“No, I agree, it’s wildly unlikely that it should be. But you see what that leads us to. We have simply pushed back the beginning of the story a month or more further. It means that as early as August someone had made up his mind to impersonate Mr. James.”

“He can’t have known beforehand that he was going to pick up the passport,” objected Frant.

“No, he couldn’t. But having had the luck to find it, he must have seen at once the sort of use he could put to it—or why didn’t he return it, or hand it to the police as any honest man would have done? More and more I’m becoming convinced that we have to deal with a very dangerous and intelligent man. You see, he is not only a careful plotter with a long view, but a man who can take a chance when it comes his way, and build it into his plans.”

“Of course, we can’t be sure that it was the same man who stole the passport and who afterwards used it,” put in the sergeant. “Any crook might be glad of the chance to sneak such a thing, especially when he had reason to think it wouldn’t be enquired after.”

“And then to sell it to someone who saw what he could do with it? You may be right, Frant. But whichever way you look at it, it leaves us in the same miserable vagueness as ever. The fellow wanted a disguise—he took the easiest one that offered. A false beard is easy—a false stomach isn’t much harder, if you come to think of it, especially if you want to impersonate a man with a thin face and a big body. Then in just the same way, he wants himself introduced to a bank by the company, and he so arranged it that any director out of half a dozen might sign the letter. We started off with two bits of positive evidence—that he called himself Colin James and that he was recommended by Lord Henry Gaveston, and neither the real James nor Gaveston can help us in the very least.”

“And I don’t see that he,” Frant nodded to the door, “can possibly help us in that direction, either.”

“Even supposing he wants to, which I somehow doubt,” added Mallett. “What earthly knowledge can Fanshawe have of James?”

“The real one or the sham one, do you mean?”

“The sham one, of course. Call him James the Second, if you like.”

“I think the Old Pretender would be more appropriate,” said the sergeant.

Mallett wrinkled his nose, a sure sign that he was vexed. His schooling had not included much history, and he felt obscurely that his subordinate was showing off. But before he could think of a rejoinder, the door was thrown open, and Fanshawe was announced.