"Oh, do, Mr. Headland, do. Search anywhere, do anything that will get on to the track of the thieves. One blessing is, they cannot offer the statue for sale in open market. It is intrinsically utterly valueless, and what the object of stealing it at all is I can't imagine. Still it must be got back somehow, without the Italian Government's knowing what has happened. Personally, I don't mind saying, I'll give every penny I have in the world, if only you can get it restored safe and sound." Cleek darted a swift look at the speaker, but the man was evidently in dead earnest. "Your sentiments do you credit, sir," he said, stolidly, "and I'll do my best. First of all, who was it that discovered the actual loss of the statue?" "I did, myself," was the prompt reply. "I came early to see which statues were to be sent off first, and although some ten minutes were spent pacifying a confounded woman----" Cleek twitched an inquiring eyebrow. "Oh, an indignant female who stayed too late and got locked in all night." Cleek looked at Mr. Narkom, as if mutely asking why he had not been told of this fact before, and Mr. Narkom looked back blankly at his ally. "First I've heard of it," he said, quickly, and the secretary looked from one to the other in bewilderment. Then he laughed. "Why, what's wrong? You don't think that a fat old woman could have smuggled out the Capitoline Venus in her reticule, do you? I never gave thought to her on that score. She says she got locked in one of the distant galleries, and though she hammered and shouted, she couldn't make a soul hear. She went off in a cab that one of our men fetched for her--wouldn't have a taxi, must have a fourwheeler--and swore vengeance against the whole board of directors. She declared it had been done on purpose, and we should hear from her solicitors. Regular old virago, I do assure you." "Did you get her name and address?" asked Cleek. "Good gracious, no. I was only too glad to get rid of her. I dare say Thompson can give you the address she gave the cabby, though. I'll send for him, if you like." "Yes, do, please," said Cleek. "I don't suppose there is any connection, but you never know your luck. What happened after the young lady--did you say?--had gone?" "Young lady!" The secretary smiled broadly. "She was about sixty-five if a day, with a face like a full moon, and a ridiculous child's hat perched on her head. She was no Venus, I assure you. After she had gone I went upstairs with my friend, Doctor Montret--I had met him just coming down the Cromwell Road, and I was jolly glad he was with me--when we came plump on the body of poor Scott. The sight of it and that empty pedestal gave me all sorts of thoughts of murder and burglary, but Montret soon found that the poor fellow had died naturally. As I take it, he must have been making his rounds and when he came down the gallery, and discovered the loss, he dropped dead with the shock. But you shall see for yourself."