also destroy the chances of any other company that may be scheming
to usurp our place. For that reason I--"

"There must still be other factors in the game," said Gregson, as
Philip hesitated.

"There are. I want you to work out your own suspicions, Greggy,
and then we'll compare notes. Lord Fitzhugh is the key to the
whole situation. No matter who is at the bottom of this plot, Lord
Fitzhugh is the man at the working end of it. We don't care so
much about the writer of this letter as the one to whom it was
written. It is evident that he had planned to be at Churchill, for
the letter is addressed to him here. But he hasn't shown up. He
has never been here, so far as I can discover."

"I'd give a year's growth for a copy of the BRITISH PEERAGE or a
WHO'S WHO," mused Gregson, flecking the ashes from his cigarette.
"Who the deuce can this Lord Fitzhugh be? What sort of an
Englishman would mix up in a dirty job of this kind? You might
imagine him to be one of the men behind the guns, like Brokaw.
But, by George, he's working the dirty end of it himself,
according to that letter!"

"You're beginning to use your head already, Greggy," said Philip,
a little more cheerfully. "I've asked myself that question a
hundred times during the last three days, and I'm more at sea than
ever. If it had been plain Tom Brown or Bill Jones, the name would
not have suggested anything beyond what you have read in the
letter. That's the question: Why should a Lord Fitzhugh Lee be
mixed up in this affair?"