“I was not thinking of my own country,” Sir Edward admitted.  “I must confess that my thoughts had turned elsewhere.”

“Let me tell you this, sir,” Mr. Coulson continued.  “I should imagine that the trouble with Washington, if there is any, is simply that they will not believe that your police have a free hand.  They will not believe that you are honestly and genuinely anxious for the discovery of the perpetrator of these crimes.  I speak without authority, you understand?  I am no more in a position to discuss this affair than any other tourist from my country who might happen to come along.”

Sir Edward shrugged his shoulders.

“Can you suggest any method,” he asked a little dryly, “by means of which we might remove this unfortunate impression?”

Mr. Coulson flicked the ash once more from the end of his cigar and looked at it thoughtfully.

“This isn’t my show,” he said, “and, you understand, I am giving the views of Mr. James B. Coulson, and nobody but Mr. James B. Coulson, but if I were in your position, and knew that a friendly country was feeling a little bit sore at having two of her citizens disposed of so unceremoniously, I’d do my best to prove, by the only possible means, that I was taking the matter seriously.”

“The only possible means being?” Sir Edward asked.

“I guess I’d offer a reward,” Mr. Coulson admitted.

Sir Edward did not hesitate for a moment.

“Your idea is an excellent one, Mr. Coulson,” he said.  “It has already been mooted, but we will give it a little emphasis.  Tomorrow we will offer a reward of one thousand pounds for any information leading to the apprehension of either murderer.”

“That sounds bully,” Mr. Coulson declared.

“You think that it will have a good effect upon your friends in Washington?”

“Me?” Mr. Coulson asked.  “I know nothing about it.  I’ve given you my personal opinion only.  Seems to me, though, it’s the best way of showing that you’re in earnest.”

“Before we quit this subject finally, Mr. Coulson,” Sir Edward said, “I am going to ask you a question which you have been asked before.”

“Referring to Hamilton Fynes?” Mr. Coulson asked.

“Yes!”

“Get your young man to lay his hand on that copy of the Comet,” Mr. Coulson begged earnestly.  “I told that pushing young journalist all I knew and a bit more.  I assure you, my information isn’t worth anything.”

“Was it meant to be worth anything?” Sir Edward asked.

Mr. Coulson remained imperturbable.

“If you don’t mind, Sir Edward,” he said, “I guess we’ll drop the subject of Mr. Hamilton Fynes.  We can’t get any forwarder.  Let it go at that.”

There was a knock at the door.  Sir Edward’s secretary ushered in a tall, plainly dressed gentleman, who had the slightly aggrieved air of a man who has been kept out of his bed beyond the usual time.