Mr. White brindled. That he was known as the Archbishop in the intimate circles of his acquaintances afforded him a certain satisfaction. That a perfect stranger, and a perfectly drunken stranger at that, should employ a nickname which was for the use of a privileged few, distressed him. "And," said the swaying man by the door, peering through the half-darkness: "Is it not Detective-Sergeant Peterson and Constable Fairbank? Welcome to this home of virtue." The detective-sergeant smiled but said nothing. The doctor fingered his beard indecisively, but Mr. White essayed to stride past, his chin in the air, ignoring the greeting, but Mr. Beale was too quick for him. He lurched forward, caught the lapels of the other's immaculate frock-coat and held himself erect thereby. "My dear old Whitey," he said. "I don't know you, sir," cried Mr. White, "will you please unhand me?" "Don't know me, Whitey? Why you astonishing old thing!" He slipped his arm over the other's shoulder in an attitude of affectionate regard. "Don't know old Beale?" "I never met you before," said Mr. White, struggling to escape. "Bless my life and soul," said Mr. Beale, stepping back, shocked and hurt, "I call you to witnesh, Detective-Sergeant Peterson and amiable Constable Fairbank and learned Dr. van Heerden, that he has denied me. And it has come to this," he said bitterly, and leaning his head against the door-post he howled like a dog. "I say, stop your fooling, Beale," said the doctor angrily, "there's been very serious business here, and I should thank you not to interfere." Mr. Beale wiped imaginary tears from his eyes, grasped Mr. White's unwilling hand and shook it vigorously, staggered back to his flat and slammed the door behind him. "Do you know that man?" asked the doctor, turning to the detective. "I seem to remember his face," said the sergeant. "Come on, Fred. Good morning, gentlemen." They waited till the officers were downstairs and out of sight, and then the doctor turned to the other and in a different tone from any he had employed, said: "Come into my room for a moment, White," and Mr. White followed him obediently. They shut the door and passed into the study, with its rows of heavily bound books, its long table covered with test-tubes and the paraphernalia of medical research. "Well," said White, dropping into a chair, "what happened?" "That is what I want to know," said the doctor. He took a cigarette from a box on the table and lit it and the two men looked at one another without speaking. "Do you think she had the letters and hid them?" "Impossible," replied the doctor briefly. White grunted, took a cigar from a long leather case, bit off the end savagely and reached out his hand for a match. "'The best-laid schemes of mice and men!'" he quoted. "Oh, shut up," said the doctor savagely. He was pacing the study with long strides. He stopped at one end of the room staring moodily through the window, his hands thrust in his pockets.