sive: unsatisfactory at
best. It was not apparent how (even assuming the historical Mr. Ismay to
be at that moment stealing the Cadogan collar from Miss Searle) the
crime could be fastened on Mr. Iff, in the face of the positive alibi
Staff could furnish him. On the other hand, it was indubitable that Iff
believed himself endangered in some mysterious way, or had some other
and still more secret cause for disquiet. For his uneasiness was so
manifest, in such sharp contrast with his habitual, semi-cynical repose,
that even he hadn't attempted to deny it.

With a shrug Staff turned back to the telephone and asked for the
manager of the exchange, explained his predicament and was promised
that, if the call could be traced back to the original station, he
should have the number. He was, however, counselled to be patient. Such
a search would take time, quite possibly and very probably.

He explained this to Iff, whose disgust was ill-disguised.

"And meanwhile," he expostulated, "we're sitting here with our hands in
our laps--useless--and Ismay, as like 's not, is--" He broke into
profanity, trotting up and down and twisting his small hands together.

"I wish," said Staff, "I knew what makes you act this way. Ismay can't
saddle you with a crime committed by him when you're in my company--"

"You don't know him," interpolated Iff.

"And you surely can't be stirred so deeply by simple solicitude for Miss
Searle."

"Oh, can't I? And how do you know I can't?" barked the little man.
"Gwan--leave me alone! I want to think."

"Best wishes," Staff told him pleasantly. "I'm going to change my
clothes."

"Symptoms of intelligence," grunted Iff. "I was wondering when you'd
wake up to the incongruity of knight-erranting it after damsels in
distress in an open-faced get-up like that."

"It's done, however," argued Staff good-humouredly. "It's class, if the
illustrators are to be believed. Don't you ever read modern fiction? In
emergencies like these the hero always takes a cold bath and changes his
clothes before sallying forth to put a crimp in the villain's plans.
Just the same as me. Only I'm going to shed evening dress instead of--"

"Good heavens, man!" snorted Iff. "Are you in training for a
monologist's job? If so--if not--anyway--can it! Can the extemporaneous
stuff!"

The telephone bell silenced whatever retort Staff may have contemplated.
Both men jumped for the desk, but Staff got there first.

"Hello?" he crie