He ushered them into a room at the back of the house, furnished as a library. The collection of books was a magnificent one, and Tuppence noticed that all one wall was devoted to works on crime and criminology. There were several deep-padded leather armchairs, and an old-fashioned open hearth. In the window was a big roll-top desk strewn with papers at which the master of the house was sitting.

He rose as they entered.

“You have a message for me? Ah”⁠—he recognized Tuppence with a smile⁠—“it’s you, is it? Brought a message from Mrs. Vandemeyer, I suppose?”

“Not exactly,” said Tuppence. “In fact, I’m afraid I only said that to be quite sure of getting in. Oh, by the way, this is Mr. Hersheimmer, Sir James Peel Edgerton.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said the American, shooting out a hand.