Whilst Jane was running away from fear, down the gravel path of the cliff’s edge, Captain March was about midway through an interview with his chief.  
Henry’s chief was a large man who strongly resembled a clean and highly intelligent pig. A very little hair appeared to grow reluctantly on his head; his face was pink and clean-shaven. He had inherited the patronymic of Le Mesurier, his parents in his baptism had given him the romantic name of Julian, and a grateful Government had conferred upon him the honour of knighthood. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add that, from the moment that he emerged from the nursery and set foot within the precincts of his first preparatory school, he had been known exclusively as “Piggy.”
 
 
There is a story of a débutante who, at a large and formal dinner-party, was discovered during a sudden silence to be addressing him as Sir Piggott. The dinner-party waited breathlessly. Piggy smiled his benign smile and explained that it had not been his good fortune to be called after his aunt, Miss Piggott.... “I expect you have heard of her? She left all her money to a home for cats, whereas, if my parents had done their duty and invited her to be my godmother, I should be paying at least twice as much income tax as I do now. Never undervalue your relations, my dear Miss Browne.” The aunt was, of course, apocryphal; and after dinner each of the older ladies in turn took the débutante aside, and told her so—as a kindness. To each of them she made the same reply, which was to the effect that “Piggy” was a darling. She married him two years later. But all this has nothing to do with Henry’s interview with his chief.
 
Sir Julian was speaking:
 
“It’s very unsatisfactory. You say they have been complying with all the suggestions in the original Government instructions?”
 
“Yes, sir.”
 
Sir Julian frowned.
 
“It’s very unsatisfactory,” he repeated. “Sir William ... well, it’s six months since I saw him, and he looked all right then.”
 
“He looks all right now,” said Henry. “He is all right except on his own particular subject. He’d discuss politics, unemployment, foreign affairs, or anything else, and you wouldn’t notice anything, but the minute he comes to his own subject everything worries and irritates him. He’s lost grip. As far as I can make out, he leaves everything to his daughter and the secretary. They are competent enough, but....” Henry did not finish his sentence.
 
“Ah yes, the secretary,” said Sir Julian. “What’s his name? Yes, Ember, Jeffrey Ember....” He turned an indicator under his hand, and spoke rapidly into the telephone beside him. “As soon as possible,” he concluded.
 
“This girl now,” he said, looking at Henry. “I don’t see how this statement of hers can be squared with any of the facts as we know them.”
 
 
As he spoke he picked up the notes which Henry had taken in the dark cupboard.
 
“She made a suggestion herself,” said Henry. He paused, and looked with a good deal of diffidence at Sir Julian.
 
“Well?”
 
“It is just within the bounds of possibility that the Government experiments are being used as a blind. That was her suggestion, sir.”
 
Sir Julian was busily engaged in drawing on his blotting-paper. He drew in rapid succession cats with arched backs and bottle-brush tails, always beginning with the tail and finishing with the whiskers, three on each side. Henry rightly interpreted this as a sign that he was to continue.
 
“The conversation which was overheard at Molloy’s flat referred to a Formula ‘A,’ which cannot possibly be the Formula ‘A’ which we know. There may be a Formula ‘A’ of which we know nothing, and it may constitute a grave danger. Ember”—Henry paused—“Ember is not only in a position of great responsibility with regard to our—the official Formula ‘A,’ but he also appears to be mixed up with this other unofficial and possibly dangerous Formula ‘A.’ The question, to my mind, is, ‘What about Ember?’”
 
Sir Julian continued to draw cats. Suddenly he looked up, and said:
 
“How long has Patterson been there?”
 
“A fortnight,” said Henry. “We recalled Jamieson, you remember, and sent him down.”
 
“Then, if there were unofficial experiments, they would be before his time?”
 
“Yes,” said Henry.
 
 
“Would it be possible—no, I’ll put it another way. Officially Luttrell Marches is impregnable, but unofficially—come March, the place practically belongs to you—is there any way in which there might be coming and going that would defy detection? You see, your hypothesis demands either wholesale corruption of Government workmen, or the introduction of other experiments.”
 
There was a pause. Then Henry said:
 
“In confidence, sir, there is a way, but, to the best of my knowledge, it is known only to myself and one other person.”
 
“It might be discovered.”
 
“I don’t think so. It never has been.”
 
“Well, I would suggest your ascertaining, in conjunction with the other person, whether there is any evidence to show that the secret has been discovered and the way made use of.”
 
The telephone bell rang. Sir Julian lifted the receiver and listened.
 
“Yes,” he said—“yes.” Then he began to take notes. “Spell the name, please—yes. Nineteen hundred and five? Is that all? Thank you.”
 
He hung up the receiver, and turned to Henry.
 
 
“Ember’s dossier,” he said. “Not much in it at first sight. ‘Born 1880. Son of Charles Ember, partner in Jarvis & Ember—manufacturing chemists; firm liquidated in 1896. Education till then at Harrow, and subsequently at Heidelberg, where he took degrees in medicine and science. From 1905 to 1912 at Chicago, U. S. A., as personal assistant to Eugene K. Blumfield of Nitrates Ltd. Engaged as secretary by Sir William Carr-Magnus during his American tour in autumn of 1912. Total exemption during War on Sir William’s representations.’ ’M—blameless as a blancmange—at first sight. We wouldn’t have him here at all if we hadn’t been told to get the record of every one employed at Luttrell Marches. Well, March?”
 
Henry looked up with his candid, diffident air.
 
“Heidelberg—Chicago—nitrates,” he said, with a little pause after each word. Then—“I wonder if it was in Chicago that he met Molloy. Molloy was a leading light of the I. W. W. there in 1911.”
 
Piggy looked up for a moment.
 
“’M, yes,” he said. “Did you get on to the subject of Molloy at all?”
 
“I had to be very careful,” said Henry, with............