This was the solution. It was proved beyond all doubt that Bridwell had been dealing in Government secrets, and changes had to be made to ensure that the information he had sold should be useless to the purchasers; but this crime had nothing to do with his murder. The denouement was rather startling. When we went to Ormrod's house next day we found that he had gone. His wife, after fencing with us a little, was perfectly open. She had arranged to go away with Bridwell and had visited him that day to talk over final arrangements. It was the first time she had ever been to the flat. Yesterday, a telegram had come for her husband. He opened it in her presence, and told her he was going away at once, and for good. Then he gave her the bag, saying he had found it in Bridwell's rooms on the previous evening. Bridwell was dead, that was why he was going away. The solicitor Standish was a friend of Ormrod's, and after Quarles had gone had suddenly realized what the inquiry might mean, so had telegraphed a warning. CHAPTER VII THE STOLEN AEROPLANE MODEL It was probably on account of the acumen he had shown in solving the mystery of Arthur Bridwell's death that the government employed Quarles in the important inquiry concerning a stolen model. For political reasons nothing got into the papers at the time, but now there is no further need of secrecy. You would have been astonished, I fancy, had you chanced upon us in the empty room at Chelsea on a certain Friday afternoon. No trio of sane persons could have looked more futile. On a paper pad the professor was making odd diagrams which might have represented a cubist's idea of an aeroplane collision; Zena was looking at her hands as if she had discovered something new and unfamiliar about them; and I was turning the leaves of my pocket book, hoping to get an inspiration. "The man-servant," said Zena, breaking the silence, which had lasted a long time. "You have said that a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours," Quarles returned rather shortly, adding after a moment's pause, as if he were giving us valuable information, "and to-day is Friday." "It is simply impossible that the servant should know so little," she persisted. "His ignorance is too colossal to be genuine. He doesn't know whether he was attacked by one person or by half-a-dozen; he is not sure that it wasn't a woman who seized him; he has no idea what his master kept in the safe or in the cupboard. Well, all I can say is, I do not believe him." I was inclined to agree with her, but in silence I went on looking through the notes I had made concerning the extraordinary case which must be solved quickly if the solution were to be of any benefit to the country. Quarles was also silent, continuing his work as an amateur cubist. He had expressed no definite opinion since the case had come into his hands, nor had he laughed at any speculation of mine, a sure sign that he was barren of ideas. I had never known him so reticent.