"There's no point in informing the rest of the world," remarked Marsden, as soon as they were alone again, "but, to tell you the truth, we seem to be up against a blank wall. I didn't say too much to the Coroner, chiefly on account of the newspapers. Some of them are always waiting for a chance to dig out the old stunt about the incompetence of Scotland Yard, so in a case like this it's just as well to give the impression that we're keeping something in the background. As a matter of cold fact, I only wish we were." "What about those pet black sheep of yours?" inquired Colin. "Haven't you succeeded in rounding them up yet?" "Oh, we've rounded 'em up all right. We've scraped through our list of regulars with a fine pocket-comb, and if any of them had so much as a finger in the job I'll eat my hat in this restaurant." "Then you've changed your opinion?" said Colin. "You're beginning to believe----" Marsden shook his head. "No," he interrupted doggedly, "I'll stake my reputation that the man who opened the lock of that safe was a professional cracksman. He may have been a foreigner, of course, and if that's the case it would account for the fact that none of our people here know anything about him. However, I've cabled to Paris and New York, and several other places, to ask them if any of their own experts are missing, and it's quite possible I may get an answer from them that will put us on the right track. If I do I'll send you along a line." He paused to refill his glass. "By the way," he added, "where shall I be able to find you?" "I've taken a room at the Kensington Palace Hotel for a day or two," said Colin. "I've really made no plans yet. As I told Medwin, I mean to see this thing through before I attempt to settle down to any fresh work." He pushed away his plate, the contents of which he had hardly tasted, and lighted himself a cigarette. "How about the Professor's old servant?" he asked. "Any news of him yet?" "That's another of our failures," admitted the detective wryly. "Ainsworth's men have been ransacking the country, but so far they seem to have drawn an absolute blank." He stopped suddenly, and, putting his hand in his pocket, produced a rather crumpled envelope. "Talking of Ainsworth, I've got something here for you. It's the report we promised you the other day about some party you wanted us to look up. I'd have posted it on before only you told me that you weren't in any particular hurry." He passed over the note, and, hastily expressing his thanks, Colin tore open the flap. In the rush and excitement of recent events his interest in Major Fenton had been temporarily forgotten, but the mere mention of the subject was quite sufficient to arouse all his previous curiosity. He extracted the sheet of paper which the envelope contained, and, unfolding it with eager fingers, spread it out before him on the table. It was just a single page of neat typewriting, without any address or date.