“The question is,” said Anthony, “what are we going to do now? There are two courses open to us. A: Ring up the police, tell the whole story, and trust to your unassailable position in the world and your hitherto blameless life. B: An attempt on my part to dispose successfully of the body. Naturally my private inclinations urge me to B. I’ve always wanted to see if I couldn’t conceal a crime with the necessary cunning, but have had a squeamish objection to shedding blood. On the whole, I expect A’s the soundest. Then there’s a sort of bowdlerized A. Ring up the police, etc., but suppress the pistol and the blackmailing letters—that is, if they are on him still.” Anthony ran rapidly through the dead man’s pockets. “He’s been stripped clean,” he announced. “There’s not a thing on him. There’ll be dirty work at the crossroads over those letters yet. Hullo, what’s this? Hole in the lining—something got caught there, torn roughly out, and a scrap of paper left behind.” He drew out the scrap of paper as he spoke, and brought it over to the light. Virginia joined him. “Pity we haven’t got the rest of it,” he muttered. “_Chimneys 11.45 Thursday_—Sounds like an appointment.” “Chimneys?” cried Virginia. “How extraordinary!” “Why extraordinary? Rather high toned for such a low fellow?” “I’m going to Chimneys this evening. At least I was.” Anthony wheeled round on her. “What’s that? Say that again.” “I was going to Chimneys this evening,” repeated Virginia. Anthony stared at her. “I begin to see. At least, I may be wrong—but it’s an idea. Suppose some one wanted badly to prevent your going to Chimneys?” “My cousin George Lomax does,” said Virginia with a smile. “But I can’t seriously suspect George of murder.” Anthony did not smile. He was lost in thought. “If you ring up the police, it’s good-bye to any idea of getting to Chimneys to-day—or even to-morrow. And I should like you to go to Chimneys. I fancy it will disconcert our unknown friends. Mrs. Revel, will you put yourself in my hands?” “It’s to be Plan B, then?” “It’s to be Plan B. The first thing is to get that maid of yours out of the house. Can you manage that?” “Easily.” Virginia went out in the hall and called up the stairs. “Élise. Élise.” “Madame?” Anthony heard a rapid colloquy, and then the front door opened and shut. Virginia came back into the room. “She’s gone. I sent her for some special scent—told her the shop in question was open until eight. It won’t be, of course. She’s to follow after me by the next train without coming back here.” “Good,” said Anthony approvingly. “We can now proceed to the disposal of the body. It’s a time-worn method, but I’m afraid I shall have to ask you if there’s such a thing in the house as a trunk?” “Of course there is. Come down to the basement and take your choice.” There was a variety of trunks in the basement. Anthony selected a solid affair of suitable size.