“Well, beyond what I know myself—which is not a great deal—all I know of it has been got from a London paper that I picked up in my hotel at Falmouth yesterday evening,” said Lansbury. “I set off here almost at once—been on the train practically all night. What’s the latest development?” “The latest development,” replied Blick, “is one of which I’ve only heard within the last few minutes. Do you know the Baron von Eckhardstein?” “Sure! I know him well. He was with me and Markenmore at the little inn that night—I left Markenmore and him together at three o’clock or so, Tuesday morning. Von Eckhardstein, of course, was the tall man that the landlord saw us walk up the road with—as, I saw, the landlord mentioned in his evidence.” “Well—von Eckhardstein has disappeared! During this last night. Clean gone! I suppose you don’t know anything about that?” “Less than nothing! But what’s all this about? Seems to me——” “Wait a bit,” interrupted Blick. “We’ll be alone with the Chief Constable in a minute. Then—tell me all you know. We want it!” The Chief Constable, to whom Blick had sent a message by the plain-clothes men, was awaiting him and the new-comer in his private office. He looked at Lansbury with considerable interest, and suddenly asked a direct question. “Are you the Mr. Edward Lansbury who had a good deal to do with the Vilona Real Estate Development Company some few years ago?” he enquired. “You are, eh? Um!—I’ve got a pretty fair holding in that—very profitable it’s been, too. And what can you tell of this Markenmore affair, Mr. Lansbury? We shall be very glad to know.” Lansbury dropped into an easy chair at the side of the Chief Constable’s desk, and put the tips of his fingers together. “Well,” he said, “I’ll tell you all that I can tell—that is, all that I actually know. As regards the actual murder of Guy Markenmore, seems like it amounts to nothing; as regards what happened just before it, well, you must make out of that what you can! All I can tell you is as to what took place at the Sceptre Inn.” “And why you, Markenmore, and von Eckhardstein met there,” said Blick quietly. “Sure! Well, as to why we met there,” continued Lansbury. “As I told you at the railway station just now, I am a financier. I have business interests in this country as well as in my own. I have an office in London, just as I have an office in New York. Naturally I know a great many financial operators in both countries. I knew Guy Markenmore well enough—a smart man who had done well. I know von Eckhardstein, not so well, but sufficiently. He, of course, is better known than I am, or than Markenmore was—known in London, Paris, and Vienna.” “A German, I suppose?” asked the Chief Constable.