“It was only when I began to go through his things that I realized my amazing good fortune. He had planned to leave the country that very night, and had made all his arrangements accordingly. In his bag I found a couple of hundred pounds in notes and enough in bearer bonds for all my purposes. There was Colin James’s passport, there were James’s tickets, James’s reserved places on the train and boat, a note of James’s hotel in Paris, and—on the body—James’s clothes and beard. It was all too easy. All I had to do was to turn James back into Ballantine. That was simple enough, except that the dressy beast had worn a stock which was too much for me, and I had to give him James’s tie and made a mess of that. His neck was—but you saw it, no doubt. Then I became James, and my clothes went into his suitcase. I put the letter to the house agents which I found into a parcel with the keys and I walked out. I went to Paris as I had intended, but in unexpected comfort. That it was at his expense made the journey doubly pleasant. Once in Paris, James disappeared—they will find him at the bottom of the Seine—and Fanshawe came home, third class this time, shedding the passport overboard as the boat reached Dover.

“As to why he came home—but it would be a pity to leave you without something unsolved, wouldn’t it? Besides, time is short. Good-bye.”

The letter ended as abruptly as it had begun. Mallett thrust it into his pocket, called Frant to watch by the dead man and went outside to await the arrival of the ambulance. He felt utterly tired and desperately in need of fresh air. As he reached the street door, a voice called him quietly by name. He looked round and saw Harper standing on the pavement, pale and dishevelled.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Is he—dead, Inspector?” the young man asked in his turn.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I—I guessed it. It was what I thought he would do,” Harper muttered.

Mallett looked at him again. It had stopped raining by now, but his hat and clothes were wet, as though he had been standing in the open for some time.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Quite a long time,” was the answer. “I was waiting for you. I saw the police car outside and I didn’t care to go in.”

He spoke in an oddly subdued manner, humbly even, without a trace of his usual conceit.

“How did you know I would be here? What have you to do with this affair?” the inspector persisted.

Harper drew a deep breath before replying.

“I told him you were coming,” he said at last.

“What!”