“Take it. Madame will be with you. Stop the car, and explain that it fell off the luggage cart. Do not mention me.” Bill stepped quickly down to the drive just as the big Lanchester limousine with Isaacstein inside it came round the corner. The chauffeur slowed down, and Bill swung the suit-case up to him. “Fell off the luggage cart,” he explained. “We happened to see it.” He caught a momentary glimpse of a startled yellow face as the financier stared at him, and then the car swept on again. They went back to Lemoine. He was standing with the revolver in his hand, and a look of gloating satisfaction in his face. “A long shot,” he said. “A very long shot. But it came off.” 22 The Red Signal Superintendent Battle was standing in the library at Wyvvern Abbey. George Lomax, seated before a desk overflowing with papers, was frowning portentously. Superintendent Battle had opened proceedings by making a brief and business-like report. Since then, the conversation had lain almost entirely with George, and Battle had contented himself with making brief and usually monosyllabic replies to the other’s questions. On the desk, in front of George, was the packet of letters Anthony had found on his dressing-table. “I can’t understand it at all,” said George irritably, as he picked up the packet. “They’re in code, you say?” “Just so, Mr. Lomax.” “And where does he say he found them—on his dressing-table?” Battle repeated, word for word, Anthony Cade’s account of how he had come to regain possession of the letters. “And he brought them at once to you? That was quite proper—quite proper. But who could have placed them in his room?” Battle shook his head. “That’s the sort of thing you ought to know,” complained George. “It sounds to me very fishy—very fishy indeed. What do we know about this man Cade anyway? He appears in a most mysterious manner—under highly suspicious circumstances—and we know nothing whatever about him. I may say that I, personally, don’t care for his manner at all. You’ve made inquiries about him, I suppose?” Superintendent Battle permitted himself a patient smile. “We wired at once to South Africa, and his story has been confirmed on all points. He was in Bulawayo with Mr. McGrath at the time he stated. Previous to their meeting, he was employed by Messrs. Castle, the Tourist Agents.” “Just what I should have expected,” said George. “He has the kind of cheap assurance that succeeds in a certain type of employment. But about these letters—steps must be taken at once—at once——” The great man puffed himself out and swelled importantly. Superintendent Battle opened his mouth, but George forestalled him. “There must be no delay. These letters must be decoded without any loss of time. Let me see, who is the man? There is a man—connected with the British Museum. Knows all there is to know about ciphers. Ran the department for us during the War. Where is Miss Oscar? She will know. Name something like Win—Win——”