Considerably interested, he went back through some of the completed books, and at intervals he found other cheques bearing the same mysterious sign. Without a real hope that it would lead him anywhere he had set the sergeant to go back over all the blocks he could find, and make a list of these X cheques, noting the date, number, and amount. He found they had been drawn during a period of four years, were all made out to self, and were all for even hundreds, all excepting the last, varying from £400 down to £100. In all £4600 had been paid. It seemed to Inspector Tanner that there was here some secret in Sir William’s life which might or might not be important. Was it gambling, he wondered, or perhaps women? From what he had heard of the deceased’s life and character both these suppositions seemed unlikely, but, as he said to himself, you never know. He remembered that Innes had stated Sir William had called at the bank on his way to the train on the Monday morning, and he wondered if this was to cash the cheques. He thought that some inquiries there would do no harm. He went to the bank as soon as it opened next morning and saw the manager. The cashier recollected Sir William’s visit on the previous Monday. The deceased gentleman had, it appeared, cashed a cheque for £100, and on comparing the number, Tanner found it was that belonging to the X-marked block. He had been paid in Bank of England fives—twenty of them. None of the officials could tell anything about the £3000 cheque which apparently had not been cashed, nor indeed about any of the other X cheques. Tanner was anxious to learn something of the dead man’s history, see his will, find out who would benefit by his death, and who, if anyone, might have a grudge against him. He had discovered when going through the papers on the previous day that Sir William’s lawyers were Messrs Greer, Arbuthnot & Greer, of Lincoln’s Inn. To call on them, therefore, seemed his next step. From the station he telephoned making an appointment for two o’clock, then, taking the 10.55 a.m. train, he went up to town. He saw Mr Arbuthnot, a tall, rather stooped man with strongly marked, clean-shaven features, a thick crop of lightish hair slightly shot with grey, and a pair of very keen blue eyes. He bowed his visitor to a chair. ‘We had your message, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I hope there is nothing wrong. We look on you Scotland Yard gentlemen rather as stormy petrels, you know.’ His face as he smiled lit up and became friendly and human. Tanner took an instinctive liking to him. ‘I dare say you can guess my business, Mr Arbuthnot,’ he began. ‘It is in connection with the sad death of Sir William Ponson.’ ‘Yes?’ Tanner hesitated for a moment. ‘I think, sir,’ he said at last, ‘if you will treat what I am about to say as confidential, I had better tell you the complication which has arisen.’ Mr Arbuthnot nodded, and the Inspector went on.