Sir Julian Le Mesurier’s study was an extremely pleasant room, friendly with books, and comforted by admirable chairs.  
A Sabbath peace outside in the street. Within there was no peace at all. A crocodile hunt was in progress. Piggy, as a large and very fierce crocodile, was performing a described by himself as “trailing his length” across the floor, his objective a Persian carpet island upon which a small fat girl of three in a Sunday dress was lifting first one plump foot and then the other, whilst at regular she uttered small but piercing screams. Upon the crocodile’s back sat a thin, little boy of six who continuously upon the crocodile’s with the heels of a new pair of boots, whilst he shouted his at the . At the far end of the room sat Lady Le Mesurier with a book. At intervals she looked up from it to say helplessly, “Piggy, it’s Sunday”—or “Baby’s got a new frock on, and I expect nurse will give notice if you tear it.”
 
“Not tear,” said the fat little girl, patting her skirts. Then she , for the crocodile made a sudden snap at the nearest ankle.
 
Upon this scene the door opened.
 
“Mr. Luttrell,” said an expressionless voice, and Anthony entered.
 
 
Lady Le Mesurier gathered her baby and her book, the crocodile unseated the small boy and arose, dusting its trousers. A well-trained family vanished, and Sir Julian shook hands and waved his visitor to a chair.
 
“Come up to report?” said Piggy.
 
“Not primarily,” began Anthony, but was cut short.
 
“You followed Molloy. Yes, I think I prefer to have it that way, if you don’t mind. You followed Molloy to this South Kensington address. How do you know he’s stopping there?”
 
“I asked the servant who was cleaning the knocker whether they had a room, and she said, ‘No’—that the gentleman who had just come in made them quite full up.”
 
“Well, I’ve sent a man to watch the place. Now, what have you to report from Luttrell Marches?”
 
Anthony looked straight over Sir Julian’s shoulder with a hard, level gaze, and in a hard, forced voice:
 
“There are a number of secret passages and under the house at Luttrell Marches. One of the passages has an exit outside the grounds on the seashore about a mile and a half from Withstead. The secret has been very carefully preserved until now. Each successive owner told his heir. No one else was supposed to know. My father told me. When he thought that I was dead, he also told my cousin, Henry March. Until I went to Luttrell Marches the other day I had no idea that any one else had discovered the secret. I have to report that the passages have not only been discovered, but made use of in a way which points to something of an illegal nature. One of the chambers is a fair-sized one: it has been turned into a laboratory——”
 
 
“Any sign that it has been used as such?”
 
“Every sign. Power has been diverted from the dynamos which were installed for the Government experiments and the passages have been wired, and some of the chambers fitted with electric light. The whole thing has been going on under Sir William’s very nose.”
 
“M’, I’ve had him here to see me—terribly gone to pieces, quite past his job, also very much annoyed with me for having sent Henry down. Now the question is, who’s been wiring the passages and using the laboratory?”
 
“Oh, Ember; there’s no doubt about that, I think.”
 
“And the sale of the formula? Ember?”
 
“I’m sure of it.”
 
“Must have proof. No earthly good my being sure, or your being sure, or Henry’s being sure. We’ve got to have something so solid that, after Sir Dash Blank, K.C., has done his best to tear it into , what’s left of it will convince a jury. Now who else is in it besides Ember and Molloy? In the household, I mean, down there at Luttrell Marches? Any one else?”
 
Anthony continued to look over Sir Julian’s shoulder. He remained silent. Piggy got up and walked to his writing-table. When he reached it he swung round, and asked again sharply:
 
“Any one else, Luttrell?”
 
There was still silence. Then Piggy said dryly:
 
“I take it that there is somebody else involved. I don’t wish to cross-examine you, but I must know one thing. Is it suspicion, moral certainty, or proof?”
 
 
“Moral certainty,” said Anthony Luttrell. He passed his tongue across his dry lips. Piggy did not look at him.
 
“Now, look here,” he said, “it seems to me that Luttrell Marches is about to be the centre of some unpleasant happenings. I think, I rather think, it would be advisable to induce any ladies who may be there to leave the place. Lady Heritage is there, is she not, a............