I found Dicky fat and bursting with health in his quarters at the
internment camp. He only knew that Francis had disappeared. When I told
him of my meeting with Red Tabs at the Bath Club, of the latter's words
to me at parting and of my own conviction in the matter he whistled,
then looked grave.

He went straight to the point in his bluff direct way.

"I am going to tell you a story first, Desmond," he said to me, "then
I'll show you a piece of paper. Whether the two together fit in with
your theory as to poor Francis' disappearance will be for you to judge.
Until now I must confess--I had felt inclined to dismiss the only
reference this document appears to make to your brother as a mere
coincidence in names, but what you have told me makes things
interesting--by Jove, it does, though. Well, here's the yarn first of
all.

"Your brother and I have had dealings in the past with a Dutchman in the
motor business at Nymwegen, name of Van Urutius. He has often been over
to see us at Coventry in the old days and Francis has stayed with him at
Nymwegen once or twice on his way back from Germany--Nymwegen, you know,
is close to the German frontier. Old Urutius has been very decent to me
since I have been in gaol here and has been over several times,
generally with a box or two of those nice Dutch cigars."

"Dicky," I broke in on him, "get on with the story. What the devil's all
this got to do with Francis? The document--"

"Steady, my boy!" was the imperturbable reply, "let me spin my yarn my