He was striding impatiently up and down the carpet. There was one other person in the room, a big man sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He was dressed in very correct English shooting clothes which nevertheless sat strangely upon him. He had a fat yellow face, and black eyes, as impenetrable as those of a cobra. There was a generous curve to the big nose and power in the square lines of the vast jaw. “Come in, Battle,” said Lomax irritably. “And shut the door behind you. This is Mr. Herman Isaacstein.” Battle inclined his head respectfully. He knew all about Mr. Herman Isaacstein, and though the great financier sat there silent, whilst Lomax strode up and down and talked, he knew who was the real power in the room. “We can speak more freely now,” said Lomax. “Before Lord Caterham and Colonel Melrose, I was anxious not to say too much. You understand, Battle? These things mustn’t get about.” “Ah!” said Battle. “But they always do, more’s the pity.” Just for a second he saw a trace of a smile on the fat yellow face. It disappeared as suddenly as it had come. “Now what do you really think of this young fellow—this Anthony Cade?” continued George. “Do you still assume him to be innocent?” Battle shrugged his shoulders very slightly. “He tells a straight story. Part of it we shall be able to verify. On the face of it, it accounts for his presence here last night. I shall cable to South Africa, of course, for information about his antecedents.” “Then you regard him as cleared of all complicity?” Battle raised a large square hand. “Not so fast, sir. I never said that.” “What is your own idea about the crime, Superintendent Battle?” asked Isaacstein, speaking for the first time. His voice was deep and rich, and had a certain compelling quality about it. It had stood him in good stead at board meetings in his younger days. “It’s rather too soon to have ideas, Mr. Isaacstein. I’ve not got beyond asking myself the first question.” “What is that?” “Oh, it’s always the same. Motive. Who benefits by the death of Prince Michael? We’ve got to answer that before we can get anywhere.” “The Revolutionary party of Herzoslovakia——” began George. Superintendent Battle waved him aside with something less than his usual respect. “It wasn’t the Comrades of the Red Hand, sir, if you’re thinking of them.” “But the paper—with the scarlet hand on it?” “Put there to suggest the obvious solution.” George’s dignity was a little ruffled. “Really, Battle, I don’t see how you can be so sure of that.” “Bless you, Mr. Lomax, we know all about the Comrades of the Red Hand. We’ve had our eye on them ever since Prince Michael landed in England. That sort of thing is the elementary work of the department. They’d never be allowed to get within a mile of him.” “I agree with Superintendent Battle,” said Isaacstein. “We must look elsewhere.”