The gentleman in the harlequin costume removed his mask with quiet deliberation, and laid it on the table.

“Since,” he said, “my virtuous cousin Wimsey has let the cat out of the bag, I may as well take this off. I am afraid,” he turned to Dian-“my appearance will disappoint you. Except that I am handsomer and less rabbity-looking, the woman who has seen Wimsey has seen me. It is a heavy handicap to carry, but I can’t help it. The resemblance, I am happy to say, is only skin-deep.”

“It’s almost incredible,” said Major Milligan. He bent forward to examine the other’s face more closely, but Mr. Bredon extended a languid arm and, without apparently using any force at all, pushed him back into his seat.

“You needn’t come too close,” he observed, insolently. “Even a face like Wimsey’s is better than yours. Yours is spotty. You eat and drink too much.”

Major Milligan, who had, indeed, been distressed that morning by the discovery of a few small pimples on his forehead, but had hoped they were not noticeable, grunted angrily. Dian laughed.

“I take it,” pursued Mr. Bredon, “that you want to get something out of me. People of your sort always do. What is it?”

“I’ve no objection to being frank with you,” replied Major Milligan.

“How nice it is to hear anybody say that. It always prepares one for a lie to follow. Fore-warned is fore-armed, isn’t it?”

“If you choose to think so. But I think you’ll find it to your advantage to listen.”

“Financial advantage?”

“What other kind is there?”

“What indeed? I begin to like your face a trifle better.”

“Oh, do you? Perhaps you may like it well enough to answer a few questions?”

“Possibly.”

“How do you come to know Pamela Dean?”

“Pamela? A charming girl, isn’t she? I obtained an introduction to her through what the great public-seduced by the unfortunate example of that incomparable vulgarisateur, Charles Dickens-abominably calls a mutual friend. I admit that my object in obtaining the introduction was a purely business one; I can only say that I wish all business acquaintances were so agreeable.”

“What was the business?”

“The business, my dear fellow, was concerned with another mutual friend of us all-with the late Victor Dean, who died, deeply regretted, upon a staircase. A remarkable young man, was he not?”

“In what way?” asked Milligan, quickly.

“Don’t you know? I thought you did. Otherwise, why am I here?”

“You two idiots make me tired,” broke in Dian. “Where’s the sense of going round and round each other like this? Your pompous cousin told us all about you, Mr. Bredon-I suppose you’ve got a Christian name, by the way?”

“I have. It’s spelt Death. Pronounce it any way you like. Most of the people who are plagued with it make it rhyme with teeth, but personally I think it sounds more picturesque when rhymed with breath. What did my amiable cousin say about me?”

“He said you were a dope-runner.”

“Where my cousin Wimsey gets his information from, I am damned if I know. Sometimes he is correct.”

“And you know perfectly well that one can get what one wants at Tod’s place. So why not come to the point?”

“As you say, why not? Is that the particular facet of my brilliant personality that interests you, Milligan?”

“Is that the particular facet of Victor Dean’s personality that interests you?”

“One point to me,” said Mr. Bredon. “Till this moment, I was not sure that it was a facet of his personality. Now I do. Dear me! How interesting it all is, to be sure.”

“If you can find out exactly how Victor Dean was involved in that show,” said Mr. Milligan, “it might be worth something to you and to me.”

“Say on.”

Major Milligan reflected a little and seemed to make up his mind to lay his cards on the table.

“Did you learn from Pamela Dean what her brother’s job was?”

“Yes, of course. He wrote advertising copy at a place called Pym’s. There’s no secret about that.”

“That’s just what there is. And if that infernal young fool hadn’t gone and got killed, we might have found out what it was and done ourselves a lot of good. As it is-”

“But look here, Tod,” said Dian. “I thought it was the other way round. I thought you were afraid of his finding out too much.”

“That’s true,” said Milligan, scowling. “What would be the use of it if he found out first?”

“I don’t follow all this,” said Bredon. “Wasn’t it his secret? Why not stop talking like a sensation novel and give us the dope straight?”

“Because I don’t believe you know even as much as I do about the fellow.”

“I don’t. I never met him in my life. But I know a good deal about Pym’s Publicity, Ltd.”

“How?”

“I work there.”

“What?”

“I work there.”

“Since when?”

“Since Dean’s death.”

“Because of Dean’s death, do you mean?”

“Yes.”

“How did that happen?”

“I received information, as my dear cousin Wimsey’s police pals would say, that Dean was on to something fishy about Pym’s. So, since most fish have gold in their mouths like St. Peter’s, I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to try a cast or two over that particular pool.”

“And what did you find?”

“My dear Milligan, you would make a cat laugh. I don’t give away information. I dispose of it-advantageously.”

“So do I.”

“As you like. You invited me here tonight. I wasn’t looking for you. But there’s one thing I don’t mind telling you, because I’ve already told Miss de Momerie, and that is, that Victor Dean was bumped off deliberately to prevent him from talking. So far, the only person I can discover who wanted him out of the way was yourself. The police might be interested to know that fact.”

“The police?”

“Oh! I quite agree. I don’t like the police. They pay very badly and ask a hell of a lot of questions. But it might be useful, for once, to get on the right side of them.”

“That’s all punk,” said Milligan. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. I didn’t kill the fellow. I didn’t want him killed.”

“Prove that,” said the other, coolly.

He watched Milligan’s impassive face, and Milligan watched his.

“Give it up,” suggested Bredon, after a few minutes of this mutual scrutiny. “I can play poker just as well as you. But this time I fancy I hold a straight flush.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“I want to know what you think Dean was in a position to find out.”

“I can tell you that. He was trying to find out-”

“Had found out.”

“How do you know?”

“If you want instruction in detective methods, you must pay extra. I say he had found out.”

“Well, then, he had found out who was running the show from Pym’s end.”

“The dope-show?”

“Yes. And he may have found out, too, the way it’s worked.”

“Is worked?”

“Yes.”

“It’s still being worked the same way, then?”

“So far as I know.”

“So far as you know? You don’t seem to know much.”

“Well, how much do you know about the way your own gang run the show?”

“Nothing whatever. Instructions are issued-”

“By the way, how did you get into it?”

“Sorry. Can’t tell you that. Not even if you pay extra.”

“How do I know I can trust you, then?”

Bredon laughed.

“Perhaps you’d like me to supply you,” he said. “If you’re not satisfied with your distribution, you can inscribe yourself upon the roll of my customers. Deliveries Sunday and Thursday. Meanwhile-and as a sample-you may be interested in the collar of my cloak. It is handsome, is it not? A rich velvet. A little ostentatious, perhaps you think-a little over-much buckram? Possibly you are right. But very well made. The opening is almost invisible. We delicately insert the forefinger and thumb, pull the tab gently, and produce this dainty bag of oiled silk-fine as an onion-skin, but remarkably tough. Within it, you will discover sufficient inspiration for quite a number of enthusiasts. A magician’s cloak. Such stuff as dreams are made on.”