But he wished that Miss Oscar were here. Miss Oscar wrote all his letters for him, and remembered who they were to and what they were about. A great man like George could not possibly remember all these annoying details. “I think, Mr. Cade,” he hinted, “that you were about to give us some—er—explanation of what you were doing in the grounds last night at 11.45?” His tone said plainly: “And whatever it may be, we are not likely to believe it.” “Yes, Mr. Cade, what _were_ you doing?” said Lord Caterham, with lively interest. “Well,” said Anthony regretfully. “I’m afraid it’s rather a long story.” He drew out his cigarette case. “May I?” Lord Caterham nodded, and Anthony lit a cigarette, and braced himself for the ordeal. He was aware, none better, of the peril in which he stood. In the short space of twenty-four hours, he had become embroiled in two separate crimes. His actions in connection with the first would not bear looking into for a second. After deliberately disposing of one body, and so defeating the aims of justice, he had arrived upon the scene of the second crime at the exact moment when it was being committed. For a young man looking for trouble, he could hardly have done better. “South America,” thought Anthony to himself, “simply isn’t in it with this!” He had already decided upon his course of action. He was going to tell the truth—with one trifling alteration, and one grave suppression. “The story begins,” said Anthony, “about three weeks ago—in Bulawayo. Mr. Lomax, of course, knows where that is—outpost of the Empire—‘What do we know of England who only England know?’ all that sort of thing. I was conversing with a friend of mine, a Mr. James McGrath—” He brought out the name slowly, with a thoughtful eye on George. George bounded in his seat and repressed an exclamation with difficulty. “The upshot of our conversation was that I came to England to carry out a little commission for Mr. McGrath, who was unable to go himself. Since the passage was booked in his name, I travelled as James McGrath. I don’t know what particular kind of offence that was—the superintendent can tell me, I dare say, and run me in for so many months’ hard if necessary.” “We’ll get on with the story, if you please, sir,” said Battle, but his eyes twinkled a little. “On arrival in London I went to the Blitz Hotel, still as James McGrath. My business in London was to deliver a certain manuscript to a firm of publishers, but almost immediately I received deputations from the representatives of two political parties of a foreign kingdom. The methods of one were strictly constitutional, the methods of the other were not. I dealt with them both accordingly. But my troubles were not over. That night my room was broken into, and an attempt at burglary was made by one of the waiters at the hotel.” “That was not reported to the police, I think?” said Superintendent Battle.