“Send him in here, then. I’ll . . .” Sir Hunter did not disclose his intentions, but stood gnawing one end of his handsome grey moustache and glaring at the door. “Who are you?” he asked, when the messenger appeared and the clerk had departed. “Are you a policeman?” “Yes, sir. I’m secretary to the Assistant-Commissioner in charge of the Criminal Investigation Department.” “This chap Marradine?” “Yes, sir; Sir Leward Marradine.” “What did he want to send you for? Is the unfortunate taxpayer to fork out £5 a week for men who are employed as messengers?” “I believe Sir Leward thought that you might dislike having a uniformed officer sent here, sir.” “So I should, by Gad! Damned thoughtful of him; damned thoughtful! Why didn’t he come himself? What the devil does he want to know? Why should I be sent for to Scotland Yard like a . . . like a . . .” The General, finding no adequate simile, blew out his cheeks and snorted. The secretary apparently thought that these questions were rhetorical and required no answer; at any rate he gave none. After a moment’s thought, Sir Hunter stumped out of the Board Room and into the small office shared by the Manager and Secretary. “Captain Wraile coming in this afternoon?” he enquired. Miss Saverel looked up quickly but it was Mr. Blagge who answered. “No sir, he never comes on Mondays; he has a Board-meeting in the afternoon.” Sir Hunter stood irresolute. “Anything I can do, sir?” asked Mr. Blagge. “No, no; nothing, nothing,” exclaimed the Chairman testily. “I’ll attend to it myself. Damned _embusqué_!” he added irrelevantly as he returned to the Board Room. Taking his hat, coat, and umbrella, he stalked out of the room without a word to Sir Leward’s messenger, but having slammed the door almost in the latter’s face, presently opened it again. “Give you a lift back,” he said gruffly. Within a quarter of an hour the irate general was being ushered into Sir Leward Marradine’s room at Scotland Yard. The Assistant-Commissioner rose to greet him. “Very good of you to come, Sir Hunter,” he said suavely. “We haven’t met since . . .” “What does all this mean, eh?” broke in Sir Hunter, ignoring the other’s extended hand. “Pretty thing when a man in my position—or any respectable citizen for that matter—can be hauled out of his office to a police station without rhyme or reason. What’s it mean, eh?” “It was hardly that, Sir Hunter,” replied Marradine, keeping his temper with some difficulty. “Won’t you take that chair? As I told you in my note, we are in need of some information that you can give us—information respecting a serious crime. I thought that it would be much less disagreeable for you to come here than to have an interrogation carried out in your own office.” Sir Hunter reluctantly took the proffered seat.