The girl who stood by the table looking down at the illustrated newspaper that Druze had supplied looked to be about twenty-two. She wore a straight nutria coat, a big bunch of violets pinned to one of the revers. She was as tall as Jane Raytham and as straight; trim silken ankles, neatly shod. The face under the upturned brim of a little felt hat was more surprising yet. A pair of dark eyes rose to meet Jane Raytham’s. The lips red as Greta’s, yet owing nothing to artifice, were finely moulded. She had a firm, round chin, and the hint of a white throat somewhere behind the protective fur. In some confusion Lady Raytham catalogued the visible qualities of her unexpected caller. “You are not Miss Maughan?” she asked. When Leslie Maughan smiled, she smiled with eyes and lips, and the dimpled hollows that came to her cheeks made her seem absurdly young. “Yes, that is my name, Lady Raytham. I am awfully sorry to bother you, but my chief is rather a martinet.” “You are a detective? I didn’t know----” “That there were women detectives?” asked the girl. “And you’re right! My position is unique. I am an assistant to Chief Inspector Coldwell. The commissioners, who are rather conservative people, do not object to that. But I suppose I really am a detective. I make inquiries.” She stood by the table, one hand on her hip, one playing with the leaves of the picture paper, her unwavering gaze fixed on Jane Raytham. “I’m making inquiries now, Lady Raytham,” she said quietly. “I want to know why you drew twenty thousand pounds from your bank last Monday.” For a second the woman was panic-stricken; so far lost control that she all but stammered the truth. The will that held her silent, apparently unmoved, was the supreme effort of her life. Then her training came to her rescue. The control of her voice was perfect. “Since when have the police had authority to supervise the banking accounts of private citizens?” she asked in cold, measured tones. “That is an extraordinary request! Is it then an offence for me to withdraw twenty thousand pounds from my own account? How did you know?” “One gets to know things, Lady Raytham.” She was cool, unruffled by the indignation, real or simulated. “Lady Raytham, you think we are being very impertinent and abominable. And it is certain that, if you report this matter to Scotland Yard, I shall be reprimanded. But we expect that----” Jane Raytham had so far recovered toward the normal that she could open her gray eyes in astonishment. “Then why on earth have you come?” she asked. She saw Leslie Maughan draw a deep breath; the ghost of a smile trembled at the corner of her mouth and vanished. “Twenty thousand pounds is a lot of money,” she said softly. There was a note of pleading in her voice, and suddenly, with a cry she could not suppress, the significance of the visit flashed upon the woman. They knew. The police knew the destination or purpose of that money.