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portrait on the green mat to bits, and then attempted to conceal the wreckage.

“What have we now?” Chan said. He stood looking in wonder at the handful of scraps that he held. His eyes sought Tarneverro’s. “Here is a matter worthy of consideration. Person unknown does not wish me to look upon the photograph over which Shelah Fane wept this afternoon. Why? Is it then portrait of the man you had asked her to betray?”

“It may have been,” Tarneverro agreed.

“Course now becomes clear,” Charlie announced. “I must view this photograph, so with all patience at my command, I propose to fit these scraps together again.” He pulled a small table up before the windows that faced the street.

“I investigate outside the house,” Kashimo remarked.

“Much the safest place to have you,” Chan returned. “By all means investigate very hard.”

The Japanese went out.

Charlie removed the table cover, and sat down. On the smooth top he began carefully to lay together the pieces of the photograph. The task, he saw, was going to be long and arduous. “I never was bright man with jigsaw puzzle,” he complained. “My daughter Rose was pride of family at that work. I would enjoy to have her at my side.”

He had made scant progress when the door of the lanai opened, and a group of the guests entered the living-room. Wilkie Ballou walked at the head, and after him came Van Horn, Martino, Jaynes and Rita Ballou. Diana Dixon followed; she seemed detached from the crowd, which had the air of a delegation.