He left the office with Sergeant Lumley, mournful and silent, at his heels.

“It’s a thousand pities, Lumley, that we didn’t get this information earlier. We could have put a man in at that pub for the rest of the day. It’s too late to do anything now.”

“Yes, sir, it is,” said Sergeant Lumley.

“The pub’s the place, I fancy.”

“Very likely, sir.”

“The cargo of dope was a pretty large one. That means that it was meant for some one who distributes the stuff on a fairly extensive scale. And it didn’t have to be paid for. That suggests to me that the man they expected to see was only a messenger for this distributor, who, no doubt, settles up direct with the top man by some other route.”

“Very possibly, sir,” said Sergeant Lumley, in an unbelieving tone.

“The thing is, what are we to do? We could raid the place, of course, but I don’t think that would be advisable. We probably shouldn’t find anything, and we should merely give the alarm to no purpose.”

“That wouldn’t be anything unusual,” grunted the Sergeant, disagreeably.

“Too true. We haven’t anything against the White Swan so far, have we?”

“Not that I know of, sir.”

“We shall have to make certain about it first. The landlord may or may not be concerned in the business. Quite possibly he isn’t, but we shall have to make sure. You had better arrange for at least two men to investigate the Swan. They mustn’t make themselves conspicuous. They can drop in from time to time and talk about parrots and goats and see if anything peculiar happens to them. And they can try and get a line of those people-the little chap, and the old man, and the fellow in the boiled shirt. It ought not to be difficult. Put on two sensible, tactful men who are not teetotallers, and if they don’t get anything in the course of a day or two, change them for two others. And see that they look like what they’re supposed to be and don’t wear regulation boots or anything foolish.”

“Very well, sir.”

“And for God’s sake, Lumley, look a little more cheerful about it,” said the Chief-Inspector. “I like to see duties undertaken in a pleasant spirit.”

“I do my best,” replied Sergeant Lumley, offended.

Chief-Inspector Parker went resolutely home to bed.

“Excuse me, miss,” said Tompkin, the reception-clerk, to Miss Rossiter, “but do you happen to have seen Mr. Wedderburn anywhere? He’s not in his room.”

“I think I saw him in with Mr. Ingleby.”

“Thank you very much, miss.”

Tompkin’s cheerful face looked worried; and all the more so, when he reached Mr. Ingleby’s room and found nobody there but Mr. Ingleby himself and Mr. Bredon.

He repeated his inquiry.

“He’s just gone down to Bream’s Buildings about an insertion in some magazine or other,” said Ingleby.

“Oh!” Tompkin looked so nonplussed that Ingleby added, “Why, what’s up?”

“Well, sir, as a matter of fact and strictly between you and I, a rather awkward thing has happened. I don’t quite know what to do about it.”

“In all social difficulties,” said Bredon, “ask Uncle Ugly. Do you want to know how many buttons there should be on a dress waistcoat? how to eat an orange in public? how to introduce your first-wife-that-was to your third-wife-to-be? Uncle Ugly will put you right.”

“Well, sir, if you will treat the matter in confidence, you and Mr. Ingleby-”

“Say on, Tompkin. We will be silent as a pre-talkie movie. Any sum from £5 to £5,000 advanced on your note of hand alone. No embarrassing investigations. No security required-or offered. What’s your trouble?”

“Not mine, sir. As a matter of fact, sir, there’s a young woman here, asking for Mr. Tallboy, and he’s in conference with Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Toule, and I don’t like to send a message.”

“Well,” said Ingleby, “tell her to wait.”

“That’s just it, sir, I did, and she said I was only saying that to put her off, while Mr. Tallboy got out of the building, and she took on terribly and said she was going to speak to Mr. Pym. Well, sir, of course I don’t know what the trouble is”-here Tompkin looked unnaturally blank and innocent-“but I don’t think Mr. Tallboy would care for that, nor Mr. Pym neither. So I thought, seeing that Mr. Wedderburn is the gentleman who sees most of Mr. Tallboy, so to speak-”

“I see,” said Ingleby. “Where is the young woman?”

“Well, I’ve put her in the Little Conference Room,” said Tompkin, dubiously, with an accent on the “put,”

“but of course, if she was to come out again (and there’s nothing to stop her) and was to go to Mr. Pym, or even to Miss Fearney-You see, sir, when parties like Miss Fearney are in an official position, they have to take notice of things, as you may say, whether they like to or not. It isn’t the same as you or me, sir.” Tompkins glanced from Ingleby to Bredon, dividing the “sir” impartially between them.

Bredon, who was drawing patterns on his blotter, looked up.

“What is she like?” he asked. “I mean”-as Tompkin hesitated-“do you think she is genuinely in distress or merely out to make trouble?”

“Well, sir,” said Tompkin, “since you ask me, I should say she was a tough jane.”

“I’ll go and keep her quiet,” said Bredon. “Be sure you tell Mr. Tallboy the moment he is free.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And try not to let it get round the office. It may be nothing at all.”

“Quite so, sir. I’m not one to talk. But there’s the boy on the desk, sir-”

“Oh! Well, tell him to hold his tongue.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bredon went out, looking as though he did not care for his self-imposed task. By the time he arrived at the door of the Little Conference Room, however, his face bore nothing but an expression of amiable helpfulness. He entered briskly, and in the first glance his practised eye took in every detail about the young woman who sprang up to face him, from her hard eyes and shrewish mouth to her blood-red, pointed fingernails and over-elaborate shoes.

“Good afternoon,” he said, brightly. “You want Mr. Tallboy, I think. He won’t be long, but he’s been called in to a conference with some clients and we can’t rescue him, so they’ve sent me down to entertain you till he comes. Will you smoke, Miss-er-the clerk didn’t mention your name?”

“It’s Vavasour-Miss Ethel Vavasour. Who’re you? Are you Mr. Pym?”

Bredon laughed.

“Good lord, no. I’m a very unimportant person-one of the junior copy-writers, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see. You a pal of Jim’s?”

“Of Tallboy’s? Not specially. I just happened to be there, so I came along, don’t you know. They told me there was a very beautiful young lady asking for Tallboy, and I thought, What-ho! Why not buzz along and cheer her weary hours of waiting?”

“I’m sure it’s frightfully good of you,” said Miss Vavasour, laughing rather shrilly. “I expect what you mean is, that Jim’s sent you along to see if you can talk me round. That’s just like Jim. I suppose he’s sneaked off the back way.”

“I assure you, my dear young lady, that I haven’t seen or spoken to Tallboy this afternoon. And I expect, when he hears that I’ve been along to have a chat with you, he’ll be very fed-up with me. And no wonder. If you’d come to see me, I should loathe any other blighter who came and barged in.”

“You can can that stuff,” retorted Miss Vavasour. “I know your sort. You’d talk the hind leg off a donkey. But I can tell you this: if Jim Tallboy thinks he’s going to get round me by sending his flash friends to shoot off a lot of hot air, he’s mistaken.”

“My dear Miss Vavasour, will nothing rid you of this misapprehension? In other words, you got me all wrong. I’m not here to forward Tallboy’s interests in any way-except, perhaps, by offering the suggestion that this office is possibly not the most suitable spot for interviews of a personal and confidential kind. If I might presume to advise you, would not an appointment for some other place and time-?”