forward it. But we did find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din.” “Really,” said Desmond, “that rather complicates things for her, doesn’t it?” “It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French, without date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our friend, Bellward.” “Who is this letter from?” “It is simply signed ‘P.’, but you shall see it for yourself when you get the other documents in the case.” “But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly good faith...” “It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured note-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and angular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it is phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate.” “Then...” “The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!” There was a moment’s silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly of the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork of tangled threads. “And this murder, sir,” he began. The Chief shrugged his shoulders. “The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see none except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a harmless old man who didn’t even know that his daughter is in my service, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the other hand, I believe the man Barney’s story, and can see that Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murder over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that we should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling Nur-el-Din’s, is found adhering to the straps with which Barbara Mackwayte was bound? I can’t think so... and yet...” “But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte? My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous...” The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh. “Nothing is
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