“Wundt,” said Felix Fayre-Michell.

“No, I don’t think so.  Hardt or Hardfelt, or something like that.”

“Anyway, a jolly wonderful thing.  He’s the first man at this business, and I hope you’ll be able to secure him.”

“If he comes, Sir Walter, don’t let it be known that he is here.  Keep it a secret.  If Hardcastle could come down as your guest, and nobody know he was here, it might help him to succeed.”

“And if he fails, then I hope you’ll invite the Psychical Research Society.”

Sir Walter let the chatter flow past him; but he concentrated on the name of Peter Hardcastle.  He remembered the story of the spy, and the sensation it had aroused.

Millicent Fayre-Michell also remembered it.

“Mr. Hardcastle declined to let his photograph be published in the halfpenny papers, I remember,” she said.  “That struck me as so wonderful.  There was a reason given—­that he did not wish the public to know him by sight.  I believe he is never seen as himself, and that he makes up just as easily to look like a woman as a man.”

“Some people believe he is a woman.”

“No!  You don’t say that?”

“To have made up as that German’s friend and so actually reached his presence—­nay, secured him!  It is certainly one of the most remarkable pages in the annals of crime,” said Ernest Travers.

“Is he attached to Scotland Yard still, or does he work independently?” asked Miles Handford.

“I don’t know yet.  Mannering has already urged me to consult Scotland Yard at once.  Indeed, he was going to approach them to-day.  Mr. Hardcastle shall certainly be invited to do what he can.  I shall leave no stone unturned to reach the truth.  Yet what even such a man can do is difficult to see.  The walls of the Grey Room are solid, the floor is of sound oak, the ceiling is nine or ten inches thick, and supported by immense beams.  The hearth is modern, and the chimney not large enough to admit a human being.  This was proved twelve years ago.”

“Give him a free hand all the same—­with servants and everybody.  I should ask him to come as your guest, then nobody need know who he is, and he can pursue his investigations the more freely.”

Felix Fayre-Michell made this suggestion after luncheon was ended, and Masters and Fred Caunter had left the room.  Then the conversation showed signs of drifting back to sentimentality.  Sir Walter saw it coming in their eyes, and sought to head them off by inquiring concerning their own movements.

“Can I be of any service to simplify your plans?  I fear this terrible event has put you all to great inconvenience.”

“Our inconvenience is nothing beside your sorrow, dear Walter,” said Nelly Travers.

All declared that if they could serve the cause in any way they would gladly stop at Chadlands, but since they were powerless to assist, they felt that the sooner they departed the better.