In fact the wear and tear of thought so displayed itself outwardly that when Dick did arrive he commented openly on his friend’s sorry looks. The reporter came back to London by the night mail, and finding when he got to Barkers Inn that Alan had already gone to his office he followed him there as soon as a bath and a change of clothes had made him respectable. Breakfast he had already dispatched in a restaurant on his way from the railway station. Dick, having enjoyed his holiday, was in a happy frame of mind, but his smiles left him when he saw his chum’s anxious face. “What the deuce is the matter?” asked Mr. Latimer, when the first greetings were over, and he was smoking comfortably in a chair, “you look sick.” “I am sick—with worry,” said Fuller emphatically, “it’s that infernal case.” “Oh,” said Dick leisurely; “which part of it in particular?” “The whole. I have much to tell you, as I want your opinion. The more I look into the matter the more confused does it grow.” “Have you been looking into the matter?” asked Dick provokingly calm. “Yes, I have, and in consequence I have scarcely enjoyed my Christmas at home,” cried Alan. “Not even with the most charming girl in the world?” “No. Because she asks questions, and I have to keep a great deal from her.” “On account of her uncle?” “Precisely!” “Hum! Is he guilty?” “I don’t know. Anyway he has the peacock.” Latimer pushed back his chair and let his pipe fall. “What?” “He has the peacock. I’ve seen it, and what is more he allowed me to make a drawing of it,” and Alan fumbled among his papers for the sketch. “Here it is, Dicky!” “The devil!” ejaculated the journalist staring at the painted bird; “then the man murdered Grison after all.” “I’m not sure. I have my doubts.” “But hang it, man, you know that Grison was murdered for the sake of the original of this.” He laid his finger on the sketch, “and if Sorley has it, he must have taken it out of the murdered man’s room.” “Well you won’t be so sure of that when you have heard my story,” said Alan in a tart way, for his nerves were all jangling. “Tell it, old son,” remarked Latimer, recovering his pipe, and not another word did he utter until he was in full possession of Alan’s information. The solicitor told him everything from the time he had arrived at Belstone until the moment of departure, and carried up the narrative as far as London by relating how Jotty had been haunting the office. “And now that I am back, the little fool won’t turn up,” finished Fuller, greatly exasperated, “and I dare not send for him.” “No,” nodded Dick grimly, “that is very obvious. The quieter you keep this business the better it will be until we get at its truth. Hum! It’s a most extraordinary complication, Alan.” He stared at the sketch which was now lying on the table. “Have you solved this riddle?” “No. So far as I can see there isn’t any riddle to solve.”