“I was employed—or rather my firm was employed”—what his point was Cheyne could not see, but he was evidently making one—“my firm was employed by the manager of the Edgecombe Hotel to investigate a case of alleged drugging which had taken place in the hotel. That was all, wasn’t it?” “That or matters arising therefrom,” Cheyne replied cautiously. The detective smiled foxily. “Ah, I see you have taken my meaning, Mr. Cheyne. That or matters arising directly therefrom. That, sir, is quite correct. Now, I have found out something about that. Not much, I admit, but still something. Though whether it is as much as you already are cognizant of is another matter.” Cheyne felt his temper giving way. “Look here,” he said sharply. “What are you getting at? I can’t spend the day here. If you’ve anything to say, for goodness’ sake get along and say it and have done with this beating about the bush.” Speedwell made a deprecating gesture. “Certainly, sir; as you will. But”—he gave a dry smile—“have you not overlooked the fact that you called in to consult me?” “I shall not do it now,” Cheyne said angrily. “Give me the information that you’re being paid for and that will complete our business.” “No, sir, but with the utmost respect that will only begin it. I’ll give you the information right away, but first I’d like to come to an understanding about this other business.” “What under the sun are you talking about? What other business?” “The breaking and entering.” Speedwell spoke now in a decisive, businesslike tone. “The breaking and entering of a house in Hopefield Avenue—Laurel Lodge, let us call it—on an evening just six weeks ago—on the fifth of April to be exact. I should really say the burglary, because there was also the theft of an important document. The owners of that document would be glad of information which would lead to the arrest of the thief.” This astounding statement, made in the calm matter-of-fact way in which the man was now speaking, took Cheyne completely aback. For a moment he hesitated. His character was direct and straightforward, but for the space of two seconds he was tempted to prevaricate, to admit no knowledge of the incidents referred to. Then his hot temper swept away all considerations of what might or might not be prudent, and he burst out: “Well, Mr. Speedwell, what of it? If you are so well informed as you pretend, you’ll be aware that the parties lost no document on that night. I don’t know what you’re after, but it looks uncommonly like an attempt at blackmail.” Mr. Speedwell seemed pained at the suggestion. He assured Cheyne that his remarks had been misinterpreted, and deprecated the fact that such an unpleasant word had been brought into the discussion. “All the same,” he concluded meaningly, “I am glad to have your assurance that the document in question was not stolen from the house.”