. I may tell you in confidence that he was dismissed from the force on suspicion of taking bribes to let a burglar get away—I needn’t say the thing couldn’t be proved, or he would have seen the inside of a convict prison, but there was no doubt at all that he was guilty. Since that he has been caught sailing rather close to the wind, but again he just managed to keep himself safe. But the result is, he would do anything to curry favor here, and indeed once or twice he has been quite useful. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he had been blackmailing Blessington & Co. in connection with your attempted murder.” “Ugh!” Cheyne made a gesture of disgust. “The very sight of the man makes me sick.” Then, his look of anxious eagerness returning, he went on: “But, Inspector, his story is all very well and interesting and all that, but I don’t see that it helps us to find Miss Merrill, and that is the only thing that matters.” “The only thing to you, perhaps,” French returned, “but not the only thing to me. This whole business looks uncommonly like conspiracy for criminal purposes, and if so, it automatically concerns the Yard.” He glanced at the clock on the wall before his desk. “Let’s see now, it’s just five o’clock. Before giving up for the day I should like to have a look over Miss Merrill’s room to settle that little question of the fur coat, and I should like you to come with me. Shall we go now?” Cheyne sprang to his feet eagerly. Action was what he wanted, and his heart beat more rapidly at the prospect of visiting a place where every object would remind him of the girl he loved, and whom, in spite of himself, he feared he had lost. Impatiently he waited while French put on his hat and left word where he could be found in case of need.