“I feel I’m neglecting my business, Elk,” he said after he had led them into the palatial dining-room of the Auto, and had found a cushion for the girl’s back, and had placed her chair exactly where it was least comfortable, “but I guess you’ve got through the morning without feeling my loss.” “I certainly have,” said Elk. “A very interesting morning. There is a smallpox scare in the East End,” he went on, “and I’ve heard some talk at Headquarters of having the whole staff vaccinated. If there’s one thing that I do not approve of, it is vaccination. At my time of life I ought to be immune from any germ that happens to be going round.” The girl laughed. “Poor Mr. Elk! I sympathize with you. Ray and I had a dreadful time when we were vaccinated about five years ago during the big epidemic, although I didn’t have so bad a time as Ray. And neither of us had such an experience as the majority of victims, because we had an excellent doctor, with unique views on vaccination.” She pulled back the sleeve of her blouse and showed three tiny scars on the underside of the right forearm. “The doctor said he would put it where it wouldn’t show. Isn’t that a good idea?” “Yes,” said Elk slowly. “And did he vaccinate your brother the same way?” She nodded, and then: “What is the matter, Mr. Elk?” “I swallowed an olive stone,” said Elk. “I wonder somebody doesn’t start cultivating olives without stones.” He looked out of the window. “You’ve got a pretty fine day for your visit, Miss Bennett,” he said, and launched forth into a rambling condemnation of the English climate. It seemed hours to Elk before the meal was finished. The girl was going back to Gordon’s house to look at catalogues which Dick had ordered to be sent to Harley Terrace by telephone. “You won’t be coming to the office?” asked Elk. “No: do you think it is necessary?” “I wanted to see you for ten minutes,” drawled the other, “perhaps a quarter of an hour.” “Come back to the house.” “Well, I wasn’t thinking of coming back to the house,” said Elk. “Perhaps you’ve got a lady’s drawing-room. I remember seeing one as I came through the marble hall, and Miss Bennett would not mind——” “Why, of course not,” she said. “If I’m in the way, I’ll do anything you wish. Show me your lady’s drawing-room.” When Dick had come back, the detective was smoking, his elbows on the table, his thin, brown hands clasped under his chin, and he was examining, with the eye of a connoisseur, the beautifully carved ceiling. “What’s the trouble, Elk?” said Gordon as he sat down. “The man under sentence of death is Ray Bennett,” said Elk without preliminary. CHAPTER XXXIV THE PHOTO-PLAY DICK’S face went white. “How do you know this?” “Well, there’s a photograph coming along; it will be in London this afternoon; but I needn’t see that. This man under sentence has three vaccination marks on the right forearm.” There was a dead silence.