“Right.” Anthony leaned forward, speaking softly. “But did this motive force hire some one to write for it, or was its distaste for the unfortunate Robin Hoode so great that it wrote itself, being unwilling to forgo the pleasure of, so to speak, giving birth to a new litter of scorpions three times a month or more? Briefly, are you with me in thinking that author and motive force are probably one and the same?” “By God, I am!” Masterson said. Anthony smiled. “Well, thank God I’ve found another lunatic! That’s what we are, you know. Think of our theory! It is that some one had such a hatred of Hoode that the secret purchase of three newspapers was needed to assuage it. That’s what we’ve said; we’re thinking more. But we’re frightened to say what it is because it’ll sound so silly.” “I know. I know.” Masterson’s tone was almost fearful. “I say, we _can’t_ be right! It isn’t sense! Now I come to think of it there are dozens of other theories that’d fit. There might be more than one person. The whole thing might be political. The——” Anthony raised a hand for silence. “Fear not. Of course you can fit other theories. One always can; that’s the devil of this bloodhound business. The only way to work is to pick a likely-looking path and go down it. I’ve chosen one to get on with. As you say, it’s not sense; but then nothing else is. It’s sad and bad and very mad and very far from sweet. But there it is. So we’ll all go mad. I’m starting now.” He got to his feet. “Here, wait a minute!” Masterson cried. “Don’t go. I—I might be able to help you.” “My dear fellow, you have already—immeasurably! For one thing you’ve crystallised my determination to go mad and stay mad——” “Oh, I know all about that!” Masterson exhibited some irritation. “But I mean really help. I was just going to tell you. When I was with Hoode, before I told him about this business, I went to one of those filthy private inquiry agents. I was so absolutely certain, you see. I told this chap to find out, if he could, who the enemy was. Or rather I told him to find out who really owned the three newspapers. He thought I was mad, said he could do it in a day—but he didn’t! I think he imagined he’d only got to look it up or get some one from Fleet Street to tell him. Of course, that didn’t work, he only gave me the three figureheads that’re shown to the trusting world. But when I laughed at him, and explained a little, I think he got his back up and really went for the job.” “D’you mean to say——” began Anthony. “No, I don’t! Before I heard any more I had the row with Hoode—I didn’t tell _him_ about the ’tec, of course; I was too angry—and dropped the whole business and paid this chap off. He was very fed up—kept trying to see me, and writing. Of course—well in the state I was in, I refused to see him and chucked his letters into the fire. But he was so very eager! He _might_ know something, I think!”