"He did, saying also that Lockhart's were too dear. Walen's hadn't got what he wanted, but they promised to get some cases out of stock, which meant that they would go to the same wholesale house as Lockhart's and get some similar cases. As a matter of fact, one of Walen's assistants was sent round to study the case in Lockhart's window. The cases were procured on the chance of a sale, but the American never turned up again. No notice was taken of this, because such things often happen to shopkeepers." "And this was about a week before the night of the great adventure?" "Yes. Wait a bit. I have not quite finished yet. Now, once I had ascertained this, an important fact becomes obvious. The American didn't want a cigar-case at all." "But he subsequently purchased the one returned to Lockhart's shop." "That remark does not suggest your usual acumen. The American was preparing the ground for Van Sneck to purchase with a view to a subsequent exchange. You have not fully grasped the vileness of this plot yet. I went to Lockhart's and succeeded in discovering that the purchaser of the returned case was a tall American, quite of the pattern I expected. Then I managed to get on to the trail at the Metropole here. They recollected when I could describe the man; they also recollected the largeness of his tips. Then I traced my man to the Lion at Moreton Wells, where he had obviously gone to see Reginald Henson. From the Lion our friend went to the Royal at Scarsdale Sands, where he is staying at present." "Under the name of John Smith?" "I suppose so, seeing that all the inquiries under that name were successful. If you would like me to come up and interview the man for you--" "I should like you to do nothing of the kind," Chris said. "You are more useful in Brighton, and I am going to interview Mr. John Smith Rawlins for myself. Good-bye. Just one moment. For the next few days my address will be the Royal Hotel, Scarsdale Sands." Chris countermanded the dog-cart she had ordered and repaired to the library, where Littimer was tying some trout-flies behind a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Thought you had gone to Moreton Wells," he said. "Been at the telephone again? A pretty nice bill I shall have to pay for all those long messages of yours." "Mr. Steel pays this time," Chris said, gaily. "He has just given me some information that obviates the necessity of going into the town. My dear uncle, you want a change. You look tired and languid--" "Depression of spirits and a disinclination to exercise after food. Also a morbid craving for seven to eight hours' sleep every night. What's the little game?" "Bracing air," Chris laughed. "Lord Littimer and his secretary, Miss Lee, are going to spend a few days at Scarsdale Sands, Royal Hotel, to recuperate after their literary labours." "The air here being so poor and enervating," Littimer said, cynically. "In other words, I suppose you have traced Rawlins to Scarsdale Sands?"