"And the roses may have been security for an overdraft," said the ironic T. B. "What do you make of the handkerchief?"
It was an exquisite little thing of the most delicate cambric. Along one hem, in letters minutely embroidered in flowing script, there ran a line of writing. T. B. took up a magnifying glass and read it.
"'Que dieu te garde,'" he read, "and a little monogram--a gift of some sort, I gather. As far as I can see, the lettering is 'N.H.C.'--and what that means, Heaven knows! I'm afraid that, beyond intruding to an unjustifiable extent into the private affairs of our banker, we get no further. Well, Jones?"
With a knock at the door, an officer had entered.
"Sir George has returned to his house. We have just received a telephone message from one of our men."
"What has he been doing to-night--Sir George?"
"He dined at home; went to his club and returned; he does not go out again."
"Watch the house and report," he said. The man saluted and left.
T. B. turned again to the contemplation of the handkerchief.
"If I were one of those funny detectives, Mr. Van Ingen, who live in books," he said sadly, "I could weave quite an interesting theory from this." He held the handkerchief to his nose and smelt it. "The scent is 'Simpatico,' therefore the owner must have lived in Spain; the workmanship is Parisian, therefore----" He threw the flimsy thing from him with a laugh. "This takes us no nearer to the Wady Barrage, my friend--no nearer to the mysterious millionaires who 'bear' the shares of worthy brewers. Let us go out into the open, and ask Heaven to drop a clue at our feet."
The two men turned their steps towards Whitehall, and were halfway to Trafalgar Square when a panting constable overtook them.
"There is a message from the man watching Sir George Calliper's house, sir," he said; "he wants you to go there at once."
"A drunken man, sir, so far as I could understand."
T. B.'s eyebrows rose, and he smiled incredulously.
"A drunken man," repeated the man; "he's made two attempts to see Sir George----"
"Hail that cab," said T. B. "We'll drive round and see this extraordinary person."
A drunken man is not usually a problem so difficult that it is necessary to requisition the services of an Assistant-Commissioner. This much T. B. pointed out to the detective who awaited him at the corner of St. James's Square.