PROFESSOR BLINKWELL DINED with his niece. His mind was more completely at ease than it had been at any time during the previous fortnight, and this serenity was not disturbed by the knowledge, which had reached him an hour before, that a second valise had been deposited at Mrs. Collinson's door. There had been plausibility in the explanation which had been given, and, in any case, two was much better than none

He had decided earlier that the peril which had come so unpleasantly close to his reputable and luxurious life had withdrawn to its customary remoteness, during which it had been no more than a vague shadow of which it was neither necessary nor comfortable to think. There had remained only the possibility that the ambassador might fail to make safe delivery of that which had been placed in his charge. A remote risk, and threatening Gustav and others rather than himself. But there was ?6000 at stake, and it is an amount which even men of wealth do not lightly lose.

Now all was well. So he said to Myra, whose duller mind had been somewhat disturbed by the news which she had been the means of conveying to him, after Mrs. Collinson had rung up a friend and engaged in a conversation which could have little meaning to anyone who should listen-in, which had been relayed to Myra in the same cryptic form.

"Suppose," she now said dubiously, "they opened it first?"

"It is a most improbable thing."

"I don't see that."

"No? Well, suppose they did?"

Myra was frequently reduced to puzzled silence when her uncle tossed the ball of conversation back to her in this manner. Now she said doubtfully:

"Well, they'd 'know what was in it. They'd - they'd be watching it wherever it goes."

"Well, what of that?"

"Well, of course - - Suppose Mrs. Collinson gave you

away?"

"We know she didn't."

"I mean if she should."

"You meant at some future time? Then why not say so? You know how I hate your slovenly English. I think it comes from listening to the news bulletins of the B.B.C."

"Well, suppose she should give you away?"

"The trouble with you, Myra, is that when you get frightened you can't think clearly. It is a dangerous fault. She won't give us away, because she'd have to give herself away first, and it is a sacrifice which she would be unwilling to make."

"What do you think she'll say?"

"I don't suppose she'll have occasion to say anything. But if she does, it will be that Kindell took advantage of a very slight acquaintance to dump the case on to her. He couldn't prove that he'd never heard of her before; and the fact that he didn't ask Thurlow to send it to his own rooms will seem natural enough. He sent it where it wouldn't be likely that it would be looked for, if they were on his track."

"Yes. I suppose that's how it would look," Myra replied doubtfully. Her uncle's elaborate fictions were often so sustained and detailed as to leave her mind confused at last between truth and falsehood. That being so, was it strange that they should deceive others who were less fully informed? "But," she added, "they won't believe much of that if he's in with the police."

"Which we have good reason to doubt. But, even then, it would be less than sure. As I said before, he might be running with hare and hounds."

"There's Gustav as well as Mrs. Collinson."

"Yes. There's Gustav. And he's an additional reason why you can sleep with a quiet mind. If the police here think there was anything wrong with the case, they'll ask Thurlow how he got it, and he'll say Gustav brought it with a message from Kindell. They'll question Gustav, and he'll confirm that.

"He couldn't bring me into it without accusing himself, and it's a safe bet that he won't. Not with Reynard's murder to be explained! Samuel's hauled in Kindell for that. Now if he finds that drug-smuggling was going on, won't he connect the two things? Who will Mrs. Collinson say has plarited that case on to her? Kindell, whom she will admit that she slightly knew. And who will Gustav say gave it to him? Kindell again!"

"They mayn't believe Gustav's as innocent as he makes out."

"Very possibly not. They may decide that he was in with Kindell. They may begin to wonder whether he may not have been the one who got rid of Reynard, for which a waiter might have an excellent opportunity. They may confront Kindell and him, and if they find out the truth from what the two say, they'll be clever men. One thing is certain. Kindell will deny that he ever heard of Mrs. Collinson, and they'll find it particularly hard to believe that. Anyway, they'll have two to choose from, and if one of them's for the guillotine, Gustav would be my choice."

"You don't think he'd let it come to that without giving you away?"

"My dear Myra! How could he? Of course, he might bring my name in. But who'd believe him? He'd have said he got it from Kindell first. If that goes down with the police, he can't be the one to change. If they prove he's a liar, will they be ready to believe when he starts up with a new song?

"And by that time he'd be in it too deep to accuse anyone in a way that wouldn't involve himself. Do you suppose, even if they should believe him, they could do anything against me on the word of a confessed criminal? I'm not altogether sure that it wouldn't be a good thing if they did give him a taste of the guillotine. He knows rather too much, and he might be a nuisance before long."

"You don't think it really was he who killed Reynard?"

"I don't think about it, one way or other. I've got enough to do to think of my own affairs. There's a board meeting of Vanton's tomorrow, which may be one of the most important we ever had, and they'll be expecting a report from me which is not ready yet. I'm thinking mostly of that."

Myra was not too foolish to see the implications of that reply. Professor Blinkwell was thinking of other things than a policeman's murder, or the distribution of evil drugs. People thought of other things when they thought of him as a director of Vantons Ltd., the great chemical firm, and the one on whose scientific advice the board of that firm relied. It was the armour in which he walked. . . .

The butler entered. He came to the side of his master's chair. He said with the low-voiced expressionless intonation which good butlers use: "Mr. Tarleton is on the 'phone in the library, sir. He said he'd just heard from Siemans & Vie. He thought you might like to know."

"Thank you, Gilson. Tell him I'm at dinner now, but I'll ring him up in the morning."

The butler retired, and Professor Blinkwell looked at his watch. The message was a most natural one for such as he to receive. And his reply showed that he did not regard it as of urgent importance. Siemans & Vie were a firm of manufacturing chemists in Berlin. They had business relations with Vantons which was legitimate and publicly known.

But the message was a code one which told him that a matter of urgency had arisen. It told him where it had occurred, and who would be on the 'phone (doubtless giving a false name) within five minutes, in the laboratory office on the floor below.

The butler, who understood more of what went on in that house than would ever pass his lips, brought, in the next minute, the coffee which concluded the meal, and the Professor, drinking expeditiously, but without evidence of haste, and saying nothing further to Myra (who understood the significance of that message as well as the butler, or perhaps better, but had learnt the wisdom of silence at such moments), went down to deal with whatever it might portend.