It seemed that on the day after Vera had first noticed the machine she had had some extra typing to do in the office which would have necessitated her working late. But on that day her mother had not been well and she had particularly wanted to get home at her usual time. The thought of Mr. Pyke’s typewriter occurred to her, together with the fact that he had left that morning on one of his many visits to the country. She had thereupon decided to borrow the machine for the evening. She had brought her work home and had done it in his sitting room. She did not remember the actual day, but could find it from her records in the office. “Very wise, if you ask me,” French said, sympathetically. “And what was the nature of the work you did?” He found it hard to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Just a copy of some tenders we had from America. I am in a hardware shop in Tottenham Court Road and it was about American lawnmowers and other gardening machines.” “I understand. I suppose you don’t know what the copies were required for?” “Just for filing. The originals had to be sent away, and these were wanted for reference.” French rose to his feet. Certainly the luck was not entirely against him. “Put your hat on, if you please, Miss Welsh, and come along with me to your office. I must see that copy. I can’t tell you how much you have helped me by telling me of it.” The girl at first demurred, as she feared her employer might have views of his own as to the taking of important papers home from the office. But French assured her that he would see she did not suffer for her action. In fact, before she knew what was happening to her she was in a taxi on the way to the place. On reaching the senior partner’s office, French was as good as his word. He explained the importance of his seeing the typescript, and saying that Miss Welsh had risked her job in the interests of justice, begged that the matter might not be held against her. Mr. Cooke shook his head over the incident, but, admitting to French that the girl was satisfactory, he agreed to overlook it. Then he rang for the papers in question. Ten seconds with his lens was enough for French. Here at last was the proof he had been looking for! The typing was that of the notes to the Veda works, to the Swansea garage, and to the magneto company. “I’m pretty glad to get this paper, Mr. Cooke,” he declared. “Now do you think you could let me keep it? Miss Welsh could perhaps type another copy for you?” Mr. Cooke was obliging, and in ten minutes the precious document was handed over. Stopping only to get the girl to certify on it that she had made it with Pyke’s machine, French hurried her away. “I’ll drive you home, Miss Welsh,” he said, with his pleasant smile. “You have been of the greatest help. Now I wonder if you could do something else for me,” and he began repeating the questions he had already put to her mother.