“Not a bit, my boy, not a bit. Very glad to see you.” He picked up some sheets of paper from the chair. “As a matter of fact, I was just jotting down a few notes. I’d like you to read them—not now, but when they’re finished.” He hesitated; then added rather shyly: “They’re just some ideas I’ve had about this awful business. Somehow, I can put them more clearly in writing. I want to give them to Marshall before the boy’s tried, but I’d like you to see them first. There might possibly be some points which have escaped you, though I expect not.” “I’d like to look at ’em very much,” Anthony said. “Get them done as quick as you can, won’t you? Now, what I interrupted you for: is there in the house a good collection of reference books?” “There is. Right-hand book-case in the study. You’ll find anything you want from sawdust to Seringapatam. John got together the most comprehensive reference library _I’ve_ ever seen.” “Good!” Anthony turned to the door. “No, don’t trouble to come, I’ll find ’em!” It was, as Sir Arthur had said, a most comprehensive collection. Anthony locked the study door and sat at the big writing-table, now back in its old place, surrounded by the volumes of his choice. They were many and varied. He worked for an hour, occasionally scribbling notes on a slip of paper. At last he rose, stretched himself, and returned the books to their shelves. Again sitting at the table, he studied his notes. They appeared to afford him satisfaction. He folded the paper and took out his note-case. As he opened it, the bunch of newspaper-cuttings fluttered down to rest upon the table. He picked them up and slid them, with the notes he had scribbled, back into the case. As he did so a line of the topmost cutting caught his eye. It was the quotation from the _Æneid_ which Masterson had referred to and which then had titillated some elusive memory. Now where, recently, had he seen this unusual and meticulous dative case? His mind wrestled with forgetfulness; then, suddenly tired, refused to work longer on so arduous a task. As minds will, it switched abruptly off to the matter with which it most wished to be occupied. Before Anthony’s eyes came a picture of a dark, proud face whose beauty was enhanced by its pallor. He thought of her as he had seen her that morning; as he had seen her that first time; as she had sat in her drawing-room that night—the night he had made her tell him all about it. His mind, remorseful, perhaps, made a half-hearted attempt to get back to that tiresome business of the correct quotation from Virgil. Suddenly, it connected the work and the woman. The great light of recaptured memory burst upon him. He jumped for the telephone; asked for Greyne 23; was put through at once; thought: “Wonder who’ll answer?” then heard the “Hallo” of a servant. “Miss Masterson in?” he asked. “Yes, sir. What name shall I say?”