Anthony was pleased. “You support me. I thought the author seemed to be one man, though I’ve not had time to study the things carefully. I went so far as to think—the authorship being the same and the papers so different in views—that one man controlled all three.” He fell silent a moment, then added slowly: “One might consider, you know, whether the controller and the writer——” But Masterson interrupted. “Look here,” he said, sitting up in obvious excitement, “how did you spot the unity of authorship business?” “Similarity of style, I think.” Anthony was reflective. “I’ve got quite an eye for style. Two or three times the fellow tried to disguise it. By doing that he gave the game away completely.” “Oh, but there was more than that!” cried the other, fumbling with shaking hands at the sheaf of cuttings. “Wait till I find—ah! Now, look at this. ‘The Minister of Imperial Finance, in his efforts for advancement of self, would do well to remember that hackneyed line of Pope: “A little learning is a dangerous thing.”’ Did you see that?” Anthony opened his eyes. “I did. And thought how refreshing it was to see the quotation given right. They nearly all get it wrong, though you’d think any one could see that Pope couldn’t have been such a fool as to say a little knowledge was dangerous. Knowledge is always useful; learning isn’t—until you’ve got plenty. But go on: what about it?” Masterson was searching feverishly. “Tell you when I’ve found—here we are! Listen. Er-um Finance—policy—rumty-tumty—‘when Greek joins Greek, then comes the tug-of-war!’ There you are again. How many times d’you see that given right?” “Never,” said Anthony. “They all say ‘meets.’” “There you are, then. It all goes to prove what you felt and I’m certain about.” He tapped the bundle of cuttings with a lean finger. “All these were written by the same man; there’s not a doubt in my mind. Style—similarity in style, I mean—isn’t proof; but this orgy of correctitude _plus_ that similarity is. At least it’s good enough for me. There are plenty more instances if you want them. There’s one I remember well—a leader in _Vox Populi_. It was a more vicious attack on Hoode even than the others, and it was so damn’ well done that it was almost convincing. It said, apropos of him: ‘_facilis descensus averno_.’ What about that?” Anthony sat up. “‘_Averno_’ is very rare,” he said slowly. “But it’s a better reading. I saw it. I wondered. I wondered a lot.” There was a silence. The two looked at each other. “Masterson,” Anthony said at last, “you’re very useful, you know. Most useful. Wish you weren’t sick a-bed. Now here’s another point. We’ve fixed the author of these articles as one man; but what about the motive force behind the author. I’m inclining to the view that as these papers differ so widely in everything else they are controlled by some one whose only interest in them was to do Hoode a bad turn. Agree?” Masterson nodded emphatically.