“He has found all that it is possible to find,” said T. X. “We do not perform miracles in this department, Sir George, nor can we pick up the threads of a case at five minutes' notice.” Sir George Haley grunted. “Mansus has done his best,” the other went on easily, “but it is rather absurd to talk about one's best when you know so little of what you want.” Sir George dropped heavily into the arm-chair, and stretched out his long thin legs. “What I want,” he said, looking up at the ceiling and putting his hands together, “is to discover something about one Remington Kara, a wealthy Greek who has taken a house in Cadogan Square, who has no particular position in London society and therefore has no reason for coming here, who openly expresses his detestation of the climate, who has a magnificent estate in some wild place in the Balkans, who is an excellent horseman, a magnificent shot and a passable aviator.” T. X. nodded to Mansus and with something of gratitude in his eyes the inspector took his leave. “Now Mansus has departed,” said T. X., sitting himself on the edge of his desk and selecting with great care a cigarette from the case he took from his pocket, “let me know something of the reason for this sudden interest in the great ones of the earth.” Sir George smiled grimly. “I have the interest which is the interest of my department,” he said. “That is to say I want to know a great deal about abnormal people. We have had an application from him,” he went on, “which is rather unusual. Apparently he is in fear of his life from some cause or other and wants to know if he can have a private telephone connection between his house and the central office. We told him that he could always get the nearest Police Station on the 'phone, but that doesn't satisfy him. He has made bad friends with some gentleman of his own country who sooner or later, he thinks, will cut his throat.” T. X. nodded. “All this I know,” he said patiently, “if you will further unfold the secret dossier, Sir George, I am prepared to be thrilled.” “There is nothing thrilling about it,” growled the older man, rising, “but I remember the Macedonian shooting case in South London and I don't want a repetition of that sort of thing. If people want to have blood feuds, let them take them outside the metropolitan area.” “By all means,” said T. X., “let them. Personally, I don't care where they go. But if that is the extent of your information I can supplement it. He has had extensive alterations made to the house he bought in Cadogan Square; the room in which he lives is practically a safe.” Sir George raised his eyebrows. “A safe,” he repeated. T. X. nodded.