“Good Lord, I’m awfully sorry to hear it, old man,” said Roger genuinely. “I hope things will come all right for you in the end; and if there’s anything in the world that I can do, you know you’ve only got to say the word. There isn’t a couple anywhere that I’d sooner see fixed up than you and Barbara. You’re quite the nicest two people _I_ know.” Roger was in the habit of disregarding the convention that a man should never under any circumstances display emotion in the presence of another man, just as heartily as he violated all other conventions. Alec flushed with pleasure. “Thanks awfully, old chap,” he said gruffly. “I knew I could rely on you. But really, there isn’t anything you could possibly do. And things will come out all right, I feel sure.” “Well, I sincerely hope so, or I’ll wring young Barbara’s neck for her,” said Roger; and both men knew that the topic was closed, until or unless Alec himself chose to reopen it. “And about this powder?” Alec prompted. “Ah, yes. I hadn’t finished with the settee, had I? Well, let’s see if there’s anything more to be found first.” He bent over the couch again, only to look up the next instant. “See this?” he said, indicating a long fair hair in the angle between the arm and the back. “There _has_ been a woman sitting here recently. This confirms the face powder. What an extraordinarily lucky thing that we thought of searching the place for that cartridge case. It would never have done to have missed this. I have an idea that this woman is going to be more useful to us than fifty cartridge cases.” And taking a letter out of his pocket he drew out the sheet of paper and carefully placed the hair in the envelope. “They always do this in books,” he explained, observing Alec’s interested gaze, “so I suppose it’s the right thing to do.” “And what are you going to do next?” Alec asked, as the envelope followed the handkerchief into Roger’s breast pocket. “You’ve only got about half an hour before dinner time, you know.” “Yes. I’m going to try and find out if I can when this settee was last tidied up; that seems to me the point on which everything depends. After that I’ve got to spot the owner of the handkerchief.” “By the scent? There are no initials on it.” “By the scent. This is the sort of occasion when being a dog must come in so useful,” Roger added reflectively. Chapter XIX Mr. Sheringham Loses and Wins the Same Bet At the top of the stairs the two parted, Alec going to his own room and Roger to his. Arrived there, the latter did not proceed immediately with his changing; for some moments he leaned, deep in thought, on the window-sill overlooking the garden. Then, as if he had come to a decision, he crossed the room briskly and rang the bell. A cheerful, plump young person answered it and smiled questioningly. Roger was always a favourite with servants; if not always with gardeners.