After a quick luncheon and a visit to the library of the Yard to look up “Aneurism” in the Encyclopedia Britannica, in order to check Sir Horace’s description, Inspector Poole presented himself at 168 Queen Anne’s Gate. On this occasion he did not present his private card, as he thought it unlikely that Miss Fratten would see him on that alone, and he certainly did not intend to entrust his official card to a butler or footman, who would certainly start talking about “a visit from the police”; instead, he enclosed his official card in an envelope with a note explaining that Sir Leward Marradine had instructed him to call. Poole was standing in the large and comfortable hall, waiting for the return of the butler, when a door on one side opened and a tall young man with a dark moustache came out into the hall and walked towards the staircase. Throwing a glance at Poole, the newcomer hesitated, a puzzled expression on his face, then stopped abruptly and exclaimed: “Good God; Puddles! What on earth . . . where have you sprung from?” For a moment Poole struggled with an effort of memory; then a smile broke on his face, and he took a step forward with extended hand: “Mangane! Laurence Mangane!” Suddenly he checked himself and his hand dropped to his side, a peculiar expression replacing the smile on his face. “Good-afternoon, sir,” he said. A look of amazement came into Mangane’s face and he, too, checked his approach. “‘Sir’?” he exclaimed. “What on earth are you talking about?” Poole glanced round to see if anyone else was present. “I’m Detective-Inspector Poole, sir,” he said. Slowly Mangane’s face cleared and he broke into a broad grin. “Good Lord, yes,” he said. “I’d forgotten all about your quaint career. So you’re a detective, are you? And an Inspector at that? Jolly good work. I . . .” Poole made a gesture to stop him. The butler was coming downstairs. “Miss Fratten will be down in a few minutes, sir. Will you step this way, sir, please?” He led the way into the morning-room; Poole followed and Mangane brought up the rear. When the door had closed behind the butler, Mangane took the detective’s arm and gave it a friendly shake. “Now, Puddles,” he said, “tell me all about it, and drop this ‘sir’ nonsense.” “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” replied Poole. “If I don’t sink myself completely in my identity as a policeman it may make my position impossibly difficult if I run across any of my old friends in an official capacity. I thought at one time of changing my name when I joined the Force but that seemed making rather a mystery of the business. It’s possible, for instance, that I may have to question you, among other people. That’s absolutely confidential at the moment, please. But if I do, you can see for yourself that I can only do it as an unidentified policeman. You understand that, don’t you—sir?” Mangane slowly nodded his head.