The Italian, whose name was Masini, was the only servant. Duke's Mansions, as you probably know, is a set of flats, varying in accommodation, with a central service. There is a general dining-room, and there are smoking rooms and lounges which all the tenants may use; or meals are served in the various flats from the central kitchen. To-night Mr. Bridwell had had dinner served for three at an early hour in his flat. The telephone was in the corner of the room, and I was going to it to call up Christopher Quarles, convinced this was a case in which I should need all the assistance I could get, when the telephone bell rang. "Hallo!" I said. "Who's that?" "I left my bag on the Chesterfield," came the answer. "Better not send it. Keep it until I come again." "When?" I asked. There was a pause. "Is that you, Arthur?" came the question. "About the bag," I said, then paused. "Are you there?" No answer. My voice had evidently betrayed me. The woman at the other end had discovered that she was speaking to the wrong man. I looked at the Chesterfield. There was no bag of any kind upon it now. Then I telephoned to Quarles, telling him there was a mysterious case for him to investigate. "Had your master any other visitors to-day?" I asked casually, turning to Masini. "Not to my knowledge. All the afternoon I was out." "Where were you?" "Out for my master. I took a parcel to a gentleman at Harrow." "To whom?" "It was to a Mr. Fisher. It was a small parcel, a big letter rather, for it was in an envelope that--that size. There was no answer. I just told my master that Mr. Fisher said it was all right." "So Mr. Bridwell might have had visitors while you were out?" "Certainly." "Did he have many visitors as a rule?" "Sometimes from what you call his constituency." "Any ladies?" "Ah, no, signore; my master was of the other kind. He did not like the vote for women." "And you say you have moved nothing in this room?" "Nothing at all." Quarles arrived soon after the doctor had begun to examine the dead man, so I could not then give him the particulars as far as I knew them. It chanced that the doctor, a youngish man, was acquainted with the professor, and was quite ready to listen to his suggestions. "What do you make of it, Professor?" he asked. "Is it poison!" said Quarles interrogatively. The doctor had already examined the glasses on the table. "I can find no signs of poison," he said. "And two hours ago the man was alive." "That is according to the servant," I said. Masini was not in the room at this time. "There is no reason to doubt the statement, is there?" the doctor asked. "No, but we have not yet corroborated it," I returned. Quarles was already busy with his lens examining the dead man's shirt front. "You, have begun trying to find out who killed him before I have pronounced upon the cause of death," said the doctor. "I am inclined to think it is poison, but--" "He didn't inject a drug, I suppose!" said Quarles.