Back in the seclusion of his own rooms, Theydon debated the question
whether or not he should endeavor to communicate with Forbes again
that night. Somehow it seemed to him that Forbes would be most
concerned at hearing of the gray car. And what of the ivory skull?

Suppose he knew of that! But a certain revulsion of feeling had come
over Theydon since the sheer brutality of the murder had been
revealed. He failed to see now why he should be so solicitous for
Forbes's welfare. No matter what private purpose the man might serve
by concealing his visit to Mrs. Lester, it ought to give way before
the paramount importance of tracking a pitiless and callous criminal.

So Theydon hardened his heart and went to bed, and, being sound in
mind and constitution, slept like a just man wearied. Nevertheless,
the last thing he saw before the curtain fell on his tired brain was
an ivory skull dancing in the darkness.

Greatly as the many problems attached to Mrs. Lester's death
bewildered him, he would have been even more perplexed if he had
overheard the conversation between Winter and Furneaux when they
entered a taxi and gave Scotland Yard as their destination.

"Look here, Charles," began Winter firmly; but the other stayed him
with a clutch of thin, nervous fingers on an arm strong enough to fell
an ox.

"Listen first, James-- lecture me afterward," pleaded Furneaux. "I
can't help yielding to impulse. And why should I strive to help it,
anyhow? How often has impulse led me to the goal when by every known
rule of evidence I was completely beaten? That is my plea. That is why