They hurried round by the side of the Storytellers’ Hall, and so to the passage at the back. And standing at the entrance to the vaults, underneath a solitary jet of electric light, was Wiggins, the doorkeeper of the heart of the City. He was a man aged about thirty-five, six feet two high, and not quite so broad. “So you’re here!” exclaimed Carpentaria. “Yes, sir.” “Where have you been since--since Mr. Ilam arrived here?” “I did what you told me, sir,” said Wiggins, with an air of independence. Wiggins was not a Mr. Gloucester. “What was that?” demanded Carpentaria, mystified. “Why, your note, sir.” “What note?” Wiggins pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket and handed it to Carpentaria, who read: “Come to me in my office at once. If I am not there, wait for me. The bearer will take your duties meanwhile. “C. Carpentaria.” “Oh!” said Carpentaria. “And who brought this?” “A Soudanese, sir.” “Which Soudanese?” “I don’t know. They’re all alike to me.” “And it didn’t occur to you that this note was forged?” “No, sir. Why should it?” “It didn’t occur to you,” Carpentaria continued, “that I was conducting my concert, and that therefore I couldn’t possibly be in my office?” “I didn’t know anything about any concert, sir. I’m doorkeeper here----” “Not know about my concert!” cried Carpentaria. Then he calmed himself. “Mr. Ilam came before the Soudanese brought the note to you?” “Yes, sir, but only a few seconds before. He had but just gone in when the Soudanese came. I was talking to the driver of the motor-car as was waiting, sir, here in front of the door.” “Oh. So there was a motor-car?” “Yes, sir. It was one of the City cars. No. 28, sir. To take the money away, sir.” “Good. Who was the driver? Do you know his name?” “I think his name’s Pratt, sir.” “Then you left immediately and went to my office and waited for me, and then?” “Then I got tired of waiting and I came back here, sir.” “Good,” said Carpentaria. “Mr. Gloucester, the garage is indicated as our next resort.” The immense garage of the City was close to the northern entrance gates. And it, too, was guarded by a doorkeeper, hidden in a little box near the double-wooden doors. “I want to know if Car No. 28 has come in,” said Carpentaria. “Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Came in twenty minutes ago.” “Did you see it?” “Yes, sir,” said the doorkeeper. “Who was driving it?” “I didn’t notice, sir.” “Show us the car, if you please.” They passed into the desert expanse of the garage, where a few men were cleaning cars. Car No. 28 was in its place. In shape it was rather like a police-van, but smaller. Carpentaria noticed that its wheels were very dirty. “Open it,” said he. The key was found, and the interior of the car exposed to the light of a lantern. And at the extremity of the car could be seen a vague mass, a collection of limbs and clothes on the floor. “Get in,” said Carpentaria, “and see what that is.”