While talking he had led the way down one passage and up another, till they were in the actual gallery from which the famous statue had so mysteriously vanished. It stood out in one of the wings of the Institute, its steel-barred windows on each side, being some thirty or forty feet clear from the ground. The walls were lined with pictures, not one of which obviously had been moved, and it seemed impossible for secret entry to have been made either during the day or the night. The empty pedestal stood some six feet away from the wall, against which stood some heavy grouped figures and examples in plaster of bas-relief. For a few minutes Cleek walked aimlessly round and round the gallery, his eyes dull and heavy, his face stupidly blank in expression. Suddenly he looked up at the exquisitely painted ceiling and gave an inane little chuckle that caused the secretary to look at him in surprise. "I see," he exclaimed. "I wondered where it came from; but I suppose you have had the ceiling repaired--eh, what?" If ever a man looked puzzled, it was the secretary. "Ceiling repaired?" he echoed. "Really, Mr. Headland, I can't understand you. What on earth makes you think that?" Mr. Headland pointed to two or three flecks of powdered plaster, obviously dropped from the ceiling above, but the secretary only gave a little sniff of contempt. "Vibration of the traffic," he exclaimed. "No one's been near the ceiling." He turned suddenly. "Ah, here is Thompson. If you think you will want that address----?" He was clearly not very taken with the deductive powers of Mr. Headland, and he showed it very plainly. "Yes, sir," said Thompson, when Cleek had questioned him. "Quite plain I heard it: 'Imperial Mansions, Shepherd's Bush,' and I dare say I could find out from the cabman himself. He's sure to be on the stand outside." Dismissed on this errand, he left the gallery, while Cleek wandered to the window, which looked out on a little courtyard. His eyes noted almost unconsciously the presence of a large moving van standing near the gateway to the street. "Oh, Mr. Belthouse," he exclaimed, "going to move the blessed statues in a furniture van?" Mr. Belthouse joined him, but his voice was even more irritable as he exclaimed: "Certainly not; that must be for the effects of the caretaker. She has lived in the basement, but she said she was moving as soon as the exhibition was over. And now, perhaps, Mr. Headland, if you don't mind my saying so, my time is valuable. So if you will ask me anything else you want to know----?" Cleek stopped short in his prowl at the top end of the gallery, and stood, looking the very picture of perplexity. "This case fair stumps me, Mr. Belthouse, I must say. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me where this door leads to?" He touched the frame of a door almost concealed by a huge picture which was hung across it.