“Once that was established, the rest fell into place easily enough. The letter to the bank, the uneasiness of Mrs. Eales, everything was explained. Then I turned back to the first part of the problem, and that fell into place too. James was Fanshawe; James was Ballantine. Why not, when it was simply a case of taking a disguise off a dead man and putting it on a live one? It only remained to prove it, and that turned out to be the difficulty. Unexpectedly, I wasn’t able to prove what I know to be the fact, that Ballantine ordered James’s suit from Mrs. Bradworthy, but my second shot turned out a winner. The evidence at the inquest was that Ballantine left his office with his umbrella. No umbrella was found with him at Daylesford Gardens. Therefore he must have left it behind when he changed into James. I pondered over various possible places which he could have used for the job, and hit on the Anglo-Dutch offices, which seemed to have no other purpose in life. As it turned out I was right.”

He brandished the umbrella in triumph.

“A pretty little thing, isn’t it?” he remarked. “Strictly, I suppose, it belongs to the creditors, but I should love to keep it. It would be a pity to make a hole in such a nice piece of silk, though. But just as a memento, I think I must have it.”

“I’ve got my own memento,” said Frant. “I shall frame this.”

He held up a scribbled sheet of paper.

“Identity of Colin James.

”The following are the names of the chief suspects in the case of Lionel Ballantine: X

Eales

Du Pine

Fanshawe

Harper

Crabtree

“James was a mask for Ballantine. The mask survived the wearer!—J.M.”

Mallett laughed.

“That was a piece of conceit on my part,” he said. “But I was so pleased when I had seen through the problem that I couldn’t resist the temptation of mystifying you. Well, the case is at an end now, I suppose, so far as detection is concerned. Tomorrow I shall apply for another warrant at Bow Street and after that the lawyers take charge. Do you know, Frant, in some ways I feel quite sorry——”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

24
ESCAPE

Wednesday, November 25th

Mallett was not a superstitious man, but he always declared that from the moment he heard that knock at the door he felt confident that something had gone wrong. Certainly there was no excuse for the glare which he fixed on the man who now came into the room—a perfectly commonplace plain-clothes detective.

“What do you want?” he barked.

“I was told to report to you, sir,” was the reply.

“Told to report—who by?”

“By the Deputy Commissioner, sir.”

Mallett looked at him more closely.

“I don’t understand. Weren’t you on duty at Daylesford Court Mansions?”

“I was, sir.”