"That is how he died," he said. "It must have been instantaneous."

Time seemed to beat out its course in leaden seconds whilst they waited
for the superintendent from Scotland Yard. Nigel at first stood still
for some moments. From outside came the cheerful but muffled roar of the
London streets, the hooting of motor horns, the rumbling of wheels, the
measured footfall of the passing multitude. A boy went by, whistling;
another passed, calling hoarsely the news from the afternoon papers. A
muffin man rang his bell, a small boy clattered his stick against the
area bailing. The whole world marched on, unmoved and unnoticing. In
this sombre apartment alone tragedy reigned in sinister silence. On the
sofa, Lord Dorminster, who only half an hour ago had seemed to be in
the prime of life and health, lay dead.

Nigel moved towards the writing-table and stood looking at it in wonder.
The code book still remained, but there was not the slightest sign of
any manuscript or paper of any sort. He even searched the drawers of the
desk without result. Every trace of Atcheson's dispatch and Lord
Dorminster's transcription of it had disappeared!




CHAPTER III


On a certain day some weeks after the adjourned inquest and funeral of
Lord Dorminster, Nigel obtained a long-sought-for interview with the
Right Honourable Mervin Brown, who had started life as a factory