“Steady on,” interposed the detective. “I thought so, too, at first. I’ve been into all that. Mr. Parrish made a clean break with the last of his lady friends about two months since; and, as far as our investigations go, there has been no blackmail in connection with any of his women pals. Vine Street knows all about Master Parrish. There were complaints about some of his little parties up in town. But I don’t believe there’s a woman in this case ...” “I didn’t say there was,” retorted Robin. “The blackmail is probably being levied from Holland. A threat of violence was finally carried into effect on Saturday evening between 5 and 5.15 P.M. by some one conversant with the lie of the land at Harkings. This individual, armed with an automatic Browning of the same calibre as Mr. Parrish’s, shot at Parrish through the open window of the library and killed him—probably in self-defence, after Parrish had had a shot at him ...” “Steady there, whoa!” said Mr. Manderton in a jocular way clearly expressive of his incredulity; “there was only one shot ...” “There were _two_,” was Robin’s dispassionate reply. “Though maybe only one was heard. Parrish had a Maxim silencer on his gun ...” Mr. Manderton was now thoroughly alert. “How did you find that out?” he asked. “Jay, Parrish’s man, came forward and volunteered this evidence ...” “He said nothing about it when I questioned him,” grumbled the detective. Robin laughed. “You’re a terror to the confirmed criminal, they tell me, Manderton,” he said, “but you obviously don’t understand that complicated mechanism known as the domestic servant. No servant at Harkings will voluntarily tell _you_ anything ...” Mr. Manderton, who had stood up, shook his big frame impatiently. “Explain the rest of your theories,” he said harshly. “What’s all this about blackmail being levied from Holland?” Then Robin Greve told him of the letters written on the slatey-blue paper and of their effect upon Parrish, and of the letter headed, “Elias van der Spyck & Co., General Importers, Rotterdam,” which had lain on the desk in the library when Parrish’s dead body had been found. Manderton nodded gloomily. “It was there right enough,” he remarked. “I saw it. A letter about steel shipments and the dockers’ strike, wasn’t it? As there seemed nothing to it, I left it with the other papers for Jeekes, the secretary chap. But what evidence is there that this was blackmail?” “This,” said Robin, and showed the detective the sheet of blue paper with its series of slits. “Manderton,” he said, “these letters written on this blue paper were in code, I feel sure. Why should not this be the key? You see it bears a date—‘Nov. 25.’ May it not refer to that letter? I found it by Parrish’s body on the carpet in the library. I would have given it to you at Harkings, but I shoved it in my pocket and forgot all about it until I was in the train coming up to town this morning.”