“Because Miss Trevert told me you went to the library immediately you arrived at Harkings last night. I consequently assumed that you must have taken away the letter seen by Robin Greve ...” Mr. Jeekes drew in his breath with a sucking sound. It was a little trick of his when about to speak. “So you saw Miss Trevert at Harkings, eh?” Bruce laughed. “I did,” he said. “We had quite a dramatic meeting, too—it was like a scene from a film!” And, with a little good-humoured exaggeration, he gave Mr. Jeekes a description of his encounter with Mary. And lest it should seem that young Wright was allowing Mr. Jeekes to pump him, it should be stated that Bruce was well aware of one of the secretary’s most notable characteristics, a common failing, be it remarked, of the small-minded, and that was an overpowering suspicion of anything resembling a leading question. In order, therefore, to gain his confidence, he willingly satisfied the other’s curiosity regarding his visit to Harkings hoping thereby to extract some information as to the whereabouts of the letter on the slatey-blue paper. “There was no letter of this description on the desk, you say, when you and Miss Trevert looked?” asked Jeekes when Bruce had finished his story. “Nothing but circulars and bills,” Bruce replied. Mr. Jeekes leaned forward and drank off his coffee with a swift movement. Then he said carelessly: “From what you tell me, Miss Trevert would have been perhaps a minute alone in the room without your seeing her?” Bruce agreed with a nod. Adjusting his _pince-nez_ on his nose the secretary rose to his feet. “Very glad to have seen you again, Wright,” he said, thrusting out a limp hand; “must run off now—mass of work to get through ...” Then Bruce risked his leading question. “If you haven’t got this letter,” he observed, “what has become of it? Obviously the police are not likely to have taken it because they know nothing of its significance ...” “Quite, quite,” answered Mr. Jeekes absently, but without replying to the young man’s question. “Why,” asked Bruce boldly, “did old H.P. make such a mystery about these letters on the slatey-blue paper, Mr. Jeekes?” The secretary wrinkled up his thin lips and sharp nose into a cunning smile. “When you get to be my age, young Wright,” he made answer, “you will understand that every man has a private side to his life. And, if you have learnt your job properly, you will also know that a private secretary’s first duty is to mind his own business. About this letter now—it’s the first I’ve heard of it. Take my advice and don’t bother your head about it. _If_ it exists ...” “But it _does_ exist,” broke in Bruce quickly. “Mr. Greve saw it and read it himself ...” Mr. Jeekes laughed drily.