ced you to the lady. In her
dressing-room you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter. After
that..."

"But," Desmond interrupted quickly, "I must have been followed by
one of your men. Still, I can't see why my movements should
interest the Secret Service, sir!"

The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said:

"Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours,
Okewood. I sent for you to come back from France but old man
Destiny wouldn't leave it at that. Almost as soon as you landed
he switched you straight on to a trail that I have been patiently
following up for months past. That trail is..."

The telephone on the desk rang sharply.

"Whose trail?" Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took
off the receiver.

"Just a minute," the Chief said. Then he spoke into the
telephone:

"Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I'll come straight along
now... I'll be with you in twenty minutes. Good-bye!"

He put down the receiver and rose to his feet.

"Okewood," he cried gaily, "what do you say to a little detective
work? That was Marigold of the Criminal Investigation
Department... he's down at Seven Kings handling this murder case.
I asked him to let me know when it would be convenient for me to
come along and have a look round, and he wants me to go now. Two
heads are better than one. You'd better come along!"

He pressed a button on the desk.

The swift and silent Matthews appeared.

"Matthews," he said, "when Captain Strangwise comes, please tell
him I've been called away and ask him to call back here at two
o'clock to see me."

He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose.

"Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?" he 'said. Desmond shook his
head.

"Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we'll try
to find the way to Seven Kings."

The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which
deposited them at the main entrance. A few minutes later the
Chief was dexterously guiding his Vauxhall car through the
crowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on the front
seat.

Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn't see light
anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could
exist between this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the
man at his side who, he knew, held in his firm hands lines that
stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth? What kind of an
affair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could take the
C