‘The appointment of a successor may, I think, be considered later. Let us now proceed to the adjudication of the current competition. I confess that if I personally had to find out who Leonard is, I should not, under the conditions imposed, know how to begin. However, I have great confidence in the ingenuity of the ten members before me—there would have been eleven but for Harding Pope’s resignation.’ The chairman’s confidence was misplaced. Every member had made an attempt to solve the problem, but every one had failed. Several of them had hit on the expedient of following Leonard when he left the hotel. The Hon. James Feldane, for example, had hit on it, and recounted his failure. ‘I lay up in a taxi a few yards from the door of this place, where I could get a good view. Presently out came Leonard, and I might very easily have missed him, for I was expecting him to bob up from the basement, and he came out of the main entrance. He was well turned out, and looked rather less like a head-waiter than I do myself. He called up a taxi and got in. Off he went, and off I went after him, my driver having been instructed. We drove, as near as I can guess, for about umpty-ump hours. I know I began to wonder if my cigarettes would last out the trip. Then my cab slowed down to a crawl, and I looked cautiously from the window. Leonard’s cab had stopped in front of a mouldy-looking place with big gilt letters on it. He overpaid his cabman—I heard the words, “Thank you,” distinctly—ran up the steps, rang a bell, and entered. I got out. ‘“Cabby,” I said, “where are we? Is this the hereafter?” ‘“No, sir,” he said. “Looks like it, but it’s really Brixton.” ‘The big gilt letters informed me that Leonard had entered the Beaulieu Temperance Hotel. I pushed the push, and the door was half opened to me by an Italian waiter with the darkest eyes and hands I ever saw. I could catch a glimpse of a small hall furnished with a good deal of dust and a stand for hats and coats. I spotted Leonard’s excellent hat and overcoat thereon. The waiter looked at me suspiciously. I got right on to the point at once. ‘“I want,” I said, “the name and address of the gentleman who came in here just now, and I’ll pay a sovereign for it.” ‘He seemed to understand the argument. In a minute he was back with the name and address and the information that the gentleman was stopping there for only one night. He got his sovereign. The name he gave was Leonard, and the address was the address of this hotel. I may have been more annoyed in the course of my life, but I doubt it. So I made the weary journey back again, had a light supper of one whisky and soda, and went to bed.’