"Do you think it wise for the man to leave the house?"
"It won't matter," Vance told him. "Nothing more can happen there at present."
Markham went on into the den. In a few minutes he returned.
"The books will be here in half an hour."
When the detective arrived with the package Vance unwrapped it and laid the volumes beside his chair.
"Now, Markham, I'm going to do some reading. You won't mind, what?" Despite his casual tone, it was evident that an urgent seriousness underlay his words.
Markham got up immediately; and again I marvelled at the complete understanding that existed between these two disparate men.
"I have a number of personal letters to write," he said, "so I'll run along. Currie's omelet was excellent.—When shall I see you again? I could drop round at tea-time."
Vance held out his hand with a look bordering on affection.
"Make it five o'clock. I'll be through with my perusings by then. And thanks for your tolerance." Then he added gravely: "You'll understand, after I've told you everything, why I wanted to wait a bit."
When Markham returned that afternoon a little before five Vance was still reading in the library; but shortly afterward he joined us in the living-room.
"The picture clarifies," he said. "The fantastic
