of the first room was almost exactly opposite to the door of the lounge. Bannister tried the handle. The door instantly yielded. “That’s funny, Mr. Bathurst.” Bannister shot the remark at him. “All the other doors have been shut—the keys turned in the locks. The key was in this lock but this door is open.” Anthony followed him in. “Good God!” exclaimed the Inspector; “something’s been happening here.” The dressing-table was without its drawers. Anthony pointed to the bed. It was easy to see what had happened. The contents of the drawers had been turned out on to the bed which presented an appearance of indescribable chaos and confusion. The drawers lay on the bed. Gloves, handkerchiefs, ribbons, silk scarves and stockings, powder, toilet requisites of all description lay scattered there in a shapeless heap. From the manner in which the various articles had been tossed aside it was evident that the drawers containing them had been subjected to a rigorous examination. “Looking for something, Mr. Bathurst! The question’s ‘what?’” Anthony nodded. The case was getting trebly interesting to him. On the pillow at the head of the bed lay a lady’s hand-bag and several keys thrown in all directions. For a moment he regarded them intently, while Bannister busied himself with an examination of the Wilton hair-carpet that covered the floor. Anthony picked up the hand-bag and opened it. At the first glance it seemed to be empty, but Mr. Bathurst, in examinations of this kind, always made a point of being extremely thorough. A thin card nestled in one of the corners. Anthony drew it out carefully. It was a man’s visiting-card of the usual kind, “Alan Warburton, 19, Crossley Road, Westhampton.” He turned it over. On the other side another address had been carefully scrawled in pencil. “Ronald N. Branston—Dental Surgeon—Coolwater Avenue, Seabourne.” “Inspector,” he called quietly. Bannister came round immediately from the far end of the bed. “What do you make of this?” he demanded. “Look at the back!” Bannister’s eyes shone through his glasses with quick interest. “This is important, Mr. Bathurst—exceedingly important. Where did you find it?” Anthony held up the bag in explanation. Bannister frowned—then stretched out his hand for it. Anthony walked to the bed and picked up several of the keys that had lain there. “Have to see this gentleman,” exclaimed the Inspector—he tapped the visiting-card with the back of his finger-nail. “It’s just possible that we’ve got the threads of the affair in our hands at last.” “Yes,” smiled Anthony, “just ‘on the cards’ as you might say. If he recommended Miss Delaney to visit the Coolwater Avenue Surgery, it could certainly be argued against him that he might have known when to find her there. But look here, Inspector,” he paused—looked at the keys in his hand—then back to the hand-bag that Bannister was still holding.