Sir James looked at the telephone, not affectionately, and took up the receiver. “Well?” he said in his strong voice, and listened. “Yes,” he said. The next moment Mr. Silver, eagerly watching him, saw a look of amazement and horror. “Good God!” murmured Sir James. Clutching the instrument, he slowly rose to his feet, still bending ear intently. At intervals he repeated “Yes.” Presently, as he listened, he glanced at the clock, and spoke quickly to Mr. Silver over the top of the transmitter. “Go and hunt up Figgis and young Williams. Hurry.” Mr. Silver darted from the room. The great journalist was a tall, strong, clever Irishman of fifty, swart and black-moustached, a man of untiring business energy, well known in the world, which he understood very thoroughly, and played upon with the half-cynical competence of his race. Yet was he without a touch of the charlatan: he made no mysteries, and no pretences of knowledge, and he saw instantly through these in others. In his handsome, well-bred, well-dressed appearance there was something a little sinister when anger or intense occupation put its imprint about his eyes and brow; but when his generous nature was under no restraint he was the most cordial of men. He was managing director of the company which owned that most powerful morning paper, the _Record,_ and also that most indispensable evening paper, the _Sun,_ which had its offices on the other side of the street. He was, moreover, editor-in-chief of the _Record,_ to which he had in the course of years attached the most variously capable personnel in the country. It was a maxim of his that where you could not get gifts, you must do the best you could with solid merit; and he employed a great deal of both. He was respected by his staff as few are respected in a profession not favourable to the growth of the sentiment of reverence. “You’re sure that’s all?” asked Sir James, after a few minutes of earnest listening and questioning. “And how long has this been known?... Yes, of course, the police are; but the servants? Surely it’s all over the place down there by now.... Well, we’ll have a try.... Look here, Bunner, I’m infinitely obliged to you about this. I owe you a good turn. You know I mean what I say. Come and see me the first day you get to town.... All right, that’s understood. Now I must act on your news. Goodbye.” Sir James hung up the receiver, and seized a railway timetable from the rack before him. After a rapid consultation of this oracle, he flung it down with a forcible word as Mr. Silver hurried into the room, followed by a hard-featured man with spectacles, and a youth with an alert eye.