“But what does it matter now?  Poor Edith is dead.  Her affairs cannot help being dragged into the light of day.  She had some railway shares and bonds, some of which were left to her by her father, and others which came under a marriage settlement, but the greater part of her revenue was derived from a monthly payment made by the bank of which Mr. James Creighton Forbes is the head.”

Miss Beale naturally misinterpreted the blank stare with which Theydon received this remarkable statement.

“I don’t see why any one should wish to conceal a simple matter of business like that,” she said nervously.  “May I explain that I have an impression, not founded on anything quite tangible, that Mr. Forbes was largely interested in the syndicate which sent Arthur Lester to China, so it is very likely that the payment of an annuity, or pension, to Arthur’s widow would be left in his care.  I do not know.  I am only guessing.  But that matter, and others, can hardly fail to be cleared up by the police inquiry.”

Theydon recovered his self-control as rapidly as he had lost it.  He glanced at the clock—­ 10:15.  Within half an hour, or less, Miss Beale would be on her way to Scotland Yard.  He must act promptly and decisively, or he would find himself in a distinctly unfavorable position in his relations with the Criminal Investigation Department.

“I happen to be acquainted with Mr. Forbes,” he said, striving desperately to appear cool and methodical when his brain was seething.  “Would you mind if I just rang him up on the telephone?  A few words now might enlighten us materially.”

“O, you are most helpful,” said the lady, blushing again with timid gratitude.  “I am so glad I summoned up courage to call on you.  I was terrified at the idea of going to the Police Headquarters, but I shall not mind it at all now.”

Soon Theydon was asking for “00400, Bank.”  He had left the door of his sitting room open purposely.  No matter what the outcome, he no longer dared keep the compact of silence into which he had entered with Forbes.  But the millionaire was not at his office.  In response to a very determined request for a word with some one in authority, “on a matter of real urgency,” the clerk who had answered the call brought “Mr. Forbes’s secretary,” a Mr. Macdonald, to the telephone.

“It is important, vitally important, that I should speak with Mr. Forbes within the next few minutes,” said Theydon, after giving his name and address.  “Do you expect him to arrive soon?  Or shall I try and reach him at Fortescue Square?”

“Mr. Forbes will not be here till midday,” came a voice with a pronounced Scottish intonation.  “I’m doubtful, too, if ye’ll catch him at home.  Can I give him a message?”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Well, I cannot say.”

“But do you know?”

“I’ll be glad to give him a message.”

“It will be too late, then.  Please understand, Mr. Macdonald, that I am making this call at Mr. Forbes’s express wish.  It is, as I have said, vitally important that I should get in touch with him without delay.”