s place
at the dinner table that evening, to make known his latest discovery.

"Say, Mr. Romilly," he exclaimed, leaning a little forward, "do you
happen to have seen the wireless messages to-day?--those tissue sheets
that are stuck up in the library?"

Philip set down the menu, in which he had been taking an unusual
interest.

"Yes, I looked through them this afternoon," he acknowledged.

"There's a little one at the bottom, looks as though it had been shoved
in at the last moment. I don't know whether you noticed it. It announced
the mysterious disappearance of a young man of the same name as your
own--an art teacher from London, I think he was. I wondered whether it
might have been any relation?"

"I read the message," Philip admitted. "It certainly looks as though it
might have referred to my cousin."

Mr. Raymond Greene became almost impressive in his interested
earnestness.

"Talk about coincidences!" he continued. "Do you remember last night
talking about subjects for cinema plays? I told you of a little incident
I happened to have noticed on the way from London to Liverpool, about the
two men somewhere in Derbyshire whom I had seen approaching a tunnel over
a canal--they neither of them came out, you know, all the time that the
train was standing there."

Philip helped himself a little absently to whisky and soda from the
bottle in front of him.

"I remember your professional interest in the situation," he confessed.

"I felt at the time," Mr. Raymond Greene went on eagerly, "that there was
something queer about the affair. Listen! I have been putting two and two
together, and it seems to me that one of those men might very well have
been this missing Mr. Romilly."

Philip shook his head pensively.

"I don't think so," he ventured.

"What's that? You don't think so?" the cinema magnate exclaimed. "Why
not, Mr. Romilly? It's exactly the district--at Detton Magna, the message
said, in Derbyshire--and it was a canal, too, one of the filthiest I ever
saw. Can't you realise the dramatic interest of the situation now that
you are confronted with this case of disappearance? I have been asking
myself ever since I strolled up into the library before dinner and read
this notice--'_What about the other man_?'"

Philip had commenced a leisurely consumption of his first course, and
answered without undue haste.

"Well," he said, "if this young man Romilly is my cousin, it would be
the second or third time