"If I were one of those funny detectives, Mr. Van Ingen, who live in books," he said sadly, "I could weave quite an interesting theory from this." He held the handkerchief to his nose and smelt it. "The scent is 'Simpatico,' therefore the owner must have lived in Spain; the workmanship is Parisian, therefore----" He threw the flimsy thing from him with a laugh. "This takes us no nearer to the Wady Barrage, my friend--no nearer to the mysterious millionaires who 'bear' the shares of worthy brewers. Let us go out into the open, and ask Heaven to drop a clue at our feet." The two men turned their steps towards Whitehall, and were halfway to Trafalgar Square when a panting constable overtook them. "There is a message from the man watching Sir George Calliper's house, sir," he said; "he wants you to go there at once." "What is wrong?" asked T. B. quickly. "A drunken man, sir, so far as I could understand." "A what?" T. B.'s eyebrows rose, and he smiled incredulously. "A drunken man," repeated the man; "he's made two attempts to see Sir George----" "Hail that cab," said T. B. "We'll drive round and see this extraordinary person." A drunken man is not usually a problem so difficult that it is necessary to requisition the services of an Assistant-Commissioner. This much T. B. pointed out to the detective who awaited him at the corner of St. James's Square. "But this man is different," said the officer; "he's well dressed; he has plenty of money--he gave the cab-driver a sovereign--and he talks." "Nothing remarkable in that, dear lad," said T. B. reproachfully; "we all talk." "But he talks business, sir," persisted the officer; "boasts that he's got Bronte's bank in his pocket." "The devil he does!" T. B.'s eyebrows had a trick of rising. "Did he say anything else?" "The second time he came," said the detective, "the butler pushed him down the steps, and that seemed to annoy him--he talked pretty freely then, called Sir George all the names he could lay his tongue to, and finished up by saying that he could ruin him." T. B. nodded. "And Sir George? He could not, of course, hear this unpleasant conversation? He would be out of earshot." "Beg pardon, sir," said the plain-clothes man, "but that's where you're mistaken. I distinctly saw Sir George through the half-opened door. He was standing behind his servant." "It's a pity----" began T. B., when the detective pointed along the street in the direction of the Square. "There he is, sir," he whispered; "he's coming again." Along the pavement, a little unsteadily, a young man walked. In the brilliant light of a street lamp T. B. saw that he was well dressed in a glaring way. The Assistant-Commissioner waited until the newcomer reached the next lamp; then walked to meet him.