Mr. Jacks leaned back in his chair. Certainly the situation increased in perplexity! The man by his side was talking now of the adaptation of one of his patents to some existing machinery, and Jacks watched him covertly. He considered himself, to some extent, a physiognomist. He told himself it was not possible that this man was playing a part. Mr. James B. Coulson sat there, the absolute incarnation of the genial man of affairs, interested in his business, interested in the great subject of dollar-getting, content with himself and his position,--a person apparently of little imagination, for the shock of this matter concerning which they had been talking had already passed away. He was doing his best to explain with a pencil on the back of an illustrated paper some new system of wool-bleaching. “Mr. Coulson,” the Inspector said suddenly, “do you know a young lady named Miss Penelope Morse?” It was here, perhaps, that Mr. Coulson sank a little from the heights of complete success. He repeated the name, and obviously took time to think before he answered. “Miss Penelope Morse,” the Inspector continued. “She is a young American lady, who lives with an invalid aunt in Park Lane, and who is taken everywhere by the Duchess of Devenham, another aunt, I believe.” “I suppose I may say that I am acquainted with her,” Mr. Coulson admitted. “She came here the other evening with a young man--Sir Charles Somerfield.” “Ah!” the Inspector murmured. “She’d read that interview of mine with the Comet man,” Mr. Coulson said, “and she fancied that perhaps I could tell her something about Hamilton Fynes.” “First time you’d met her, I suppose?” the Inspector remarked. “Sure!” Mr. Coulson answered. “As a matter of fact, I know very few of my compatriots over here. I am an American citizen myself, and I haven’t too much sympathy with any one, man or woman, who doesn’t find America good enough for them to live in.” The Inspector nodded. “Quite so,” he agreed. “So you hadn’t anything to tell this young lady?” “Not a thing that she hadn’t read in the Comet,” Mr. Coulson replied. “What brought her into your mind, anyway?” “Nothing particular,” the Inspector answered carelessly. “Well, Mr. Coulson, I won’t take up any more of your time. I am convinced that you have told me all that you know, and I am afraid that I shall have to look elsewhere to find the loose end of this little tangle.” “Stay and have another drink,” Mr. Coulson begged. “I’ve nothing to do. There are one or two boys coming in later who’ll like to meet you.” The Inspector shook his head. “I must be off,” he said. “I want to get into my office before six o’clock. I dare say I shall be running across you again before you go back.” He shook hands and turned away. Then Mr. Coulson made what was, perhaps, his second slight mistake. “Say, Mr. Jacks,” he exclaimed, “what made you mention that young lady’s name, anyway? I’m curious to know.”