made a discovery of importance."

"Something to do with a parcel which he sent away from here to the
analyst?"

"Yes! I have been wondering whatever it could be. In fact, I rang up
his office this morning, but learned that he was out. It was a serviette
which he took away. Did you know that?"

"I did know it, Miss Abingdon. I called upon the analyst. I understand
you were out when Mr. Harley came. May I ask who interviewed him?"

"He saw Benson and Mrs. Howett, the housekeeper."

"May I also see them?"

"Yes, with pleasure. But please tell me"--Phil Abingdon looked up at him
pleadingly--"do you think something--something dreadful has happened to
Mr. Harley?"

"Don't alarm yourself unduly," said Wessex. "I hope before the day is
over to be in touch with him."

As a matter of fact, he had no such hope. It was a lie intended to
console the girl, to whom the news of Harley's disappearance seemed to
have come as a terrible blow. More and more Wessex found himself to be
groping in the dark. And when, in response to the ringing of the bell,
Benson came in and repeated what had taken place on the previous day,
the detective's state of mystification grew even more profound. As a
matter of routine rather than with any hope of learning anything useful,
he interviewed Mrs. Howett; but the statement of the voluble old lady
gave no clue which Wessex could perceive to possess the slightest value.

Both witnesses having been dismissed, he turned again to Phil Abingdon,
who had been sitting watching him with a pathetic light of hope in her
eyes throughout his examination of the butler and Mrs. Howett.

"The next step is clear enough," he said, brightly. "I am off to South
Lambeth Road. The woman Jones is the link we are looking for."

"But the link with what, Mr. Wessex?" asked Phil Abingdon. "What is it
all about?--what does it all mean?"

"The link with Mr. Paul Harley," replied Wessex. He moved toward the
door.

"But won't you tell me something more before you go?" said the girl,
beseechingly. "I--I--feel responsible if anything has happened to Mr.
Harley. Please be frank with me. Are you afraid he is--in danger?"

"Well, miss," replied the detective, haltingly, "he rang up his
secretary, Mr. Innes, last night--we don't know where from--and admitted
that he was in a rather tight corner. I don't believe for a moment that
he is in actual danger, but he probably has--" again he hesitated--"good
reasons of his own for re