A little doubtfully the servant took the card. So the detective found himself in a big leather chair in a spacious and well-lighted library. All the surroundings spoke of money lavished recklessly, but with scrupulous taste. The lines of books were broken by etchings and occasional paintings that Labar recognised as the finest of their kind. But as he slowly and methodically studied the room, his attention became rivetted on a small photograph that stood obscurely on a mantelpiece. He moved towards it and picked it up for closer scrutiny. Then he did a thing which a C.I.D. man should have realised was pure and simple theft. He placed it carefully in an inside pocket.

Hughes found him in the big leather chair, idly nursing his hat and stick, and came forward with outstretched hand.

“It’s Mr. Labar, isn’t it. Pleased to meet you. I’m not often honoured by visits from detective inspectors. What can I do for you?”