As Heggitt had said, it was a fairly simple matter to trace the note, for at least three stages. His investigations brought Mr. Froyant successively to a money-changer’s in the Strand, a tourist office and finally to a highly respectable bank. And here he was particularly favoured, for it was a branch of one of the banks which conducted his business. For three days he pried and questioned, searched books--which he had no right to search--and slowly but surely he came to a conclusion. He was not, however, satisfied to leave the matter with the discovery of the original passer of the note. Not even the bank manager, who gave him facilities for examining private accounts, and was afterwards reprimanded by his superiors for doing so, knew exactly what object he had, or against whom his investigations were directed. On the morning of the first day Froyant left hurriedly for France. He spent only two hours in Paris, and the night found him on his way to the south. Toulouse he reached at nine o’clock in the morning; here again luck was with him, for an important official of the city had been an agent of his in a purchase he had made a few years before. Monsieur Brassard offered his guest an emphatic welcome, which Mr. Froyant discounted on the ground that his former agent was under the impression that a new deal and a new commission was in prospect. This seemed to be the case, for he was less enthusiastic when he learnt the object of the visit. “I do not trouble myself with these matters,” he said, shaking his head, “for although I am a lawyer, my dear Mr. Froyant, my practice does not touch the criminal court.” He stroked his long beard thoughtfully. “I remember Marl very well indeed--Marl and another man, an Englishman, I think.” “A man named Lightman?” “Yes, that was the fellow. Good gracious, yes!” He made a grimace of disgust. “Of course, that is common history,” he went on. “They were scoundrels, those men. One shot the cashier and the watchman of the Nimes Bank, and there were two murders here in Toulouse with which their names were associated. I remember their names very well--and the terrible incident!” He shook his head. “What terrible incident?” asked Mr. Froyant curiously. “It was when Lightman was led to execution. I think our executioners must have been drunk, for the knife did not work; twice, three times it fell, but only just touched his neck. And when the horrified spectators interfered--you know our French people are very emotional--there would have been a riot if they had not taken the prisoner back to gaol. Yes, the Red Circle escaped the knife.” Mr. Froyant, who was sipping a cup of coffee, leapt to his feet, overturning the cup and its contents. “The what?” he almost shouted. Mr. Brassard looked at him open-mouthed. “Why, what is wrong, m’sieur?” he asked, one eye on the damaged carpet. “The Red Circle! What do you mean?” demanded Froyant, trembling with excitement.