CHAPTER 2Frank, a tall handsome American of thirty-five, was coming back from the tennis court, and he greeted Jim and his sister nom afar.
"I've had a visit from your assistant," he said, after the horses had been taken away and Margot had gone into the house.
"From Sanderson?" said Jim in astonishment, "what the dickens did he want? Have you overdrawn your account?"
Frank grinned.
"Nothing so prosaic as that," he said. "No, it was on quite an interesting business he came. By the way he's something of an amateur detective, I suppose you know?"
Jim groaned.
"Good Lord!" he said dismally, "he hasn't been up here rustling clues or anything of that kind, has he?"
The other laughed.
"Not exactly," he said, "but a month ago he asked me for an introduction to a personal friend of mine. I
