"I see," said the detective. "Well, Sir Gadsby, I'll do my best to find that out for you."

"I know you will, Kenly," said the Great Man. "But not a word to anyone; and, while I think of it, I'll write a note to the Commissioner and ask him to allow you to report directly to Markham here, and to devote your whole time and attention to this business."

"Very good, Sir Gadsby," said the detective, and the interview ended.

When alone with the Permanent Secretary, Inspector Kenly asked every question which occurred to his active brain, but he elucidated nothing more than the very simple facts with which he had already been made acquainted, and when he left the Foreign Office it was with no very hopeful feeling of being able to lay his hand on the culprit. It is true that there had occurred to him the glimmering of a possibility as to who might have been responsible for the disclosure. The despatches had been in the possession of a third party, in the possession of Captain Marven, the King's Messenger, for seven or eight hours; and Inspector Kenly had no particular reason for believing that official locks and seals were more inviolable than any other locks and seals if submitted to the gentle manipulation of an expert. But he had met Captain Marven in the course of his official life, and what he had seen of him led him to credit the reputation for perfect probity and honour which the King's Messenger held in the eyes of the world.

"I should have liked an easier job," grumbled Inspector Kenly to himself. "Another failure to find out anything coming on top of my failure to get the slightest clue to the mystery of the Flurscheim affair will make the Chief think that I am getting past my work. However, it's no use worrying because I'm not possessed of the gift of divination. What is, was to be," with which philosophic reflection he stepped aboard a 'bus bound Citywards, and, while engaged there in his investigations, the Great Man, having finished preparing his list of answers for the day's sitting of Parliament, carried off the Permanent Secretary to lunch with him. They enjoyed their meal none the less because they had unloaded the cause of their vexation upon the broad shoulders of Detective Inspector Kenly.

CHAPTER X
A NEW VIEW OF THE FLURSCHEIM ROBBERY

Time did not touch Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim's sore with a healing finger. A month after he had been robbed of his treasures the wound was still open, though by that time he had been wise enough to conceal it with a decent bandage from the curious eyes of the public. But his friends and his enemies knew that it was there and condoled or rejoiced, according to their several temperaments. Perhaps there were more who rejoiced than of those who pitied him, for Flurscheim was not a popular man. Even his friends were compelled to admit that he was something of a curmudgeon, and were not quite so sorry as they would have been had the loss fallen upon anyone else.

After the robbery he became more curmudgeonish than ever, and his perpetual growlings at everything and everybody made him so undesirable a companion that even his poor relations began to find that his company was an infliction that was barely endurable, even when sweetened by the prospect of figuring in his will. Yet as people shrank from him he seemed anxious for society. Partly because he realised that if he were cloistered with his own thoughts his broodings would terminate in madness, and partly because he wished to make clear to the world that his loss was a mere triviality to a man of his wealth, he sought to entertain in a manner which was entirely foreign to his earlier habit and his real desire. He had a wide acquaintance, and there were many of the butterflies of fashion and rank who were attracted to his dinner-table once by curiosity. If, after the experience, they decided not to go a second time, it was too early for the connoisseur to have discovered the fact. It was in pursuance of this campaign of detraction that he had found himself at the opera when his stares had proved so discomposing to Meriel Challys and—afterwards—to Guy. The latter, had he known, need have taken no alarm. Flurscheim's scrutiny was not directed towards him. Meriel's face alone had engaged his attention. He had first caught sight of her as she had bent forward to drink in the music, and he recognised that her features were familiar to him, but where and when he had met her he could not for the moment remember. It was not until after he had left the opera house that his memory supplied the answer he sought. Then he remembered that one of the stolen miniatures would have served as a portrait of the girl.

Immediately he began to weave a new theory concerning the burglary. He had woven many theories before; avarice, spite, disappointed rivalry had all supplied motives for them, but never had he considered the possibility of a love motive for the robbery. Supposing that some unfavoured suitor had seen the miniature, and, coveting it, had broken in to steal it. No! Such a theory was too wild for even his own belief. Yet the likeness was so extraordinary that he looked forward to meeting the owner of the strangely attractive face again.

Fortune favoured him, for within a week he found himself at a garden party at which Meriel was also a guest. He sought and obtained an introduction from the hostess, and was quite oblivious to the chilly character of his reception.