The first person that Anthony saw as he alighted from his train on the following afternoon was Superintendent Battle. His face broke into a smile. “I’ve returned according to contract,” he remarked. “Did you come down here to assure yourself of the fact?” Battle shook his head. “I wasn’t worrying about that, Mr. Cade. I happen to be going to London, that’s all.” “You have such a trustful nature, Battle.” “Do you think so, sir?” “No. I think you’re deep—very deep. Still waters, you know, and all that sort of thing. So you’re going to London?” “I am, Mr. Cade.” “I wonder why.” The detective did not reply. “You’re so chatty,” remarked Anthony. “That’s what I like about you.” A far-off twinkle showed in Battle’s eyes. “What about your own little job, Mr. Cade?” he inquired. “How did that go off?” “I’ve drawn blank, Battle. For the second time I’ve been proved hopelessly wrong. Galling, isn’t it?” “What was the idea, sir, if I may ask?” “I suspected the French governess, Battle. A: Upon the grounds of her being the most unlikely person, according to the canons of the best fiction. B: Because there was a light in her room on the night of the tragedy.” “That wasn’t much to go upon.” “You are quite right. It was not. But I discovered that she had only been here a short time, and I also found a suspicious Frenchman spying round the place. You know all about him, I suppose?” “You mean the man who calls himself M. Chelles? Staying at the _Cricketers_? A traveller in silk.” “That’s it, is it? What about him? What does Scotland Yard think?” “His actions have been suspicious,” said Superintendent Battle expressionlessly. “Very suspicious, I should say. Well, I put two and two together. French governess in the house, French stranger outside. I decided that they were in league together, and I hurried off to interview the lady with whom Mademoiselle Brun had lived for the last ten years. I was fully prepared to find that she had never heard of any such person as Mademoiselle Brun, but I was wrong, Battle. Mademoiselle is the genuine article.” Battle nodded. “I must admit,” said Anthony, “that as soon as I spoke to her I had an uneasy conviction that I was barking up the wrong tree. She seemed so absolutely the governess.” Again Battle nodded. “All the same, Mr. Cade, you can’t always go by that. Women especially can do a lot with make up. I’ve seen quite a pretty girl with the color of her hair altered, a sallow complexion stain, slightly reddened eyelids and, most efficacious of all, dowdy clothes, who would fail to be identified by nine people out of ten who had seen her in her former character. Men haven’t got quite the same pull. You can do something with the eyebrows, and of course different sets of false teeth alter the whole expression. But there are always the ears—there’s an extraordinary lot of character in ears, Mr. Cade.” “Don’t look so hard at mine, Battle,” complained Anthony. “You make me quite nervous.”