came from to his house--where she went from his house? Not he! he knew no
more than what he had just told.

"What now?" asked Allerdyke as the three searchers paced dejectedly up
the street. "This is doing no good--it's worse than the Hull affair.
However, there's one thing suggests itself to me. Didn't you say," he
went on, turning to Celia, "that you had some very good testimonials with
this young woman? If so, and you've still got them, we might trace her in
that way."

"I had some, and I may have them still, but you saw just now what an
awful mess all my letters and papers are in," replied Celia, almost
tearfully. "I always do get things like that into hopeless confusion--I
never know what to destroy and what to keep, and they accumulate so. It
would take hours upon hours to look for those letters, and in the
meantime--"

"In the meantime," remarked Fullaway as he signalled to a taxi-cab,
"there's only one thing to be done. We must go to the police. Get in,
both of you, and let's make haste to New Scotland Yard."

Once more Allerdyke received an impression of the American's usefulness
and practical acquaintance with things. Fullaway seemed to know exactly
what to do, whom to approach, how to go about the business in hand;
within a few minutes all three were closeted with a high official of the
Criminal Investigation Department, a man who might have been a barrister,
a medical specialist, or a scientist of distinction, and who maintained
an unmoved countenance and a perfect silence while Fullaway unfolded the
story. He and Allerdyke had held a brief consultation as they drove from
Bloomsbury to Whitehall, and they had decided that as things had now