JIM WHITTAKER had sent his large expensive wreath to Mrs Tewler’s funeral in accordance with the feudal traditions of Colebrook and Mahogany, and at the same time he had recalled with surprise that there must be some family or something that had never been looked up and looked over by the Firm. There was no need for anyone who had inherited Richard Tewler’s dexterity of hand and solicitude of manner to go wandering beyond its range. Mr Whittaker had made a memorandum on a bit of paper,

“Tewler boy query”, but it had slipped under some other papers and he had forgotten it under the pressure of the sale of the great Borgman collection. It was only some six months later that the scrap of paper turned up to recall him to his obligation, “God bless my Heart and Liver,” said Mr Jim.

“I might have lost sight of him!”

So one morning Mr Myame beetled over Edward Albert for some moments and then said: “Tewler. A word with you in my study.”

“What’s he found out now?” thought Edward Albert, for plainly there was trouble in the air.

“Siddown,” said Mr Myame, and became hairily and darkly interrogative with his head on one side. He trifled with various objects on his table and began rather slowly.

“I had ah — a visitant — so to speak, this morning. An inquirer. Who wanted to know, to put it briefly, everything he could possibly know about you. He wanted to know how old you are, what your abilities are, your prospects, what you hoped to do in the world.” (”‘Strordinary!” interjected Edward Albert.)” Among other things he asked who paid your school fees? I told him that, as your guardian, I did. I asked him by what authority he was making these — these investigations. He said on behalf of a Mr James Whittaker, who carries on a china and glass business under the alias — or shall we say? the pseudonym — of Colebrook and Mahogany. It seems your father worked for him — or them — whichever one ought to say. Do you know anything about this?”

“Why, it was ’im sent that great wreath at mother’s funeral!” said Edward Albert.

“I remember. A really extravagant wreath. Yes. It was that person. Now why should he suddenly want to know all these things?”

“Was it ’im?” asked Edward Albert.

“No. It was some sort of agent. Never mind. Have you by any chance written to this Mr Whittaker?”

“I ‘adn’t got ‘is address.”

Mr Myame regarded Edward Albert with a look of intense penetration. “Or you might have done so?”

“Jest to thank ’im for that wreath of ‘is.”

Mr Myame dismissed some obscure suspicion. “Well, he seems to think he is entitled to know all about you. I would like to know how far he is. Your dear good mother made me your guardian. She was a sweet pure precious soul and your religious and moral welfare was her first thought and her last. She feared for you. Perhaps it was that very Mr James Whittaker with his pseudonyms and misrepresentation! that she feared. And if he wanted to communicate with you why should he resort to one of those Private Inquiry Agencies? Why should a Private Inquiry Agent come asking all sorts of questions about the conduct of my school?”

“I’ve read advertisements somewhere. ‘Does it take all that time shopping? Inquiries as to character. Missing relatives traced’. D’you think perhaps this Mr Whittaker is some sort of relation? Maybe he wasn’t thinking anything about the school. Didn’t mean any harm like. He’d just lost me and wanted to find me.”

“If he is a relation, then it is manifest your dear Mother thought he was not the sort of relation that would do you any good. This is all I wanted to ask you, Edward.”

The scrutiny intensified.

“You did not communicate your whereabouts to this Mr Whittaker — I believe that — and I would like you to give me your promise on your word of honour that you will not do anything of the sort. Except with my knowledge and consent.”

“I’d like to thank him for tha............