Well, thought Mallett, James was in Paris, it seemed certain. Probably the French police would manage to find him. But they had little information to work on, not even a proper description. Nobody seemed to have noticed anything outstanding about him except his beard, and that could be shaved off easily enough. Somewhere in London there must be people who could tell more about him. Somewhere there must be the evidence which would link him with Ballantine, which would explain how Ballantine came to go to his death in that quiet little backwater in Kensington. All the indications were to the effect that here was a carefully prepared crime. It could not have been contrived without leaving some traces of its machinery. And he, Mallett, if anybody, was the man to find them. He gave his moustache an upward twist and looked so fierce that the lady sitting opposite in the train, catching sight of him over her magazine, started nervously.

On his desk at Scotland Yard he found a telegram from the Sûreté at Paris. Translated it ran: “James traced to Hotel Du Plessis. Search continues. Letter follows.”

“I wish these French weren’t so damned economical,” said Mallett. “Now we shall have to wait till tomorrow for the details.”

Sergeant Frant entered, in a state, of some excitement.

“I’ve got what you want, sir,” he said.

“Well?”

Frant laid a letter before him. It was typewritten on the notepaper of the London and Imperial Estates Company, Ltd. It was addressed to the Branch Manager of the Southern Bank, and ran as follows:

13th October, 19—

Dear Sir,

This is to introduce Mr. Colin James, a gentleman well known to us. We are confident that you will extend to him all facilities in your power.

Yours faithfully,

London & Imperial Estates Ltd.

Henry Gaveston,

Director.

“Gaveston!” exclaimed Mallett. “Of all people! Lord Henry Gaveston!”

“Well, even lords have some queer friends now and again,” remarked Frant. “But it’s what we want, isn’t it? Here’s the link between James and Ballantine.”

“Yes, and the very last we expected,” answered the inspector. “Have you got into touch with him?”

“His lordship is out of town, according to his valet,” said Frant. “He wouldn’t or couldn’t give the address.”

“I don’t think that need trouble us,” Mallett replied. “A man like Lord Henry won’t go into hiding for long. We’ve got to have a chat with him, and the sooner the better!”

Feeling much relieved, he hummed a little tune as he sat down at his desk. Things were beginning to move at last!

12
INQUEST ON A BUSINESS

Thursday, November 19th