CASE FOR MR. FORTUNE H.C. BAILEY, 1932 FIRST CASE THE GREEK PLAY MR. FORTUNE was concentrated on an investigation. In this state of mind, he is not aware of time or persons. He was in his garden. Some of the long experiments in producing his ideal sweet pea flowered about him in colours of the freshness of his own innocent complexion. He sniffed delicately, he sniffed profoundly. The sweet pea of his dreams was to give him the rich waved grace of the modems with the deeper fragrance of the old. And his round face became wistful.

 On this sorrow came the voice of a person of great personality. His black Persian, Darius, sat down on the lawn, gazed with large golden eyes, and announced that instant attention was required. Reggie awoke and came hastily. Darius lay on his back and stretched, exhibiting a stomach for homage. It was rubbed respectfully. Darius sang a small song, curled up on the hand and killed it, rose, walked away with his tail in the air. "Darlin'," Reggie murmured to his swaggering hinder end.

 "My dear child!" he was rebuked. Mrs. Fortune came towards him.

 "Oh, Peter!" Reggie blinked at her. She was dressed not for gardening, but for a garden party, in something filmy that revealed her adorably and shimmered apple - green and gold. He looked down at his crumpled grey flannel, and again at her and with alarm.

 "You are, you really are," he murmured.

 "Why aren't you dressed?" said Mrs. Fortune severely.

 "I am. For this world. I didn't know we were going to heaven."

 "You're not. You're going to Logate. Run away and make yourself respectable."

 Reggie groaned. "Black coat?"

 "Yes, dear. Full fig. Run. You've only half an hour for lunch and all."

 But under pressure he can be very quick and neat. He sat down in the clothes of ceremony before she had finished her fish. He gave his whole mind to that, salmon trout in mayonnaise. He stopped and turned to the parlourmaid. "Tell Elise that chives in a fish salad are an error." He tasted the wine. "And you've got the Carbonnieux too cold."

 "Don't be peevish, child," Mrs. Fortune smiled.

 "I'm not. Only alert. The faculties have been aroused. And earnest." He proceeded swiftly by way of lamb in aspic to a souffle. "Ah! Tell Elise that all is forgiven. And a few strawberries, please." He dealt with them; he was drinking his coffee while the souffle still occupied Mrs. Fortune. "Why are we going to Logate, Joan?" he murmured.

 "To see a Greek play, dear."

 "My only aunt!" Reggie gazed at her. "What is Logate, Joan?"

 "My dear child! Logate School. The girls' school. You know all about it."

 "Do I?" Reggie said plaintively. "Fancy knowin' all about a girls' school! Well, well. Why did you marry that kind of man?"

 Mrs. Fortune stood up. "You're not amusing." She looked down at him. "This is merely futile. It's no use being innocent to me, my child. You won't be let off. I told you ages ago we were going to the play at Logate."

 "P'r'aps I wasn't listening, dear," Reggie sighed.

 "Probably not. But you always hear," said she. "Come along, Reginald."

 And he went. He did in fact know something about Logate. Everybody does. It is one of the more magnificent of those schools which were founded last century when the wild hope that girls might be educated first dazzled England. From the private adventure of a determined woman it grew into an established institution, with governors and endowments, and drew to its walls the daughters of people of importance. He knew also that his wife had acquaintance among those fortunate maidens, and he remembered with painful clearness that she had talked of an invitation to some festivity there. Her desire to take him into social crowds is the only tragic element in their married life.

 He lay back in the car and contemplated her; an occupation always comforting. "Well, well," he murmured. "What is this play, Joan?'

 "The Antigone."

 "Oh, ah! When I was at Oxford a dear old don told me that nobody was educated who hadn't read the Antigone. So I did. In translation. And these young things are doing it in Greek! Well, well. The advance of women."

 "They haven't done one in Greek before. That's the new classical mistress. Nan says she's a tiger."

 Reggie's eyelids drooped. "Is that so?" he murmured. "Nan. Who is Nan?"

 "You know. My young godchild. Nan Bundy. We're really going to see her."

 "And very nice, too," Reggie murmured. "Nice legs. Is she Antigone?"

 Mrs. Fortune laughed. "Heavens, no! How could she?"

 "Nohow. Contrariwise. Would that matter?"

 "It is a glorious part," Mrs. Fortune sighed. She was herself the Rosalind of men's dreams before she decided to be a wife.

 "Yes. Yes. Resolute young woman. And we're going to see a schoolgirl play it."

 "Nan says she's wonderfully good," said Mrs. Fortune. "It's a girl called Nora Brown," Reggie's eyes were nearly closed, but he continued to look at her. "Of course, she's not likely to get near it. But still Antigone ought to be a girl - it's like Juliet; you want a girl and a great actress too - and nobody is both at once. But sometimes a girl is wonderful." She began to talk about acting. This is most unusual. And Reggie ceased to look at her. His mind played with a doubt whether it was the Greek play that he was being taken to see. But he did not say so. He has been married some time.

 Logate School is established in a vast house in a park. Both were originally constructed for an eighteenth - century profiteer. The park keeps unspoilt its artificial lake, its delusive vistas, its sham ruins, its copied statues and temples.

 The house has a huge portico to disguise the obvious fact that its front door is at the back. They went into what had been a good hall before its proportions were destroyed. Logate is much organized. The guests who enter there abandon freedom and walk in a straight and narrow path under continual orders from the staff.

 "Oh, my hat!" Reggie muttered. "Joan! I want to go home." And they were passed into the presence of the head mistress and it was announced that they were Mr. and Mrs. Fortune.

 He raised frightened eyes and saw a small, intense woman. Her set smile of welcome flickered. "Mr. Fortune?" she repeated. "How do you do?" It seemed that he caused her some surprise, some curiosity, if such a woman could be curious about a man.

 "Do you know our chairman?" She passed him on to the Bishop of Lanchester. That plump and crimson prelate gurgled slightly and took pains to be affable. He made a mild joke about Mrs. Fortune being too young, oh, far too young, to have a daughter at Logate. He obviously desired to know who had sent Reggie an invitation. "Not a daughter, but a goddaughter," said Mrs. Fortune. "So we feel quite parental about Logate." The Bishop said it was very natural, the Bishop said he was delighted, and they were taken with ceremony to the terraced lawns which made a theatre for the play, they were set in the seats of the mighty. Reggie looked sideways at his wife. "Why do they love us so?" he murmured. "This is very alarmin', Joan."

 "The penalty of fame, dear. Be a brave little man." She began to talk to the mistress presiding over that block of seats.

 Reggie gazed about him. The lawns were cut like broad steps out of the slope on the top of which behind them the great house stood. Each lawn had its rows of chairs. At the foot of the slope on an open space between banks of rhododendrons a stage was built, with the front of a Greek palace for scenery. On either side and beyond, the park displayed its green vistas set with sham antiquities - here a ruined Gothic tower, there a classic temple.

 Mrs. Fortune compelled him into her conversation with the mistress, who was delivering a lecture on the play. "Terribly sad, you see. Quite dreadful. Of course, it's very grand. Some people feel it's not nice for girls. The theme, you see - a girl defying the law and killing herself. You're meant to think she's a martyr to her own sense of right. An immortal protest, of course. But perhaps it is unsettling for girls."

 "You think so?" Reggie murmured.

 Mrs. Fortune was indignant. "It's a noble play! I can't imagine it could do anybody harm."

 "Especially in Greek," Reggie murmured. "Do girls get Greek plays on their nerves? I was only a boy."

 "Girls are so serious," said the mistress. "So earnest. One has to be very careful." She gave them copies of the play and fussed on to somebody else.

 "Curious symptoms," Reggie mumbled.

 "Why?" Mrs. Fortune turned to him. "What are you thinking of?"

 "Vague suggestions of collective hysteria; or getting the general wind up. As you say - why?"

 "I suppose it's first - night nervousness."

 "Yes. I wonder. Yes. Well, well, what exactly did Antigone do?" He opened the book of the words. "Oh, ah! She was told not to bury her brother because he died fighting against her city, and she went and did it. So the king shut her up in a tomb and she said it was hard she couldn't have the life of other girls, but she'd done her duty and she hanged herself."

 "Don't, Reggie. It's grand."

 "I know. I'm not feelin' facetious, Joan." He looked about him and his round face was grave and plaintive, like an earnest child's.

 Important parents and the governing body filled the seats about them. The head mistress and the Bishop, side by side, glanced at them and leaned over to say amiable nothings. And the play began.

 Antigone was on the stage, a girl not more than common tall, slim as a boy in her Greek dress, not pretty beside the buxom fairness of her sister, Ismene. But she held the eye, she had dignity, she was desperately earnest, and the other only a girl in fancy dress. Her dark face was individual, a face to remember, proud, wistful, with a brow and a chin.

 It is a quiet scene, to show Antigone as a girl who believes that she has a duty - to break the law. This Antigone was very quiet. But when she had gone, when the chorus were doing physical exercises in front of the stage and chanting a hymn to dawn, Reggie murmured: "Yes, she looks like somebody."

 Mrs. Fortune was gravely interested. "She's feeling it, poor child. Did you notice the sister? Little Pig!"

 "Yes, missing a bit, wasn't she?"

 "Missing! She was deliberately spoiling it. Playing as jealous as could be."

 The bullying King Creon, a robust damsel, who wore her beard with a swagger and spoke in a shout, came on to hear that Antigone had buried her dead and defied him, and she was brought prisoner before him to declare she obeyed "unwritten laws, eternal in the heavens." Her voice rang clear, she had a good gesture.

 "She is rather out of the way, what?" Reggie murmured. "Know her again, wouldn't you?"

 "Very sincere and natural," Mrs. Fortune frowned a little. "Passionate, yes." Ismene returned to be companion of her sister's fate. She was very nice and pretty about it. She made a mess of Antigone's lovely dignity.

 The chorus chanted the great ode to love as if it were a cheery hymn, and Antigone came to say her farewell to light and life. She looked desperate enough. Her voice throbbed. She was feeling the agony. "Unwept and unfriended" - she stopped, she held out her arms and let them fall, she looked up to the sky. And the raucous voice of the prompter rattled out the next line.

 "Ah!" Mrs. Fortune flushed. "How ghastly!" But the prompter gave the words again and the chorus giggled. Antigone was shattered. She went on with her speech in a hurry. She had no more reality. She was a girl saying a lesson and caring for nothing but to get to the end. "Behold me, what things at the hands of what men I suffer." She was gone.

 "Oh, that was a shame," Mrs. Fortune whispered, her hand on Reggie's. "She was being rather fine."

 "Yes. Yes. As you say." Reggie looked at her with closing eyes.

 The chorus, very brisk and lively, chanted that she came of a noble family, but Fate's everlasting hands availed to reach her, and a messenger came and described how in her tomb prison he "saw the maiden hanged, about her neck some shred of linen served her for a noose," and the chorus remarked that to be happy one must be wise, and marched off. The audience began to chatter and move. Reggie was in no hurry. The head mistress and the Bishop stopped in passing. "A great play," said the Bishop.

 "Oh, yes. Yes. And a very interestin' performance," Reggie murmured.

 "I thought Antigone did wonderfully," said Mrs. Fortune.

 "I am afraid she found it rather difficult." The head mistress lingered. "But she has ability."

 "Yes. Strikin' child. Yes," Reggie murmured.

 "Very hard for her." The head mistress looked at him keenly. "Do you know Miss Hopkins perhaps?"

 "Is that the prompter?" said Mrs. Fortune with some ferocity.

 "Oh, dear, no." The head mistress frowned. "That was Miss Evans, who has always produced our plays. Miss Hopkins has just taken charge of the classical side. She persuaded us to attempt a Greek tragedy. She has worked night and day for this performance."

 "She found an Antigone," said Mrs. Fortune.

 The head mistress slowly followed her bishop. But Reggie sat still, watching with dreamy eyes the rest of the governing body depart. "Well, well," he sighed, and turned to his wife with a smile. "And now, Joan - what was I brought here for?"

 Her eyes met his large and solemn. "Nan Bundy asked us."

 "Yes. You told me so. I also believe it. What exactly did she say?"

 "Do you think there's something wrong here?"

 "My dear girl! Oh, my dear girl, I've been thinkin' somebody thought so ever since we left home."

 "And now?" she said eagerly.

 "And now I think hysteria's catchin'. Don't you catch it, Joan. What did the sinful child say?"

 "She said, 'Do bring the Cherub.'"

 "Nobody respects me," Reggie sighed. "Is that all?"

 "No. She said it again in a postscript, 'Do bring the Cherub. Things are being perfectly foul and I want to tell him.'"

 "Oh, my aunt!" Reggie moaned. "More nerves."

 "The letter did sound like nerves. But that isn't like Nan."

 "No. No. She's more like an ice. Say strawberry Melba. Well, well, let's find the minx."

 "She was in the chorus," said Mrs. Fortune.

 They went down to the level turf about the stage where proud parents were waiting for their daughters to emerge from the dressing tent behind the rhododendrons. The pretty Ismene came out of it with a large woman who had been handsome in a florid way. The woman was in a hurry, but Ismene chattered fast. "Oh, Miss Evans, isn't she impossible? . . . But, Miss Evans ..."

 "Well, well. So that's the assertive prompter." Reggie watched her with dreamy curiosity.

 "I should like to box her ears," said Mrs. Fortune.

 Miss Evans had to be introduced to Ismene's mamma. She spared time to be gushing. Then she hurried away towards the house. Reggie continued to watch her. She passed into the crowd on the terrace. She was talking to some of the governors. She vanished.

 "Oh, you lambs!" A buxom young person of vivid colour rushed upon them. "Bless you! Wasn't it the putrid limit? Poor old Nobs."

 "Referrin' to Antigone, Miss Bundy?" Reggie inquired.

 "Yes, Mr. Fortune," said she demurely. "Oh, Cherub, you are a darling to come. Angel face!"

 "Thankin' you for these kind words - why am I brought to your maiden revels?"

 "Well, I ask you! Wasn't it absolutely foul? Half of them rotting her and the Evanly one braying at her. Hoppy's furious. Poor old Nobs, she's wishing she was dead."

 "Poor girl," Mrs. Fortune sighed. "I think she did wonderfully, Nan. Could I speak to her? I'd like to tell her so."

 "You're a dear; she doesn't want to speak to anybody just now. She's in the tent still. Wants to get alone. She's like that when she's down."

 "Yes. Yes. This show bein' a kind of climax. Now we'll begin at the beginning, Nan. Who is Antigone that Miss Evans and friends crab her?"

 Nan stared at him. "Golly!" she said. "You're awfully clever. Yes, that is the beginning. I say, let's come out of the mob." She took them away to a stone seat in a hollow of the green slope, remote, and commanding wide spaces of loveliness from the lake to the temple above. "Shan't have anybody sneaking here." "Oh! That's the state of society," Reggie murmured. "We're a happy family, I don't think," said Miss Bundy. "Look here, you know the sort of shop this is. Absolutely it. Nobody wanted unless Father's somebody. That went all right. Things were very jolly when I came five years ago. Nothing mattered but the games, and they were top - hole. Then the old head went and we got this woman. She's a highbrow. Her strong suit is ideals. She's always blethering about the old noble purpose of Logate's, to raise the standard of woman's capacity. Well, of course, that sort of thing got people's backs up frightfully."

 "Miss Bundy has no use for an intellectual head?"

 "I don't mind, bless you. The woman's not bad, if she wouldn't preach. We wanted a change. The place was jolly slack. But naturally people hated it. Talked all sorts of rot. There was a yarn the mistresses were frightfully sick she got the job - thought one of themselves ought to have had it - the Evanly one was favourite. Somebody put it about the governors wouldn't back her up. But she carried on and went on stiffening things. And then she brought in scholarship girls. You know - entrance scholarships open to anybody. We'd never had that before. Six a year. She caught some rum fish. Clever kids from nowhere, looking like nothing on earth, didn't want to do anything but sap. That didn't make a happy home. Of course, they got treated like absolute outsiders, and some of the mistresses backed 'em and some gave 'em jip, specially the Evanly one. Then the Head brought in a new mistress or two of her own sort and Hoppy. Hoppy's a tiger. She's classics. That put the Evanly one's nose right out of joint. The Evanly one had always run the idea that a little classics was classy, being her subject, so she got the smart set."

 "Miss Evans likes the aristocracy?" Reggie murmured.

 "She's a priceless snob," said Miss Bundy. "If a girl has a title somewhere or there's money about, the Evanly one's all over her. Well, in comes Hoppy and takes the top classics away from her. More trouble. The slackers have a rotten time and so there's the smart set against Hoppy and fawning round good Evans. Like that fatty Edith - you saw her - Ismene."

 "Yes. Yes. Flaccid type," Reggie yawned. "Thyroid trouble perhaps. When were you coming to Antigone?"

 "Poor old Nobs! She's a scholarship girl. Wouldn't think it, would you? I'm sorry - I'm a snob myself. But I mean she don't look the usual book grub."

 "No. No. Not a grub. She might have a brain."

 "She looks someone quite unusual," said Mrs. Fortune. "It's a fine face, Nan."

 "Not one of the undistinguished proletariat. No," Reggie murmured. "By the way - to reach at last the beginning - who is she? What's her name, for instance?"

 Nan said "Hush!" And her eyes directed his to Antigone. The girl had changed out of her Greek dress to the school uniform - grey serge tunic, white blouse and tie in the Logate white and grey colours - an austere garb which on that day of festival nobody else was wearing. Nan called out, "I say. Nobs, old thing!" The girl looked, frowned, and hurried on into the loneliness of the park. "Sorry," said Nan. "She's like that when she's upset. Can't bear anybody. And I'm by way of being a pal."

 Reggie watched her. She seemed to have a determined purpose. "Often upset, is she?"

 "She's had a rotten time. She's poor."

 "Oh, yes. Hence the uniform - when the rest of you are in purple and fine linen."

 "Of course, she's got other clothes - but nothing nice - just like her to wear the school rags on a show day. Sort of defiance. She's like that. You see, the other scholarship girls - well, they've got people of sorts, but Nobs came from a village school."

 "Is that so?" Reggie murmured: he was still watching the determined march of Antigone. "From the village school straight to the exclusive and expensive Logate. Well, well!"

 "Oh, she did. She's a wonder. There was a mistress who got keen on her and coached her and she took the first schol. She's not a bit like what you'd think, either. She's jolly good at games, and awfully decent. But she's had a beastly time. Just because she's specially poor and nobody. We are a lot of snobs. The Evanly one's had a particular down on her lately. Only Hoppy's kind of taken her up. Hoppy don't make favourites, but if you can do anything she shoves you along. Well, you saw what happened to - day - that was pretty ghastly, wasn't it? That's the way things are. Now you know why I wanted you to come, Cherub." She took Reggie's hand for a swift moment.

 Antigone had vanished in the hollows of the park where the portico of the temple shimmered grey. Reggie turned and gazed at Miss Bundy. "My dear girl! Oh, my dear girl!" he sighed.

 "I wrote about it to father and he said it was like a school story - -"

 "Yes. Yes. So it is, you know. The persecuted heroine has only got to save somebody's life and you'll all live happily ever after."

 "You don't believe that," said Nan; and her frank eyes challenged him.

 "You think not? Why wouldn't I?"

 "You can see there's something wrong with the jolly old place."

 "Oh, yes. Yes. That is indicated."

 "Well, you can make people take notice. You can do things."

 "My dear girl! Oh, my dear girl!" Reggie moaned again. "Not me, no. They never let me do anything till everything's happened. By the way - reachin' finally the beginning - what is her name?"

 "Nora - Nora Brown. She hasn't got any people. An aunt or something brought her up. In a cottage."

 A short sturdy young woman came out of the tent in the rhododendrons and stood looking all ways.

 "That's Hoppy," said Nan. "Like to speak to her?"

 Reggie said "Help!" Behind her horn spectacles Miss Hopkins looked very brisk and strenuous. She saw Nan and made for her and called her sharply, asking if Nora had been seen.

 "She came out some time ago. I say. Miss Hopkins - I want to introduce you. This is Mr. Fortune - and Mrs. Fortune. My godmother, you know. They were awfully interested in the play."

 "How do you do? I'm sorry it wasn't more successful," said Miss Hopkins. "Where did Nora go, Nan?"

 "I think I can show you," said Reggie. "Allow me. This way." He walked on, and Miss Hopkins, having no choice, went with him. He stepped out.

 Nan made a comical face at Mrs. Fortune. "Snubs to us." They followed some way behind.

 Miss Hopkins was saying, "I've no doubt I can find her."

 "I hope so," Reggie murmured, and went on with her.

 Miss Hopkins looked at him keenly. "Are you the Mr. Fortune?"

 "Yes. The one you mean. Yes. Any objection?"

 "Not the least. Were you asked to come here?"

 "By Nan Bundy. Not professionally. Any reason why I should be?"

 "I don't know," said Miss Hopkins. "You seem rather interested in finding Nora Brown."

 "And you," Reggie murmured.

 "If you saw the play you can guess why. She was upset. I don't like her going off alone."

 "No. No. That was my view. What do you know about her?"

 "If you've been talking to Nan you know all that I know."

 "But you thought I might have been called in professionally. What for?"

 "I don't understand detective work, Mr. Fortune."

 "Nobody does," Reggie murmured. "Nobody can. You never know what you're looking for, so you have to look for everything." He stopped. He looked about him. "I lost her somewhere here. Takin' one thing with another, I should say she went into that place." He pointed to the temple. "Let's see."

 It was a small bad copy of a Doric temple in wood painted to look like stone. They stood under the portico. Lacking windows, the interior was dark. "Oh, Heaven!" Miss Hopkins gasped. Reggie ran in.

 Nora's body hung swaying from a beam. Her school tie was knotted about her neck, knotted again to one of the hooks in the beam from which lamps had hung. Under her feet a bench was overturned.

 He set that up again, he held her body in one arm and cut the tie and laid her on the ground. . . .

 "Is she dead?" Miss Hopkins whispered.

 "Not yet. Not quite." He took off his coat, he began to work at the processes of artificial respiration. "There's a bad chance. Have you got a school hospital or anything? With doctor complete? Good. Run away and find her. Say Mr. Fortune's lookin' after a girl who's had an accident and wants her here quick. Don't tell anyone else. Then warn the hospital to have hot - water bottles and a mustard plaster ready. Hurry!" He laboured on with rhythmic movements and called, "Joan!"

 She was already watching him, she and Nan.

 "Go and bring the car."

 "Oh, let me - I'll run," Nan cried.

 "You stay here," said Reggie.

 "Can't I do something? Can't I do anything? It's so dreadful."

 "You can rub her legs," Reggie grunted, and worked on. . . .

 Miss Hopkins came back panting. "Dr. Headley, Mr. Fortune."

 Reggie turned his sweating face and saw a gaunt businesslike woman. "Heard all about it?"

 "Miss Hopkins told me how you found her." Dr. Headley knelt beside the girl. "She's far gone."

 "Yes. Yes. I came late. My error. I didn't think of this."

 Dr. Headley stared at him. "How could you? You didn't know her, did you?"

 "Know nothing about her," Reggie grunted.

 "She's a very clever girl. Very highly strung. I'm afraid she's not been happy here."

 "You're not surprised, what?" Reggie glanced at her.

 "Poor child," said Dr. Headley.

 "Yes. Yes. That's better," Reggie murmured. "You carry on now." He wiped his face and watched. . . . "Steady." He bent again over the girl. .... "Yes. Keep going. I think so. Yes. I think so. She's coming." . . .

 "Oh, Cherub!" Nan gasped. "Is it really - will she be all right?"

 "It'll be a fight for her," Reggie said gently. "I'll fight, Nan."

 Mrs. Fortune laid her hand on his shoulder. They looked at each other. "You - -" she said with a sigh of content.

 Reggie touched the hand. "Well, Doctor - my car's here. We'll get her to hospital. I think I'd better do a venesection." They wrapped the girl in a rug and laid her in the big car. "Oh, Miss Hopkins - you'll have to tell your head mistress - say Mr. Fortune has taken charge and considers it a grave case. Nan! Hop up by Joan and show her the best way to your hospital. Just a moment." He went again into the temple, looked round it with searching eyes, stood on the bench and cut down the remains of the tie. "All right." The car glided away with him. . . .

 Some time afterwards he came out of the hospital and Miss Hopkins and Nan met him eagerly. "She's doing as well as she could," he said. Mrs. Fortune came and put her arm round Nan.

 "You'll see the head mistress, Mr. Fortune?" Miss Hopkins asked.

 "Oh, yes. Yes. I'm going to. You might tell her, would you?" He turned away, he contemplated with dreamy eyes the expanse of the park, and Miss Hopkins stared at him and departed. "I say. Nan," he murmured. "Take Joan and give her some tea." He wandered away, but not to the house. He had the air of a man strolling aimlessly; in time he reached the temple, and then, drifting still more casually, he went over the turf about it, in and out among trees and shrubs and so towards the house by a corkscrew route, and once he stopped for some time and was much interested in a clump of hawthorns.

 The last of the visitors were departing. From their talk he learnt that they had been told Antigone had met with an accident. He went into the hall. A few of the staff were there, getting rid of the lingerers. Miss Hopkins met him. "Come to the head mistress's room, please."

 "Oh, my hat!" Reggie smiled. "Sounds as if I were going to be swished."

 Miss Hopkins did not approve of this frivolity. She marched ahead of him. The ample form of Miss Evans swept upon them. "Is that Mr. Fortune? Pray forgive me, how is poor Nora?"

 Reggie spread out his hands. "Not a nice case," he murmured.

 "Such a dreadful thing," said Miss Evans.

 The head mistress had the Bishop in her room, and other pompous men. "Oh. Oh, I should like to speak to you alone," Reggie said plaintively.

 "These gentlemen are members of the governing body," the head mistress explained.

 "Well, well!" Reggie murmured, and contemplated them with benign curiosity.

 The Bishop cleared his throat. "I am sure Mr. Fortune will understand that we are gravely concerned as a body - a terrible affair for the school."

 "Yes. And for the girl," Reggie murmured.

 "Quite. Quite. I feel that most deeply. We all feel it." He proceeded to introduce them - General Cutts, Lord Stourmouth, Sir Ingram Stow.

 The head mistress interrupted. "How is Nora, Mr. Fortune?"

 "I can promise you nothing," Reggie said slowly.

 The head mistress put her hand to her brow and sighed. "Poor child, poor child."

 "Dear me," said the Bishop. "Her condition is serious?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Quite serious."

 Sir Ingram Stow leaned forward. "You understand, Mr. Fortune, we're asking you for your opinion, an expert medical opinion: is the child likely to recover?"

 Reggie looked at him with closing eyes. "I've given you my opinion. It's not a case in which I can promise anything."

 "You're not very definite, sir," said the General.

 "No. I'm not feeling definite," Reggie murmured.

 "I suppose you can tell us if the girl will return to consciousness." The General glared. "Oh, she has. And gone to sleep. Why did you want to know?"

 "Naturally, we want to know," the General cried. "Are you being frank with us, sir? We want to know if the girl has given any reason for her attempt to commit suicide. We have a right to know."

 "She hasn't. I didn't ask her. You won't be able to ask her. What happened and why it happened will be a matter for the police. Is that quite frank?"

 "What, sir? You propose to inform the police? Then let me tell you, sir, I protest - in the strongest way I protest. It would be a most irresponsible and reckless abuse of your professional position. A scandalous interference which I should resent by every means in my power. We should all resent it."

 "Would you really?" Reggie murmured. He surveyed them with curiosity. "You'd better not."

 Lord Stourmouth, a little dry man, opened his mouth for the first time, and he said, "You're talking nonsense, Cutts."

 The Bishop cleared his throat. "I am bound to say, I feel you are wrong, General."

 "Pray allow me," Sir Ingram Stow stood up, a tall and handsome person making the most of himself. "Our first thought must be for the interests of the school. That is what influences the General."

 "It's our duty, sir, our duty," the General gobbled.

 "I feel that deeply. Now we must all see that to call in the police would be disastrous to the school. The publicity would be hideous. The school could never recover from such a scandal. We are also bound to consider the interests of this unhappy girl. Nothing could be more cruel than to make her or her memory the subject of a police investigation. I'm afraid, Stourmouth, you don't realize the suggestions, the insinuations about her which would be inevitable. It would be a cruel wrong to inflict - and without any reason. What happened is not in doubt. She was found by her own mistress hanging there in the temple."

 "Did you really think you could hush it up?" Reggie murmured.

 "I have made no such suggestion, Mr. Fortune. It is obvious that an inquest must follow her death. That cannot be avoided and none of us would wish to avoid it. There is nothing to conceal. But I protest in the strongest manner against calling in the police to turn it into a sensational case."

 "So do I, begad! Making a scandal of it," the General cried. "Make the place a byword. Getting the school in all the papers. That's what comes of taking these scholarship girls. But I won't have it, sir. I'll see the Chief Constable myself."

 "Don't worry. He knows all about it," said Reggie. "I telephoned from the hospital. Also to Scotland Yard."

 The General glared at him. "Confounded impertinence!"

 "You think so?" Reggie murmured. "Well, well." He turned to the head mistress. "I'll see Nora before I go," he said gently. "And Dr. Headley has my telephone number." He held out his hand. "I'm seeing this through."

 "Thank you very much." Her eyes met his.

 "Good - night, gentlemen." He looked them over. "Nora is not to be seen. There'll be a policeman at the hospital." He went out.

 Stourmouth followed him. "Just a word, Mr. Fortune." He took Reggie into a little lobby where the hats of the governors hung. "You know you're right, of course. So do I. Cutts is an ass and Stow is a snob."

 "Yes. Not quite a home of peace. Logate," Reggie murmured. He contemplated the hats with grave interest. And Stow and Cutts came in a hurry to seize theirs. Reggie stood aside and watched them depart. He gazed dreamily at Stourmouth. "Yes. That's one of the factors. Good night." . . .

 When he came out of the hospital Nan was waiting with Mrs. Fortune in the car. She jumped down to meet him. "What, Nan?" he smiled. "You don't have to worry any more."

 "Oh, Cherub - -"

 "Yes. My show now. You've done rather well. But you've done your bit. Go and sleep. You can."

 The car carried him away. He lit a cigar and slid low in his comer, "Reggie, was that true?" said Mrs. Fortune.

 "Oh, yes. Yes. The girl's comin' through. But I don't want it advertised just yet. She didn't hang herself."

 "Ah, thank God!"

 "Cause for satisfaction. Yes. They might have maddened her into suicide. Possibly that was in somebody's nice mind. Then it would have been a very difficult case."

 Mrs. Fortune shuddered. "But what a devilish thing! Has she told you who did it?"

 "She doesn't know. I don't know. That's one of the problems."

 "One!" Mrs. Fortune cried.

 Reggie looked at her with the large bewildered eyes of a child. "Only one, yes," he said plaintively. "By the way - two men comin' to dinner - the Chief Constable and Bell - I rang up Elise."

 Mrs. Fortune laughed. "Martha!" she said and made a face at him. It is a term of abuse employed for his careful interest in domestic affairs. "Do I dine with you?"

 "My only aunt! Please. I don't want to talk shop. I want my nice dinner. You're a necessary element, Joan."

 "Pig," said she. "Essentially pig."

 To the surprise of the Chief Constable of the county, an earnest, zealous official, they talked at dinner of roses and wine, of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. When Mrs. Fortune was gone and the cigars were lit, Reggie turned to the bewildered man. "Very nice of you to come over. Rather a complex case. Going to work out nasty. I thought you'd like to have it all before you at the start. This is what we've got." And he gave a sketch of his adventures at Logate.

 The Chief Constable shook a sage head. "Shocking affair, however you take it. Quite right, Mr. Fortune, we can't overlook it. But you know in my experience adolescent girls do very queer things. And these clever ones are most uncertain. I should have said myself it looked like a plain case of attempted suicide. She thought everybody was persecuting her and the play put it into her head to hang herself. Just the way these tragedies do happen with young women."

 "Yes. That's what you're meant to think. I daresay that's the way it was meant to happen. Quite an ingenious mind workin' at Logate."

 "Looks a bit too natural to me," said Bell. "They put on a play in which a girl hangs herself, and the girl who takes the part goes and does it quick. I'd work the case over before I passed it for suicide."

 "Certainly we shall have to investigate," said the Chief Constable. "But I've no doubt myself any jury would say it was attempted suicide."

 "Oh, no. No. If it gets to a jury, I shall be givin' evidence. And I shall say it was attempted murder. The girl has two bruises on her head, one at the back, that's the larger - one on her brow. She couldn't have made them hanging herself. The inference is she was struck from behind and she fell. When she came to herself in hospital the only sensible thing she said was, 'Who hit me?' That is one of the problems."

 "Murder? At Logate? It's one of the best girls' schools in the country." The Chief Constable was horrified. "You might say it's a girls' Eton."

 "Yes. You might. That's an interesting factor. These things do happen in the best society. But not often."

 "You say who did it is one of the problems, Mr. Fortune," Bell grinned. "It's the whole problem, isn't it?"

 "For police purposes, yes. For the girl, no. And speakin' scientifically, it's a minor matter. The main problem bein' - why was it done?"

 "Motive, eh?" said the Chief Constable. "Take it as suicide, you've got that plain enough. But taking it as murder, the motive's a puzzle. You make out there's been a lot of feeling at Logate against the scholarship girls concentrated on this one. Do you mean to say some of the other girls tried to murder her?"

 "Oh, no. No. But thus two further problems are suggested. Who did start the trouble at Logate? And who is Nora Brown? Providin' us with lines of inquiry."

 "About the school - - " said the Chief Constable anxiously. "It isn't quite fair to talk about starting the trouble. There has been friction at Logate and it dates from the coming of this head mistress. Not her fault, I daresay. You know what big schools are. A new head comes. There are people who think somebody else ought to have had the job. The new head makes changes. More people get discontented and annoyed. And so on. It's very common."

 Reggie blew smoke rings. "Yes. Quite. Yes. So some people wanted another woman head mistress. Who would they be?"

 "Well, you know there was a strong feeling that one of the mistresses who'd been at Logate some time ought to have had the appointment."

 "I see. Yes. Which one?"

 "I couldn't give you a name." The Chief Constable was embarrassed. "You're not suggesting one of the mistresses would murder the girl? If you'll excuse my saying so, Mr. Fortune. I don't think you ought to have that kind of idea about Logate. All the mistresses are ladies."

 Bell grunted. "Have you found that makes much difference, sir? I haven't."

 The Chief Constable was shocked. "Well, I don't agree. But leaving out that - why on earth should one of the mistresses want to murder one of the girls? It's a mad idea."

 "I daresay a mistress often wants to," Reggie smiled. "But it is unusual for her to try. Motive inadequate, as you say."

 "I don't see anything like a motive myself," said Bell. "You can't always get to a reasonable motive. This is the kind of case I wouldn't expect one. The evidence is, there's a lot of bad blood in this girls' school - grievances and quarrelling and persecution. Given all that, you'll often find a woman run mad."

 "Kind of hysteria, you mean?" the Chief Constable said. "Well, I suppose that's possible. You'll pardon me, Mr. Fortune, I can't help thinking it's not so certain we need look beyond the poor girl herself. An hysterical young woman meaning suicide often tries to make it look like murder."

 "Sometimes. Yes. Ever tried to hit yourself hard behind the ear? Not easy, even in hysterics. I'm afraid you can't turn it into suicide. Do you know anyone on the governing body?" The Chief Constable stared. "I know General Cutts."

 "Yes. So he indicated. And Sir Ingram Stow?"

 "I've met Stow. Why?"

 "Well, they want to hush it up, you know."

 "Mr. Fortune, you don't suggest that I - -"

 "Oh, no. No. You couldn't, anyway. But it wouldn't look well to play into their hands. What do you know about 'em?"

 "General Cutts was my commanding officer, sir."

 "You have my sympathy. And Stow?"

 "I've merely met him. He's of a good old family, a rich man, a very pleasant fellow. Why do you ask all this?"

 "Well, you know, it seemed to me that Cutts and Stow don't love the other governors. I suppose they were against this new head mistress, they were against the respectable and exclusive Legate takin' scholarship girls, and specially they're against this girl Nora Brown. That is, they've been backin' the trouble in the school."

 "I can't let that pass, Mr. Fortune. Of course, it's well known General Cutts is opposed to the new policy at Legate and Sir Ingram Stow has supported him."

 "Oh! You knew that," said Reggie sharply. "You didn't tell us. Rather a pity, isn't it?"

 "I don't understand you, Mr. Fortune. There is no secret about their opinions. They're gentlemen of the highest reputation."

 "Everybody always is in this kind of case," Bell grunted. "These are gentlemen and the mistresses are ladies. All the same, a girl nearly got murdered among 'em."

 "But this is preposterous," the Chief Constable cried.

 "Oh, no. No. Summary of facts by Superintendent Bell. Let's expand it. These two gentlemen have been behind the trouble in the school which produced the persecution of Nora Brown. Somebody attempts to murder her and they try to prevent inquiry into the case. And the attempt wasn't wholly feminine. What do you know about that?" He held out a specimen box containing a small piece of black fluff.

 The Chief Constable gaped. "Came off a silk hat, what?" said Bell.

 "Yes. It came off a silk hat. On to a hawthorn bough by the temple where I found it. With a man's footprints adjacent. Also the blow which knocked Nora out was beyond a woman's strength. Assistance of a man in the crime is strongly indicated."

 "And a gentleman," Bell grinned.

 "But it's bewildering," the Chief Constable gasped. "Surely, Mr. Fortune, you can't believe these gentlemen would murder a girl because of their opinions on school policy. The idea is crazy!"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Quite. To keep poor girls out of Logate by murderin' one who got in - that isn't a business proposition. But a man did try to murder her and these men are tryin' to hush it up. And when you kindly assisted in our first line of inquiry, who started the trouble at Logate leadin' to the persecution of Nora, you put us on to these same men. That was very helpful of you." He smiled at the scared Chief Constable. "Convergin' evidence, isn't it?"

 "It's very strange," the Chief Constable stammered. "But the connection - what connection is there between the change of policy at Logate and this girl? She didn't come till lately."

 "Till after the trouble began. Yes. The inference is, they started the trouble for other reasons, but when Nora Brown got into the school they found they had special reasons for turning it against her. Hence the persecution. Possibly with hopes of her suicide. In other words, Nora Brown is somebody who had to be murdered for her own sake."

 The Chief Constable rubbed his brow. "I can't believe the General - I'd answer for him absolutely - -"

 "Yes. I should say he's merely an ass," Reggie murmured.

 "You suspect Stow, then? But what possible reason?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea," said Reggie.

 The Chief Constable stared at him pathetically. "Of course, there must be an investigation, a thorough investigation. What would you like me to do?"

 "Nothing. And do it carefully. Leave your man on guard over Nora. The woman doctor's all right. But a policeman is a good scarecrow for criminals. You might have some plain - clothes men watchin' to see if Stow comes to the school or has anybody go from the school to him. I'll attend to Miss Brown senior."

 "Senior?" The Chief Constable gaped.

 "Yes. The hypothetical aunt. Followin' the second line of inquiry, who is Nora Brown? Well, this being thus, that's all. You'll want to be goin'. Many thanks." He got rid of an unhappy man.

 Bell filled a pipe and cocked an eyebrow. "Told him a lot, didn't you, sir? You talk about converging evidence. I'd say you haven't got any evidence to take to a jury."

 "Not much. No." Reggie pulled out of his pocket the tie by which the girl was hanged. "What do you think of that?"

 Bell turned it over. "Good knots, sailor's knots."

 "Yes. Stow was in the navy. I looked him up."

 Bell grunted. "Well, that's another pointer. But it's not much, is it? Looks like one of those cases where you feel sure but you can't put the man in the dock. Clever fellow."

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured. "Very ingenious mind somewhere."

 "If you hadn't been at this school to - day, the girl would have been cut down dead; nobody would have thought of anything but suicide. Stow would have had a nice quiet little inquest and been on velvet."

 "Yes. That is so," Reggie smiled. "But I don't think he's feeling on velvet to - night."

 "I don't know. I don't see where you're going to get your evidence, even now."

 Reggie stood up. "The hypothetical aunt, my Bell."

 "That's all very well. You may find some connection with Stow. You may find a motive for him killing the girl. But that don't make evidence he tried."

 "My little ray of sunshine." Reggie contemplated him with affection. "Are we downhearted? No. We've saved the girl. Come to bed. We'll seek Aunt bright and early."

 So early in the morning they drove away to the cottage of Miss Brown. It stood sixty miles from Logate and far from anywhere, in a flat and lonely country, a small cottage, at the end of a small village, looking from the outside homely and well kept. To their knocking at the door no answer came. Bell strode off to the nearest neighbours. He was told that they didn't know nothing but they thought Miss Brown was gone away. A motor car did come to her place the night afore and she went off in it and they never see her come back.

 Superintendent Bell becomes annoyed when he meets attempts to frustrate his investigations. "Somebody's been very quick." He frowned at Reggie. "What's the game?"

 "Somebody's got the wind up," Reggie smiled. "Do you think Stow's made away with her?"

 "It could be," Reggie murmured. "She knows something we mustn't know."

 "That don't make sense to my mind. This woman's been living here with the girl; brought her up; let her go to Logate. And it's only when she gets there Stow meddles with her. Why did he wait?"

 "Yes. Why did he? Interestin' question. You'd better ask Miss Brown."

 "I'm going to have a job to find her."

 "Oh, my dear chap! What about the advertised resources of our highly organized police force?"

 "I'll set 'em to work," Bell frowned.

 "Yes. Yes. You make 'em find out where she's gone," Reggie smiled. "I want to know where she came from." He left Bell working the telephone in the village post office. He went to call on the village school.

 He found the mistress who had coached Nora for her scholarship, a worn and weary woman, but of a quick intelligence. She would tell him nothing till he told her what had happened to the girl. Then all she knew and all she thought was laid before him. She had always considered Nora a girl of uncommon ability and character; she had never heard of any relations, friends, enemies, anybody who took an interest in her. Miss Brown was an ordinary woman, rather dull, rather reserved, kind enough in a stolid way. She came to the village when Nora was a baby a year old or less. Nobody knew where from. Miss Brown kept much to herself; having money enough to live on, considered herself above the village people. She had not wanted Nora to go to Logate, but gave way.

 "I see. Yes." Reggie smiled. "You forced her hand."

 "I'd have done anything to give the child her chance," the mistress said fiercely. "I told her so."

 "Yes. Did she know anything about Logate?"

 "She'd never heard of it. She only objected because she thought it was what she called a school for the gentry."

 "I see. And what was Miss Brown? Not gentry?"

 "Oh, dear, no. She'd been a hospital nurse, I believe. I heard her say once she'd been trained at Exeter."

 "Is that so?" Over Reggie's face came a slow benign smile. "And her age?"

 "I couldn't say. Forty - fifty. I have a photograph of her with Nora. You can form your own opinion. That was taken five years ago."

 Reggie studied a photograph of a neat woman with fat and stolid face. "Splendid," he murmured. "Yes. Say forty plus now. At the Exeter hospital twenty plus years back. What's her colouring?"

 "Oh, fair, florid, blue eyes and brown hair."

 "Thanks very much. I may take the photograph?"

 "You'll let me have it back? It's the only one I have of Nora at that age."

 "Yes. Charmin' child. She is still. Yes. You shall have it safe. Thanks very much. Nora's had a good friend." He held out his hand.

 "You're working for her, aren't you?" There were tears in the tired eyes.

 "I'm for her," said Reggie gently. "Good - bye. I shall remember you." . . .

 Some days afterwards the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department saw in the personal column of the morning papers this advertisement: DEWES: Any person having knowledge of Mrs. Veronica Dewes, who died at Beton, Devon, January 1915, is desired to inform the Criminal Investigation Department, Scotland Yard.

 He was not pleased. He was making trouble about it in the Department when his telephone rang.

 "Is that Lomas? Fortune speaking. From Beton, Devon. Good morning. Seen the papers?"

 "Good Gad!" Lomas groaned. "I might have known it was you."

 "You might. Yes. Didn't you? Dear, dear. Never at your brightest in the morning. Any news of the vanished Miss Brown?"

 "Bell thinks she's sailed for Canada. He's wirelessing the ship. If it is the woman, we'll have her held on the other side."

 "Good. And Stow?"

 "Stow hasn't run. He's at his place in the country. We can't find any evidence he went to her cottage. He was out driving his own car that night. What's this new hare you've started?"

 "Not new. No. Same old hare. Miss Brown. After training in the Exeter hospital Miss Brown became district nurse at this charmin' place. Mrs. Dewes was living here. Young wife of a man said to have been killed in the war. In 1914 she had a baby, christened Veronica. Miss Brown nursed her. In 1915 she died, Miss Brown still nursing her. Baby also died. Cause of death in the register pneumonia for both. Doctor who gave the certificate is dead. Shortly after these deaths, Miss Brown vanished from Beton."

 "Queer story. So you want to find the relations of Mrs. Dewes? We'll look the man up in the casualty lists."

 "Yes. I want to know who they were. I also want an exhumation order."

 "What? Good Gad! For bodies buried fourteen years? You can't make out anything now, can you?"

 "It depends what I find."

 "You suspect foul play?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Something wrong. Put it through."

 "It's very unusual."

 "My only aunt!" the telephone moaned. "Here am I livin' in a fisherman's pub, and you talk about what's usual. Get on with it."

 But official objections might have delayed that order long if General Blaker had not called at Scotland Yard. It was some time before he interested Lomas. He had to explain why Jimmy Dewes was the best subaltern a man ever had and how he was killed at Le Cateau. But then he became relevant. Jimmy was the son of old Colonel Dewes and married without his father's consent and the old man wouldn't allow him a penny - didn't believe in early marriages for soldiers - poor old man, never thought there was a world war coming to kill all the lads off. Mrs. Dewes was a charming girl, dear creature, but the old man wouldn't look at her. So, naturally, when Jimmy was killed she was too proud to go to the old fellow - carried on as she could, till she died, poor thing, she and her baby, first winter of the war. Probably pined away when her man was gone - too many of 'em did. There was old Dewes left without a soul of his name. He didn't last long."

 "What became of his money?" asked Lomas.

 "Oh, he made no will - it went to the next of kin, a young cousin, a baronet. Stow the name is - Ingram Stow." . . .

 Under a red Devon cliff Reggie lay watching the sea. The girl child who delivered the telegrams of Beton came to him. He read this message: You win. Instructing county police. Arrange with them. Lomas.

 He scrambled to his feet and made for the village telephone.

 When the sun came over the cliff in the morning men began to dig into one of the nameless mounds in the little churchyard. They found the mother's coffin and the baby's lying side by side, and the tarnished plates. "All right. Carry on." He walked slowly away.

 Some hours later he came out of the mortuary in Exeter and strolled to the railway station. The Cornish express roared through, the slip carriage from it slid to the platform and Lomas jumped out. "My dear old thing," Reggie beamed at him. "All ready for you. Come along."

 "Has it gone all right?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Very nice and neat."

 Reggie put him into a taxi and said to the driver, "The mortuary."

 "Good Gad!" Lomas gasped. "You don't want to show me - -"

 "Oh, yes. You'd better have a look."

 "My dear fellow! I can't help you with this sort of thing."

 "Not help, no. I've finished. There's nothing to be done with the mother. We can hope she died a natural death. But the baby - well, it's very interesting."

 Lomas shuddered. "The baby didn't?"

 "No. No. That is indicated."

 They came to the mortuary and Reggie led him in. The woman's coffin was covered. In the baby's lay something wrapped in a shroud. Reggie beckoned to an attendant. "Unroll that again." It was lifted out and from the shroud came a pillow case. "There's the baby. A feather pillow with a few stones for makeweight. See? The baby didn't die. Miss Brown wasn't wholly inhuman. So we can hope the mother died by nature."

 "Good Gad!" said Lomas. "I suppose that's what you had in your head all the time."

 "Yes. Yes." Over Reggie's face came a slow benign smile. "That was the workin' hypothesis. Well, well. Now we can get on."

 They went back to their cab. "Lunch is indicated. A grave but placid lunch. You'll want to wind up the case with the police down here. Then we'll go back and deal with Stow."

 "It's not so easy to deal with Stow," Lomas frowned. "This doesn't make evidence that he tried to murder the girl at Logate. What have we got? It was his interest as the next heir to old Dewes to have this woman and her baby dead. The probability is he tried to arrange something with Miss Brown."

 "Oh, yes. Yes. I should say she told him the baby was dead, hadn't the heart to kill it, but took the price for its death. She retired on that and brought the girl up. Thus making the best of both worlds. Then the child turned out clever and the village school mistress took her up and got her into Logate. Miss Brown not knowin' enough to object. Thus Stow found a girl looking like the Dewes family in Logate and called Brown. That must have hit him hard. If anybody came along who knew the Dewes, there'd be questions. She's a strikin' child. I suppose he looked up Miss Brown and decided he had to get rid of the girl. And he made a very good try."

 "That's all very well. No doubt that's how it all happened. There's a very good chance of proving the girl heiress to the Dewes estate and showing Stow up. What do you think of the evidence for a criminal charge against him? If we can catch this Miss Brown and frighten her into telling the truth, we might make something of the fraud of the baby's death. But for the attempt to murder the girl at Logate, we're where we were. No case."

 "Yes. As you say," Reggie murmured. "No case. But we might ask him about it. Very interestin'."

 "Oh, I'll ask him," said Lomas. "But he's in touch with Logate. He must know we've got nothing more there. If you think he'll give himself away, you're hopeful."

 "Yes. Perhaps you're right," Reggie sighed. "A sad world."

 So they went to lunch and when Lomas had settled his business with the police took a train for Logate's county town. Reggie nearly missed it. He explained that he had been writing letters.

 That evening they conferred with the Chief Constable, and having laid the case before that amazed man, arranged with him to drive over in the morning and interrogate Stow in his own house. When they were leaving, "By the way," said Reggie, "have you kept your men watching Stow?"

 "Watched his house night and day, Mr. Fortune. And Logate. Made nothing of it. He's seen none of the school people. He's kept very quiet. Of course, he must know the girl's doing well and that would scare him. I have rather wondered he didn't try to bolt when he got that Miss Brown out of the country."

 Reggie looked at him with dreamy eyes. "Yes. That's interestin', isn't it? Good - night."

 The Chief Constable's car came to their hotel while they were still at an early breakfast. "Come on, Lomas." Reggie pushed back his chair. "All is best though oft we doubt - you're much better without that coffee. I wonder where they got it." And Lomas groaned and followed.

 The Chief Constable was brisk. " 'Morning. Morning. I thought we'd better lose no time. Seen the papers, Mr. Lomas?"

 "I'm not awake yet," Lomas mumbled. "They've got on to it. Look." And Lomas read: In the little fishing village of Beton on the Devonshire coast an exhumation was made yesterday by order of the Home Office. Two coffins were removed to Exeter. It is understood that a sensational discovery was made. Further developments in a case in another part of the country are expected.

 "That's as good as a straight tip to Sir Ingram Stow, isn't it?" said the Chief Constable. "If he's read that he'll be off."

 "You think so?" Reggie murmured. "You've still got a man watching his house."

 "I have, Mr. Fortune. And I sent off another on a motorbike as soon as I read this."

 "Then that is that," Reggie sighed.

 Lomas looked at him without affection, but his round face had a dreamy calm.

 By Stow's gate a motorcyclist tinkering with his machine waved them on. They came to the house, a big new place built on to an old one. "Been using the Dewes money," Lomas frowned.

 They were told by an aggrieved butler that Sir Ingram was still at breakfast. "He will see me at once," said Lomas. They were put into the library and he came.

 He was visibly a weaker man than he had been at Logate. He had shrunken, he was pale. He greeted the Chief Constable with a show of joviality; he was shy of Reggie, anxiously civil to Lomas. "I must suppose you've come on business, sir. I'm quite at your orders. What can I do?"

 "You'd better sit down," said Lomas. "I want to hear your account of your actions on the day Nora Brown was hanged at Logate."

 "My actions?" Stow laughed. "I had. no actions, so to speak. I went to Logate to see the play, saw it, went back to the schoolhouse and was talking there till we heard the poor child had hanged herself."

 "Oh, no. No." Reggie said. "That's not our information. The evidence is you went to the temple. You found the girl there. You struck her behind the ear and knocked her out. You took off her tie and hanged her. Then you went back to the schoolhouse and talked."

 "The evidence?" Stow gasped. "She's told you that?"

 "She?" said Reggie, and he laughed. "Didn't you think she would?"

 "It's a lie!" Stow cried.

 "Oh! She is lying? Which she do you mean?" He leaned forward, watching the man's fear with smiling curiosity.

 "The girl, of course." Stow licked his lips. "I don't understand."

 "There's more evidence than the girl's," said Reggie. "You know that. Do you choose to tell your story?"

 Stow looked at him white and shaking. "What do you mean, my story? I don't know what you've heard. I - -"

 But; Reggie was not listening. There was the sound of a car outside. He made for the window. He watched a moment and turned quickly. "Here she is," he said with a chuckle and hurried out.

 He came back grasping the arm of a large woman. She was red. She was protesting incoherently. She was Miss Evans.

 "Oh, yes. Yes." Reggie's placid voice cut across hers. "Much obliged to you. We wanted you. He says it wasn't his idea at all."

 Stow huddled in his chair. "I swear it wasn't," he muttered. " She thought of it like that. She said - -"

 "Ah, you hound!" the woman cried. She plucked at her bag, she pulled out a pistol and fired into his face. As she turned the pistol on herself, they flung themselves upon her. . . .

 "And that is that," Reggie sighed, watching the car drive her away to gaol. "One of my neater cases, Lomas, old thing." He lit a cigar. "We couldn't have hanged Stow. Now we've got 'em both. I daresay the late Stow told the truth in the end. I expect she put him up to the hanging. Feminine instinct about it."

 "No doubt she did," Lomas agreed. "That's why she shot when the fellow rounded on her."

 "It could be. Yes. I should say she was mad at losing what she played for. Always being frustrated."

 "What do you mean?"

 "That she wasn't going to be Lady Stow. When he wanted to get at the girl he had this disgruntled woman ready to be used. But she wouldn't do murder for nothing. Sort of woman who'd stood out for the top price. Marriage. I should say it was because she thought that was right off, she put a pistol in her bag when she came to call."

 "But what brought her this morning?"

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap!" Reggie smiled. "She reads the papers."

 "Good Gad! That cursed paragraph." Lomas stared at him. "That was you, of course."

 "Yes. Yes. I thought it might draw her," Reggie murmured. "It did, didn't it? Quite a neat case."

 SECOND CASE THE MOUNTAIN MEADOW IT was once the opinion of Mr. Fortune that no place is more gratifying than the terrace of the Hotel Margot at Praz.

 What you eat there is inspired by the genius of Folliquet. You breathe an air which gives to the southern sunshine the quickening power of the eternal snows. What you see is, beyond flowering meadows, a gaunt, grey cliff from the midst of which breaks an arch of black water, falling beneath a veil of silver lace of spray into the abyss of a gorge; beyond that again, shoulders and hollows of orchard land lead to a lake of lavender and peacock blue and green, guarded far off by the mass of the great mountains rising at last white to the sky.

 But Mr. Fortune does not return to the Hotel Margot.

 This is matter of incomprehensible regret to Folliquet, an artist without desire for popularity, but valuing the approval of the elect. The Hotel Margot is off the line of the processions marching now by the way of the Alps to and from the Riviera. Of the crowd of the rich and their imitators who take the cure at Montrond - les - Bains by the lake, only a few venture the climb of a thousand feet to Folliquet's hotel.

 To recover from the exhaustion of that winter wherein the horrible affair of the guinea fowl followed upon the long and bitter controversy which sent the professor of physiology to penal servitude, Mr. Fortune was taken abroad by his wife. The southern summer came early in that year. The pastures above the Hotel Margot were already tall, though the gold of the anemones still shone in their first glory when they discovered it. Now behold them, in the bloom given to the wise who abide with Folliquet, eating their sixth lunch on the terrace of the Hotel Margot. The crayfish are gone, the crepes de volaille are going, and Mr. Fortune is trying once more to define what faint, exciting flavour it is which haunts that white wine of the upper Rhone. The other dozen people in the row of little tables are older, sedate, French. Restful company.

 A one - horse carriage crawled down the hill and, creaking, stopped. The aged man who drove it wore a coachman's coat and a straw hat. He came stiffly from the box and made a great show of helping out two ladies.

 The first was small and old, but of a dignity; the other young, and, in a grave way, comely, waited upon her slow gait with gentle care. Some of the people at lunch were given bows and smiles and made a fuss of answering. Folliquet himself came out, led them to the best table, hovered over them assiduously.

 Mrs. Fortune smiled. "They must be rather nice."

 "Yes. Folliquet's quite a good judge. That's how he behaves with you."

 "My dear child! I should look like nobody beside her. She's majestic."

 Reggie contemplated his wife with happy amusement, "People look at you first beside anyone, Joan. It's the comfort of my declinin' years. I have not lived in vain. Still, she is impressive. Sort of threepenny - bit queen."

 Mrs. Fortune wrinkled her admirable nose, "After all, you're only a man," she said with pity. "Don't you see, it's her manner. Beautifully sure and calm. And the girl goes with her so finely. She'll be like that too some day. But now - I suppose a man wouldn't say she's beautiful."

 "Not this man, no. Good to see. So quiet." Reggie considered the two with grave approval. "They do go together," he agreed.

 "There's some verse about careless angels," Mrs. Fortune said slowly. "That would do. Two careless angels."

 Folliquet arrived on his ritual round of receiving compliments from his guests, a round man with a jovial face behind vast moustaches. He bowed, he twirled them, he grinned. "Your lonch, he is all right, yes, mister, madame?" he asked, for he loves to believe that he speaks English.

 "It was the best lunch in the world, till tomorrow," said Mrs. Fortune, which is as much as Folliquet expects to get out of a woman.

 Reggie charmed him by an investigation why there were chives in the crepes de volatile.

 When he had calmed down: "Who are your guests of honour, Mr. Folliquet?" said Mrs. Fortune.

 Folliquet rolled his eyes. "Ah, madame, you 'ave not to ask zat, you." He bowed, he twirled his gallant moustaches, he chuckled. "Ze uzzer ladies - you do not know? It is damage. You would be sympathetic. And zen, zey are English. It is Madame Rothay who has the chateau, the old Chateau Laroche, since a long time, and meess her grandchild, Meess Leigh. Zey come all ze summers. Zey like often to lonch at Folliquet."

 "They have good taste," said Mrs. Fortune, and Folliquet ambled off for the homage of other tables, and Reggie and she went down to the garden, where under the orange umbrella by the syringa their coffee would arrive. "Mrs. Rothay," she repeated, "and Miss Leigh. Mrs. Rothay, Reggie?"

 "No, dear. Means nothing in my young life," Reggie mumbled over his cigar, and dropped the match in a hurry and fell back in his long chair gazing with round eyes of horror at the road.

 A car had come, a large car of a violent yellow and much bright metal. It disgorged two men worthy of it - a large man who had a flat, shiny sallow face and an eyeglass in it, whose tailor had tried to give him a figure of curves; a smaller man made like a barrel with little legs: the back of his neck showed rolls of fat, and when he turned it was seen the other side of him was worse, a fat face, red and arrogant, with a moustache bristling above full lips which turned over like a negro's. They talked loud and loudly laughed, in contempt of the small simplicity of the Hotel Margot, and their language was English.

 "My country! Oh, my country!" Reggie moaned.

 One with a swagger, one with a strut, they made their way to the terrace, looked the guests over insolently, and chose a table. No one attended to them. The Hotel Margot does not approve of people who come for lunch late.

 Folliquet continued his conversations at other tables. When he chose at last to present himself, he scowled, he grunted an inarticulate question.

 A scolding in bad fluent French began. "Ah, spik English," Folliquet cried. "Zen I can onderstand."

 "One for you, Sam," the smaller man laughed. "Here, get this into your head. They told me at the Magnifique at Montrond your little place can turn out a good lunch. I want the best you can do. Let's have it now. I'm Lord Oakhurst - Lord Oakhurst. Understand?"

 Folliquet shrugged. "You can 'ave ze lonch of ze day - - if zere is of it," he grunted, turned his back on the Lord Oakhurst, and rolled away. "Lord Oakhurst," Mrs. Fortune said with dislike. What is he? Why is he?"

 "I haven't the remotest idea." Reggie contemplated the pair. "No. Reason for existence unknown. As with other orders of insects. What is he? Financial. One of our larger parasites. Mergers and trusts and things. I suppose the big fellow's his toady or man of dirty work."

 Lord Oakhurst, having nothing else to occupy him, twisted his chair and stared at the other people. The two ladies most attracted his bulging eyes. He spoke to his companion and laughed, and ogled the young one. She was, or chose to be, unaware of it, but the old lady turned, looked at him a moment that could be felt, though Oakhurst showed no sign of feeling it, then called a waitress with her eyes and ordered the carriage.

 There was a flutter in the background, Folliquet came trotting and made anxious talk, escorting them through the garden. The old carriage creaked away with them.

 "Darlings," Mrs. Fortune sighed, "I didn't want you to go. What loathsome men, Reggie. Wouldn't you like to knock their heads together?"

 "Not much. No. Too greasy," Reggie murmured. "Some more refined torture. However, Folliquet's not inadequate."

 The two men had long to wait before any food was given them, longer still for their next course, and not till they were at the end of that did the whisky and soda they clamoured for arrive.

 Reggie chuckled. "If the food they're getting is as bad as the service, Folliquet's done 'em proud. Bless him!" He gazed at his wife with solemn eyes. "But I rather wonder, you know."

 "What?"

 "I wonder they stick it out. I wonder why they came?"

 They did stick it out. Though the bill extorted an oath from Oakhurst, the other man paid it without dispute. "Now then. Order my car. Lord Oakhurst's car. Lord Oakhurst's." The raucous voice was loud.

 The car slid to the gate, the two came to it and stood together a moment. The larger man looked at Oakhurst, and Oakhurst spoke. "You want to be getting back, Sam, eh? I'd like to stay up here a bit. Just take Mr. Fry, Robinson."

 The chauffeur touched his cap. "Shall I come back for you, my lord?"

 "No, don't want to be bothered with you. By - by, Sam." The car carried off Mr. Fry, and Lord Oakhurst strutted away.

 "My only aunt!" Reggie gazed after him. "He's gone for a walk!"

 "Yes, dear. You'd better come for a walk, too."

 "Not now. No. After tea. Nice little walk after tea, Joan." Reggie lay back and closed his eyes.

 "Nice long walk. Else you'll be like Lord Oakhurst," said Mrs. Fortune firmly.

 How things would have turned if he had gone for a walk then is a speculation of some interest. But he slept beneath the syringa, and the peace of afternoon encompassed the Hotel Margot and all who lived there.

 It was the next morning and what he would call early that he saw Mrs. Rothay again. He had just come down to breakfast, so the time may not have been much after nine, and she was alone. Folliquet popped out of his little cupboard of an office, solicitous and surprised. But she only wanted to telephone, if it would not disturb him. They went into the office together. Folliquet got the number for her, a long affair, for it was a number in Paris, and left her alone.

 Her conversation lasted some minutes. As the faithful Folliquet took her back to her carriage she was faintly flushed and smiling. Folliquet returned to give Reggie and Mrs. Fortune good - morning.

 "Ladies call on you early, my friend." Reggie smiled.

 "Oh, la la! Madame Rothay, she is a friend of ze 'ouse."

 "Doesn't like some of your guests, does she?"

 "How? Ah, zose animals at lonch, is it not?" Folliquet made a grimace. "Be tranquil. Zey do not return to ze Hotel Margot, I zink."

 "Does Mrs. Rothay know Lord Oakhurst?"

 Folliquet stared. "But no. Not possible? 'E 'as never been 'ere before, zat milord." Folliquet laughed disgust, and then was uneasy. "But you, you know 'im?"

 "God forbid!" Reggie murmured.

 Folliquet was reassured. "I zink so, yes." He twirled his moustaches. "Ah zut! I suppose'e is all sewn up with gold, is it not?"

 "So they say."

 "And what an animal at last! Zose peoples, I kick myself of zem." Folliquet marched away.

 After breakfast Reggie was ordered by his wife to take her to the Noirlac. This can only be done on foot or a mule. Of the two forms of suffering Reggie prefers the use of his own feet.

 The first mile is on the one winding road which serves all the scattered houses in the upland and links it with the valleys on either side. It climbs between rich pastures, which were then bearing the first crop of hay unmown, not yet at its full height. They came to the point where the road turns away from the steepening slope and a rough bridle path strikes on between rocks and pines.

 Reggie stopped and sat down on a stone and contemplated nature. "My good child!" Mrs. Fortune protested. "Don't be futile. We haven't begun yet."

 "Look at him," Reggie murmured.

 "The man cutting grass?" Mrs. Fortune looked at a sturdy peasant plying his scythe with fierce energy. "What's the matter with him?"

 "Why is he cutting the grass?" said Reggie plaintively. "Nobody else is cutting their grass. It isn't ready. It isn't nearly ready."

 The man became aware of their interest in him and stopped his scythe and scowled at them. "There" - Mrs. Fortune smiled - "you hate to see him working and he hates to see you doing nothing. How human! Come along, my child. Excelsior!"

 After one short, straight pitch, the path began to zigzag, in a chaos of tumbled masses of rock. Here and there on either side the rocks were divided by deep clefts in which could be seen sometimes the dingy gleam of masses of the winter snow, sometimes only the darkness of an abyss. Reggie found another excuse for a halt in dropping stones that he might listen for the sound of the fall and count the seconds and guess the depth. A good excuse, for once and twice no sound came back. Then there was too much: a crash, another crash, a thud, a faint splash.

 "Underground water," he murmured. "There would be. It's all limestone. Quite a depth."

 "How wonderful!" said Mrs. Fortune, not respectfully. "Nice game, wasn't it, dear? But there's quite a height, too. Upward and onward."

 Reggie sighed. "You have no scientific interests, Joan. Only a nice, dreadful body."

 He climbed with her, panting, but nevertheless, to the Noirlac, a dark grey pool in a half - circle of grey cliff. From the plateau on which it lay there was a wide prospect over the bright pastures and the cliffs and the waterfall beyond the Hotel Margot to the great blue lake of Montrond. They sat and looked long.

 "It was worth while to come up, wasn't it?" said Mrs. Fortune.

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Rather wonderful," Reggie murmured. "Some fellow said he would not have life without death." He gazed at his wife with large dreamy eyes.

 "Don't be grim."

 "I'm not. No. Only lookin' at the live world from where nothing lives."

 Mrs. Fortune did not answer for a moment. Then she said, "I didn't know how lovely it was," and was silent again.

 "Kind of poignant, yes."

 "Well! But the human things are dear - all the chalets and that little chateau - isn't that just good and right?"

 Reggie looked. Away towards the waterfall cliffs, on a knoll of the mountainside, but in sheltered sunshine, stood a chateau which was one round tower with a low house, not so old yet mellow with age, built on to it, a little fort which had once guarded the upland road, made into a home. "I suppose that's the Chateau Laroche," Reggie murmured, "where the old lady lives."

 "She should." Mrs. Fortune smiled. "It's just right for her."

 "Yes, goes very well, yes. Did you say I should have some lunch, Joan?"

 Mrs. Fortune stood up. "Small boy," she said, and wandered away round the lake. Reggie sighed deeply and waited and had to wait long. She came back and announced that there was a charming stream flowing down into the lake from the mountains. Reggie gazed at her with plaintive reproach. "Where do you suppose the water goes, Reggie?" she said brightly. "There's ever so much running in and no stream from it at all. Come and see."

 "Don't want to see," Reggie mumbled. "Goes out underground. Forms that river breakin' out of the cliffs above the hotel. You're makin' conversation, Joan. Very painful in a wife."

 She smiled at the heights. "If we'd only brought some sandwiches, we could go up the Bricblanc."

 "Up?" Reggie was shrill. "Up any more? Oh, my hat! And sandwiches!" He scrambled to his feet. "When a woman's mind runs on sandwiches, she's not a rational animal." He took his wife firmly by the arm and made haste away with her.

 And nothing more disturbed their peace for two days.

 Reggie was smoking under the syringa, the peace of afternoon lay upon the Hotel Margot. A car arrived, a bulky man came out of it, stood one moment to give a comprehensive glance round him, and with a step very light and quick for his weight walked on through the garden.

 "Well, well!" Reggie murmured, and rolled out of his long chair. For the man was M. Dubois, a person of importance in the investigation of French crime.

 "My dear friend!" Dubois took both his hands. "Ah, and madame also. I am infinitely fortunate." Her hand was kissed. "They told me I should find a beautiful place. But you - you make it something more. To see Mrs. Fortune, it is to be glad. You stay here?"

 "We've been here a week now. Are you on holiday, too? That would be delightful."

 "Ah, madame, you are kind. What delight for me! But no. I do not make holiday."

 "No. I thought you didn't," Reggie murmured.

 "Aha?" One of Dubois's eyebrows went up.

 Mrs. Fortune rose. "He is supposed to be resting, Monsieur Dubois," she said. "But you'll stay to tea, won't you?"

 "Madame!" Dubois bowed. "I did not come to trouble him." And when she was gone: "My friend, of all the women I have seen, it is she I admire most."

 "Thanks. Me, too," Reggie murmured.

 Dubois looked round the empty garden and drew his chair close. "You know why I am here?"

 "Not me, no. I thought somebody might be coming along."

 "And for what, then?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea. But there's something queer about."

 "Like that, eh?" Dubois looked at him curiously. "You feel purposes, passions, I know. Me, I have only facts. It is like this. Two Englishmen came last week to stay at Montrond - the Lord Oakhurst and his secretary, Mr. Samuel Fry. You know them, perhaps?"

 "I've seen them. Don't know 'em, thank heaven."

 "So. Lord Oakhurst, he is of your high finance - -"

 "Not high, no. Financier."

 "My friend, it appears he shakes civilisation - the Stock Exchanges." Dubois made a grimace. "Well, it is the day before yesterday, in the evening, Mr. Samuel Fry goes to the police at Montrond and says his Lord Oakhurst did not come home the night before, he is disappeared and without a word. Mr. Fry fears an accident, a foul play, he cannot tell, he is much distressed, he desires a search. He says he parted from Lord Oakhurst the afternoon before, here at the Hotel Margot, where they came to lunch. He went back to Montrond in the car, but Oakhurst stayed here to take a walk."

 "Yes. That is so," Reggie murmured.

 "What, you can confirm him! Aha! It is very fortunate for Mr. Samuel Fry."

 "Is it?" Reggie gazed at him dreamily. "I can't help it. Oakhurst sent Fry back in the car. Oakhurst said he wanted to walk. Wholly incredible. But he said it. And he walked."

 "Incredible?" Dubois repeated.

 "Oh, yes. Absolutely. But it happened. Oakhurst wasn't the man to walk - either in body or soul. However. Why did you say it was fortunate for Mr. Fry I heard the interestin' conversation?"

 Dubois's eyes puckered. "Mr. Fry, he is peculiar. You see, it was Monday they came here and Oakhurst stayed and disappeared. Tuesday evening Mr. Fry gave notice to the police his lord is missing. But on Tuesday morning began a big selling of the Oakhurst shares - Empire Textiles - what do you call them?"

 "I don't," Reggie murmured. "I shouldn't know."

 "It does not matter. There has been a slump in all the Oakhurst companies. But it began with this, his new cartel or combine of textiles, and it began by heavy selling in London on Tuesday morning. You perceive? One whole day before the disappearance of Oakhurst was published, one business day before the police were told of it. Very well. But on Tuesday morning early Mr. Fry sent two telegrams to London. Both were addressed to stock - brokers. Both were of few letters only: 't - o - t - e' and 'b - o - o - k - i - e.' That is perhaps a cipher, though we make nothing of it. But - -"

 "Oh, no. Not cipher. Simple English slang words, both from betting. Very appropriate. Probably an agreed signal."

 "Without doubt. On receiving these code words the brokers were to start selling Oakhurst shares. At least, they did so, these two - I have that confirmed from our good friends at Scotland Yard. Well, then, Mr. Fry had arranged before his lord disappeared to sell the Oakhurst shares - his lord does disappear - he gives the signal to sell before he gives information of the disappearance - he has a day of selling at a good high price - then it is made public his lord is vanished, down come the Oakhurst shares." Dubois slammed his hand on the table. "Now on Friday they are what you please. Mr. Fry can buy all he has sold so well for nothing. It is very fine business for Mr. Samuel Fry."

 "Quite neat, yes," Reggie murmured, and his round face was plaintive and troubled. "Not a nice case, Dubois. Not nice people at all."

 Dubois made a grimace. "I do not think Mr. Fry will find it nice. I do not want that he should."

 "Oh, no. No. But I like to work for somebody."

 "What would you have?" Dubois shrugged. "We work for justice."

 Reggie sighed. "Well, we hope so. Sometimes we do."

 "Ah, my friend, it is not romantic to avenge a fat rogue of a financier on his big rogue of a secretary. But after all, one does not want the big rogue to make a fortune by murder. That is bad for civilization."

 "Yes. Horrid thing, duty. Yes. What do you suppose was done to Oakhurst?"

 "What do I know? He went walking up here in the mountains alone. They tell me there are ten thousand places his body might be hidden."

 "That is so. Have they looked for him?"

 "But yes, they look a little. There has not been much time yet, and as they say, it is very difficult. Oakhurst was here on Monday; that is all we know, not even which way he went then."

 "He went up the road." Reggie pointed.

 "Well, there is something at least." Dubois looked across the meadows to the mountainside. "You have been that way since, my friend?"

 "Yes. I didn't find him." Reggie lay back. "What is the official theory, Dubois? You were saying Fry murdered him. Fry has a sort of alibi."

 "That he went back in the car?" Dubois shrugged. "Without doubt he went back - all the way to the Hotel Magnifique. At least the chauffeur says so. But what then? It is a few minutes in the car. It is perhaps an hour to walk up here again - less, he is a vigorous man. Very simple to come back and meet his lord - and leave him in a crevasse and be down to dinner in the Hotel Magnifique. He could kill an ox with his hands, that Mr. Fry."

 "Yes. The Fry physique is emphatic. Oakhurst wouldn't have a chance with him. And it was a queer alibi. Struck me at the time. So like an alibi. Oakhurst provided it himself, you know. Very careful about it."

 "What?" Dubois cried. "Tell me, then."

 "Oakhurst told the chauffeur Fry had to go back, but he wouldn't himself. Deliberate elimination of Fry."

 "Sacrelotte!" Dubois muttered.

 "Could mean nothing. Quite easy to be fed up with Mr. Fry. Could mean several things. That Oakhurst had reasons for wanting Fry out of the way. That they had agreed Fry should be advertised out of the way. Queer, but obscure. Possibly related to the original obscurity."

 "What is that, then?"

 "Why did they come here at all? Not for the view. They wouldn't know there is one. Not for the cooking. They would think garbage in an hotel - de - luxe better than Folliquet's best."

 "They are that type, yes." Dubois nodded. "It is curious."

 "Oh, yes. Also Oakhurst took care to put it on record he had come here. He told the world he was Lord Oakhurst. He said it very loud and clear, several times. Curiouser and curiouser."

 "Bigre!" Dubois exclaimed. "You make it difficult."

 "Not me, no," Reggie moaned. "The facts are difficult." He gazed at Dubois, and his round face was prolonged by a solemn anxiety. "I think we've got into a beastly case, Dubois."

 "Ah, my friend! Do not be troubled. I am devilish wrong to plague you with my little affairs. Mrs. Fortune will never forgive me. Think no more of it, I beg you; it is not your task, there is no call upon you. When I come to England for a holiday - -"

 "You don't. No Frenchman ever did."

 Dubois laughed. "If I did, then, you would not make me work at your cases. Let it go."

 "My dear fellow!" Reggie laughed. "I can't. You know that. This sort of thing is what I'm for."

 Dubois made a display of grave and respectful agreement. "I understand, yes. One cannot refuse to help justice, is it not? Well, I am a villain to bring the affair upon you. I am most glad to have you. But after all, my friend, it is not a case that one feels. It is a technical problem - no more; there are not emotions in it."

 "You think not?" Reggie murmured.

 "I think you are not at your ease. I do not understand why. There is something more than you say."

 "Yes. The ladies. The irrelevant ladies." Reggie sat up and told him of Mrs. Rothay and Miss Leigh.

 Dubois's big face showed some demure amusement. "I knew that you had good taste, my friend. They made their impression, these two. They must be charming. But you frighten me. That animal Oakhurst, he is impudent to the young lady - and at once he is no more. It is too clear. Mr. Fortune took vengeance upon him."

 "I don't think that's very funny, you know," Reggie said.

 "Ah, pardon," Dubois chuckled. "But, as you say, what is the official theory? Oakhurst and Fry came up here to be rude to these ladies?"

 "Oh, no. Oakhurst and Fry didn't know 'em. It was just casual natural brutality. But I should say Mrs. Rothay knew Oakhurst."

 Dubois shrugged. "It is very possible. He was rich, he was a lord, he would be known to many in England, and she is English. But what then? She did not bring him here, for he did not know her. She was gone with the young lady a long while before he was left alone. It means nothing, that I see."

 "No. I don't see what it means. I don't see what anything means. However. Oh, here's Joan. Now we'll have tea, and then I'll take you for a little walk."

 "Aha?" Dubois cocked an eyebrow, and Mrs. Fortune came and he was gaily devoted.

 Reggie allowed himself to lapse into the obscurity of a husband: polite when they wanted him, bringing back a busy and troubled mind to fleeting attention.

 "Well, Joan, Dubois wants me to go for a walk." He struggled out of his chair.

 "My poor child!" She smiled at him. "Nobody loves you. Run along." But she put her hand on his a moment.

 "You ought to hate me, madame," Dubois said gravely. "But I dare to believe you will not. Let me say au revoir then." He kissed her hand. They went off up the hill.

 Dubois took Reggie's arm. "In fact I am a shameless rascal, my friend."

 "Oh, no. No. I'd like to be in it - if it has to be. And thank God it's with you."

 "I thank you." Dubois looked at him earnestly but with a certain curiosity. "That is the finest compliment I have ever had. But one must confess, my friend, I do not find the affair so serious yet. What is it you have to show me?"

 "I've something more to tell you first. The morning after Oakhurst disappeared, quite early, Mrs. Rothay came to the hotel to telephone. She hasn't a 'phone at her chateau, Folliquet says. And she telephoned to Paris."

 "Why not?" Dubois put up his eyebrows. "It is quite natural."

 "Oh, yes. Many innocent reasons. But there's another message on the morning the slump in Oakhurst shares started from somebody who was with Oakhurst just before he vanished."

 "To Paris." Dubois frowned. "We can trace the call, of course. We cannot tell what she said. There would be no selling on the Paris Bourse, I think. We French are not interested in Oakhurst companies. I tell you frankly, my friend, I see nothing in it."

 "There shouldn't be," Reggie mumbled. "It's all wrong."

 "I do not understand." Dubois looked at him again. "You make suspicions of these ladies, and out of nothing, as it seems. What is in your mind? You do not like them - you believe them in a plot?"

 "My God, no," Reggie groaned. "I couldn't believe it. My wife said they looked like angels. They do. I loved 'em. Don't you see, that's why I have to be careful to tell you everything that's queer about 'em. It's so damned incredible. But we've got to work out the truth - whatever it is."

 "Ah, I understand at last, my friend," Dubois said slowly. "Yes, they are harassing, these cases. Well! One does as one can." They walked on up the hill. "What is it you would show me?"

 "That," said Reggie, and pointed to the mown meadow. The hay was already gone from it.

 Dubois looked and stared back at him. "That? What then?"

 "It's been cut."

 "As I see. And why not?"

 "Question indicated is why," Reggie mumbled. "Why? It wasn't ready. It wouldn't have been ready for some time. Look at the rest. But that piece is cut and no more. It was cut the morning after Oakhurst disappeared. I saw the fellow cutting it and he didn't like me seeing him at all. And it's just at the corner where the road turns round to Mrs. Rothay's chateau."

 "Name of a pipe!" Dubois cried. "Always the ladies!" He looked about him, frowning. "But you drag them in by the hair. At the turn of the road - yes, it turns here - and what does that signify? - it has turned before and it turns again and again - besides, it goes to many places, not only the home of the ladies - it goes at last down to the valley again and to Switzerland." One eyebrow went up. "Hem? Over the frontier to Switzerland. It is not so many kilometres, my friend. Also, there are trains and automobiles down in the valley. And along this road the Lord Oakhurst chose to walk. Aha?"

 "You mean he's just bolted?" Reggie said. "Yes, it could be. Why?"

 "Suppose he had his reasons to vanish. These rich men, they are not always secure - and he is a mushroom rich, is it not? In fact, it is my instructions, these bad times had made difficulties for the Lord Oakhurst."

 "Oh. You didn't tell me that."

 "Pardon. I have no secrets from you. I thought you would have considered that explanation already. He is not the first financier to disappear in a bad time. But this is the best place to disappear from that any have chosen. It is so easy to die here by accident and be for ever hidden - in the lake - in a crevasse - in the wilderness of the mountains. Unless we find him alive quickly, all the world will believe he is dead so. And then, suppose again he intended a disappearance, everything explains itself - that he came to the Hotel Margot - that he announced his name there so loud - that he arranged to be left there alone - it is to advertise the Lord Oakhurst is lost in the mountains. But Mr. Fry would know of his difficulties. Mr. Fry would see the chance to make a coup for himself and take it quickly." Dubois chuckled. "There, my friend. What of that for an exact theory?"

 "Rather good," Reggie murmured. "Yes. Quite good."

 "I think so." Dubois looked down his nose. "At least I like it better than your ladies, my dear friend. It explains things."

 "Oh, yes. Yes. And why was the grass cut?" said Reggie.

 Dubois laughed. "That, no - it does not explain that, indeed. I fail there altogether. Perhaps that grass does not grow well. Perhaps beasts strayed into it and spoilt the crop. What do I know? I am not agricultural. And you?"

 Reggie was not amused. He gazed at Dubois with round inquiring eyes. "And spoilt the crop," he repeated. "You mean beat it down? Yes. I thought of that. We'd better go over the ground."

 "If you please," Dubois shrugged. They paced the shorn grass, Dubois methodical but perfunctory, Reggie slow and stooping close, to examine each yard like a botanist searching for small rarities. Dubois satisfied himself there was nothing to see, lit a small cigar, and watched Reggie's poring care with an indulgent smile. After a while Reggie dropped on his knees and smoothed at a patch of ground with both hands. Dubois muttered, "Sac a papier!" and came to him quickly. "What is it, then?"

 Reggie sat on his heels and held out in the palm of a hand three white things.

 "Name of a name! Teeth!" Dubois exploded. "They are human, hein?"

 "Not the natural product. But from a human mouth. Probably a man's. Three front teeth of a denture in the upper jaw. There's a stain on the ground too. Earth's been raked over it. Looks like blood. Not a lot, but I should say you can verify. Front teeth and blood. That's why the grass was cut, Dubois." He found an envelope in his pocket and put the teeth in it, he took the cigars from his cigar case and filled it with the bloodstained earth. "There you are. Exhibits A and B."

 Dubois took them. "Thank you very much," he said without enthusiasm. "And what is your conclusion, then?"

 "My only aunt! Nothing. We're not near a conclusion yet. Several inferences. Some fellow recently came on this bit of pasture, for an unknown purpose, was hit in the face violently, lay here and bled. Owner of the pasture didn't like the mess made of the grass, so cut it. Which was done the morning after Oakhurst disappeared."

 "Very well." Dubois nodded. "But tell me, why should Oakhurst come upon this pasture?"

 "The unknown purpose. Yes. That is a bafflin' problem."

 Dubois looked round him. "To cross the pasture - that takes a man nowhere - and he was almost in the middle of it when he dropped his teeth. You see, there is no certainty that the teeth came out of the Lord Oakhurst. Confess, my friend, to say some of the peasants had a quarrel, an accident here. That would explain all more easily."

 "It could be. I should say the teeth didn't come from a peasant's mouth. They cost a good deal. However." He looked round the pasture with vague and lingering eyes.

 "Whoever it was," said Dubois, "someone struck him with great strength, is it not?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Heavy blow."

 "That would rule out your ladies, my friend," Dubois smiled.

 "Absolutely. Quite beyond them."

 "But not at all beyond our Mr. Fry."

 "No. Fits him very well."

 "And then - suppose it was the Lord Oakhurst and he was killed. Where would you look for the body?"

 "The body, "Reggie murmured. "Oh, yes." He contemplated Dubois dreamily. "It could be up there." He pointed. " On the way to the Noirlac. Lots of holes and crevasses and what not. Quite deep. Not very far, either. But heavy work to carry a body up that path. He wasn't large, but fat, the enigmatic Oakhurst."

 "The large Mr. Fry, he could do it?"

 "Yes. Quite capable." Reggie stared up the path. "I should say that would be the best way to eliminate the corpse. But I'm not a native, you know. Remains the original, bafflin' problem, why did the hypothetical deceased come on to the uncut grass? No visible purpose. Also, there's a path at the side." Reggie moved across the shorn patch. Round the edge was a narrow track. On one hand it led, twisting and turning, through the long grass, on the other up to the road and the Noirlac path and the mountainside.

 He walked a little either way, stopped and picked up a few faded flowers. "Well, what have you now?" Dubois cried.

 Reggie held out reddish shrivelled petals. "I don't know the French name of it. It's Alpen - glockela soldanella. It didn't grow down here. Higher up, among the rocks."

 "And then?" said Dubois impatiently.

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured. "No obvious relation with the hypothetical Oakhurst." His hand closed on the flowers. "I should say you'd better go back to Montrond."

 "I have been waiting for you to say so." Dubois took his arm and turned away. "There is enough to do."

 "Quite a lot. Yes. What were you thinking of doing?"

 "First, I telegraph to your good friends at Scotland Yard that they find out for me if the Lord Oakhurst had false teeth. Second, I make the police of Montrond busy, to bring me the man who owns this piece of land and the man who cuts the grass. Third, I organize a search for the body. Fourth, I order a test for the blood."

 "Yes. Fairly comprehensive. Previously, I should have Mr. Fry watched."

 "Do not fear," Dubois chuckled. "That is done already."

 "All right. Well, if I were you, I shouldn't talk to the gentleman who cut the grass or to Mr. Fry either. Not until you have the result of the blood test and information about Oakhurst's dentistry. And when you put 'em through it, I'd like to be there, if you don't mind."

 "My friend, but it is an honour to me," Dubois said heartily. They came back to his car and he drove away. But Reggie did not go into the hotel; he climbed again to the cut grass and took the narrow path at the side and wandered along its windings through the uncut fragrant meadows. It was very narrow, though an aged and worn path, set with flat stones in its wet places, the long grass closing over it. He went slowly, stopping again and again, till he looked up and saw close upon him the mellow walls of the Chateau Laroche. He stood a moment gazing at it, turned, and still more slowly made his way back to the hotel. His round face was disturbed by grave perplexities.

 In the morning a car came up from Montrond for Mr. Fortune. A fusty little room at the police station was filled by the exuberance of Dubois. "My dear friend, you triumph. It was blood, yes, also the Lord Oakhurst had false teeth. Here is his dentist, precise and particular." He slapped Reggie on the back and gave him a copy of a telegram.

 "Oh, yes. Bridge work upper jaw. Right canine, two right incisors, one left. We didn't find a canine. But the other three are what they should be. Yes. Hypothesis of Oakhurst on the grass confirmed."

 "And the hypothesis Oakhurst was murdered there," said Dubois. "That; it is sure. I thank you. I should never have made it out without you."

 "Strictly speakin', we haven't made it out," Reggie murmured. "I'm not sure I've done you any good. You wouldn't have taken it this way without me. But that was luck. I happened to see the grass cut. It may have been bad luck. You would have found a line for yourself."

 "Well, perhaps I should not have failed," Dubois smiled. "He is not altogether helpless alone, poor old Dubois. In fact I see other ways. But I do not refuse what the gods offer. And I am grateful, dear friend. Come, forward. I have here the peasant who owns the grass. Mr. Fry, he also is invited to speak with Dubois of the Surete. The peasant first, I think, eh?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. The more we know before we talk to Fry the better. By the way, did you find out anything about Mrs. Rothay's call to Paris?"

 "Be at ease. She rang up one of the English banks. Yes, Fox's. Her own bank, without doubt. It is entirely natural."

 The peasant was brought in. Reggie saw again the bearded face which had scowled at him over the scythe. It was sullen, but it showed no sign of knowing him, none of fear.

 Dubois was paternal. "There, sit down, my lad. It is a plague to be brought down from your farm, is it not? Well, it was a great plague to me to come from Paris. But one must do one's duty. Well, then! You can tell me some little things. You are Michel Pie of Praz? Yes. The meadow up there, where the path goes to the Noirlac at the turn of the road, that is yours? Yes. On Tuesday morning you mowed it. Come, why?"

 "Why not? It is mine," Michel growled.

 "Agreed. Why did you mow on Tuesday? The grass was not ready."

 "You may say so!" Michel said vehemently. "There is the devil of it. I lose half of my crop there. Had to cut. It was all tramped down."

 "Why, how was that?"

 "Some dirty fellows of tourists. They drive us mad, those lumps."

 "Tourists so early!" Dubois put up his eyebrows. "Come, my boy, that is not very likely. How do you know it was tourists? Tell me, Michel - " he leaned across the table and his eyes were keen - "did they leave anything of themselves behind?"

 "Don't understand." Michel frowned. "What could a man leave? There was nothing."

 "Nothing?" said Dubois sharply. "Remember now. When did you find your grass flat?"

 Michel took some time to think. "Tuesday morning," he decided. "Yes. I was taking a basket of chickens to Folliquet, and I saw it was trampled so it would do no good and I had to cut it. Tuesday morning."

 "Zut!" Dubois made an exclamation of disgust and glanced quickly at Reggie. "You did not see it till Tuesday - and then, when you cut the grass you found nothing there?"

 "Found? What could I find?" Michel stared. "Saw nothing. Only a devil of a mess of grass. Hard for the scythe."

 "Found nothing - saw nothing," Dubois repeated with fierce contempt. "Then why do you talk to me of tourists, fool?"

 Michel stared at him sullen suspicion. "I told you - if they weren't tourists I don't know what they were. I never saw them before."

 "Name of a name!" Dubois exploded. "You saw nothing, but you saw them? What is this?"

 "I saw them Monday," Michel grunted.

 "Oh, la la! Tell me, then. You saw them on Monday on your grass. Very well. At what hour?"

 "I didn't see them on the grass," said Michel carefully. "Just there by the turn of the road. I was coming down from the high pastures. An hour before sunset, it would be. I saw two men down below there close on my meadow fighting together. Strangers they were." He stared defiance at Dubois. "I should call them tourists. It would be them trampled my grass. The devil take them!"

 "Very well. Take care now, my lad. What were they like?"

 "A short fat man and a big man."

 "You were near?"

 "Not so near. I saw them from just above my house. I went on in. They were nothing to me, the dirty fellows. But I saw them clear!"

 "You would know them again?"

 "The devil! How can I tell unless I see them? I might. He was very big, the big man."

 "Is it so?" Dubois showed no interest. "Well, did anyone but you see them?"

 "There was Elie Semiond. He came to my house for eggs. He said to me, 'There are two making merry down there.'"

 Dubois scribbled the name. "Go home, and do not talk to anyone. Not a word. Go!"

 Michel shuffled out, and then Dubois started up and chuckled and rubbed his hands and patted Reggie. "This marches, hein? Sacrelotte, always I tell my people these dull dogs they make the best witnesses, if you will learn how to handle them."

 "Oh, yes. You were very adroit," Reggie said. "Most instructive. Would you call him dull?"

 "The peasant." Dubois shrugged. "The true peasant. He sees. He does not know what he sees. But we make him most valuable."

 "Yes. You do. Yes. If he and his friend identify, you have a case."

 "I believe it!" Dubois laughed. "Come, then, we will make experiments with the Mr. Fry."

 He was admitted. Dubois gave him the full formalities of greeting and Fry was equally careful. But it could be seen that anxieties harassed him. "I'm having the devil of a time, you know," he began in his easy bad French. "The position's getting infernally difficult. Lord Oakhurst had so many interests and he had everything important under his personal control. I'm snowed under with telegrams for instructions and information and so forth, and I can only tell everybody to carry on. But it won't do, you know. He's been missing five nights now. I'm damned uncomfortable about him. I hope to God you'll get news of him soon."

 "I also, I hope that, Mr. Fry," Dubois said gravely.

 "Well, now, what did you want to see me for? Have you anything to tell me?"

 "No, there is nothing to tell yet. I wanted to ask you little things."

 "Let's have them, then. I thought we had gone over it pretty thoroughly before."

 Dubois shrugged. "Ah, there is always something else. That is my experience. Pardon, I had forgotten. Do you know my friend, Mr. Fortune, Mr. Reginald Fortune?"

 Reggie leaned forward out of his obscurity behind Dubois's bulk and murmured, "How do you do?"

 It was plain that Fry was unpleasantly surprised. "I don't think we've ever met, sir," he said. "Have you come out from England to take up the case?"

 "Oh, no. No." Reggie - murmured. "Happened to be about."

 "Very lucky," said Fry. "Have you been staying at Montrond?"

 "Mr. Fortune is so kind as to give me his help," Dubois said curtly. "And now, Mr. Fry - when you left Lord Oakhurst, that was after lunch on Monday - you drove back to your hotel. And then?"

 "I stayed there. I told you so."

 "You did not go out again that day?"

 "Wait a minute. Let me think. I believe I went out for a stroll before dinner. That was all."

 "Aha! For how long?"

 "How the devil can I tell? Not very long; I had a turn by the lake, I believe. Why? Do you mean Lord Oakhurst came back to the hotel while I was out?"

 "Is it not possible?" said Dubois.

 "I suppose so. Did anybody see him?"

 "That is what we have to find out. You - you do not think so?"

 "Good God, I have no reason to think anything. I hadn't heard of anybody seeing him. But of course it's possible."

 "So many things are possible that one does not think of," said Dubois. "One other little question, Mr. Fry. Lord Oakhurst, had he false teeth?"

 Fry's mouth opened. He did not speak for a moment. "False teeth?" he repeated, and paused again. "Damn it, I don't know!"

 "You do not know?" Dubois's eyebrows went up. "Come, that is strange."

 "Why the devil should I know? His teeth looked ordinary. I'm not his valet. A man doesn't talk about his teeth being false. What are you asking for? My God, have you found a body?" Fry's big hands gripped the table edge.

 "Calm, if you please. We have not found a body yet. But it is to be considered we might. That is why I wish to be sure if his teeth were false, Mr. Fry."

 "Have you got some clue?"

 Dubois shrugged. "Where his body is, whether it is living or dead, I do not know any more than you yet. Well, it appears I shall have no help from you. But tell me - these" - with a quick movement he thrust close to Fry's face a box which held the three teeth - "have you seen them in Oakhurst's mouth?"

 Fry had flung his head back; he controlled himself and looked at the teeth. "My God, how can I say?" he muttered, and stared at Dubois. His sallow face was pale and shone damp. "Where did you get them?"

 "They were found up there above the Hotel Margot."

 "What does it mean?" Fry said hoarsely. "That I do not know." Dubois put the teeth away. "But I shall find out, Mr. Fry, be sure: be very sure." He stood up. "Well, I must not keep you now. I hope you shall hear from me soon. Rely upon my zeal."

 A policeman opened the door and Fry made haste out. "Aha?" Dubois turned to Reggie. "There is one who discovers what fear is."

 "Oh, yes. You've scared him blind."

 "I quite believe it." Dubois gave a cruel laugh. "And why could I? Because he knows he is guilty."

 "He knows too much. Yes. That is indicated."

 "You observe how he fights to hold me off? That he went out again from the hotel, ah, he did not tell me that before. But now he is asked, he is careful not to deny in case someone should have seen him. It would be dangerous to be caught in a lie. He is cunning. So he makes his walk little and he tries to find out what I have in my head, how much I know. He suggests that Oakhurst perhaps came back. Oh, he is very cunning. But the teeth - that dazed him. He was not so clever then. A secretary who does not know his master has false teeth! Bah! There is a fabulous animal."

 "Dazed, yes. Blind funk. However. Not wholly fatuous even so. He was fighting for time."

 "It is that," Dubois agreed. "He holds me off. He hopes yet - I do not know what. It is no matter. They will hope, these cunning ones. Well, let us go to lunch. Afterwards they bring me this Semiond. And then perhaps we have our Mr. Fry."

 As they went out, the station officer stopped Dubois and spoke to him apart. Dubois caught up with Reggie in the street and took his arm. "Will you guess what that was? The brave Michel as he was going out saw Mr. Fry brought in, and he said to the sergeant, 'Tell your master that is the big man I saw.' What do you say of that for an identification, eh?"

 "I suppose you thought they would meet?" said Reggie.

 Dubois made a grimace. "You are critical, my friend. Well, yes, I intended they should meet. But believe me, Michel was not told Fry was here or who he was. Not a word. Yet Michel knew him at once. Is not that a good identification?"

 "Oh, yes. It's all right. I thought Michel would know him."

 "Very well. But you might trust me, my friend. I do not make up my cases."

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! I do. Absolutely." Reggie soothed him.

 "Come, then, to lunch. I shall not take you to the Magnifique. It would be embarrassing to lunch with Mr. Fry. But there is a little place where they make a bouillabaisse of fresh - water fish which is interesting."

 "My dear chap!" said Reggie with enthusiasm. "Oh, just a moment. I want to run into the post office." He was gone several moments. The telegram which he sent was to the Criminal Investigation Department in London. . . .

 The bouillabaisse had been of subtle interest. The slices of boar's head which followed it were piquant. Reggie drank his glass of Armagnac with satisfaction and a certain relief. The taste of Dubois he considers sound but heroic. "Well, well," Reggie sighed. "Life is real, life is earnest. We have to work again. Had you thought of that?"

 Dubois lit another of his thin cigars. "It is true. The good Semiond waits for us, I hope."

 "Yes. What are you doing about the hypothetical body?"

 "There is a search up there." Dubois nodded at the mountains. "They tell me it is desperate. The crevasses are many and very deep. The peasants believe that they are bottomless." Dubois shrugged. "Well, we have the teeth, the blood. It will be for Mr. Fry to explain what he did with the rest of the body."

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured.

 At the police station they were told that Semiond had arrived. "Come, then, let us have him." Dubois dropped into his chair. And Semiond was brought in, an old man of white hair and a grave, simple face. Reggie leaned back into the shadow. Elie Semiond was the coachman of Mrs. Rothay.

 "Sit down, old fellow." Dubois smiled. "Be at ease. We shall not worry you. Tell me, you are Elie Semiond? You know Michel Pie? You went to his house last Monday?"

 "Yes, sir, yes. It is quite true." Semiond spoke slowly. "I went to get eggs for the chateau. I am the servant of Madame Rothay, you understand? We buy our eggs from Michel Pie. His wife is good with chickens. She has many. Her chickens are famous."

 "Very well. Did you see anyone below in the meadows?"

 "I saw two men below. They were by Michel Pie's meadow at the turn of the road. They were fighting. I said to Michel Pie, 'There are two who amuse themselves down there.' For it was strange, sir. Almost never one sees tourists fighting."

 "Aha! These were tourists?"

 "At least they were not our people."

 "You are sure, eh? You would know them again?"

 "Perhaps. I cannot tell. I think so. One was big and one short and fat."

 "Good. You have eyes, old fellow. It is possible I shall want you again. That is all now." He rang his bell and Semiond was taken away.

 "There, my friend!" Dubois laughed. "Do I make up my case?"

 "Oh, no. No. Quite fair," Reggie murmured, and looked at him with a curious earnestness. "You are quite fair, Dubois."

 "I only joke." Dubois patted him. "We know each other, eh? But see, he has it exact - he repeated not quite the same words Michel said - but that makes it more like truth. They saw - ah - - "The telephone rang. "Dubois, yes. What? By the train. Very well. Let him go. Stop him at the frontier and bring him back here to me. That is it." He turned to Reggie. "Pom! It marches! Mr. Fry has taken the train for Geneva. That is not very wise of Mr. Fry."

 "No. One of those little errors which make life difficult," Reggie murmured. He contemplated Dubois's happy face with dispassionate melancholy. "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive."

 "Mr. Fry has made his life very difficult," Dubois chuckled. "To bolt out of the country when he fears that the murder is known, that will not please a jury."

 "I did see the point," Reggie said plaintively.

 "You foresaw it perhaps?" Dubois cocked an eyebrow.

 "When you scared him blind? Yes. I thought you were trying for the reaction."

 "Earlier than that you foresaw it," Dubois smiled. "When you advised me to keep a watch on Mr. Fry."

 "Yes. This was one of the possibilities," Reggie murmured.

 Dubois laughed and stretched himself. "Well, it is arrived. Come, there is nothing to do till they bring our Mr. Fry. Let us walk."

 "Oh, my aunt!" Reggie groaned. "I'm always walking here."

 "My poor friend! You shall sit, then. You shall sit by the lake and look at the blue water and think beautiful thoughts."

 They sat on the terrace of a cafe by the lake where the waterfall river came rushing down. A dam of logs on either side guarded the banks, caught the broken wood and rubbish, and marshalled the stream into a narrow surging flood which swept on to make the blue water green. And while Dubois drank syrup Reggie ate two ices, and thereafter was lulled by the roar of the water to sleep.

 "Marvellous man." Dubois's voice roused him. "There are no limits to your genius. You can sleep upon ices. But come. They tell me our Mr. Fry waits for us."

 When Fry was brought again into the little room at the police station two men came with him. He stood between them dishevelled, sweating, pallid. The strength had gone out of his big frame, he stooped and sagged.

 "What, you have had trouble?" Dubois said to his men.

 One of them shrugged. "A little. He was enraged."

 "It's a cursed outrage - -" Fry began violently, and broke off.

 "You find it so?" Dubois was smooth. "Beyond doubt it discommoded you to stop your travels in Switzerland. But I assure you, it saves trouble. For me, yes. But also for you in the end."

 "What do you mean? Why shouldn't I go to Geneva?"

 "I provided you with a reason why you should stay here. I showed you that we have proof your Lord Oakhurst has been murdered. And your answer is to try to escape from France." He changed his tone and said sharply, "Explain that to me, sir."

 "Murdered? You have no evidence he's been murdered."

 "Oh, oh. His teeth up there on the mountain, his blood?"

 "I don't know anything about the teeth."

 "That is why you run away from them?" said Dubois politely.

 "I wasn't running away. I should have been back to - night. I don't believe he's been murdered."

 "His teeth proved that to you? So you made a little jaunt to Geneva to be gay. You have a happy temperament. But it was unfortunate you should run just as we find those who saw him struck up there by the meadow."

 "Saw him struck?" Fry gasped.

 "Saw who struck him," said Dubois. "It is finished, Fry. I have the men who saw you kill him."

 "It's a lie!" Fry roared.

 "You will hear them swear to you."

 "My God! It's a trick! It's a trap!" Fry muttered.

 "You have trapped yourself. The moment the murder is discovered you run away."

 Fry's mouth opened, he said something indistinct and stopped. "Here. Let me speak to you alone," he whispered.

 Dubois glanced at his men. "He has been searched? Very well." He waved them out. "And now, sir."

 "I tell you," said Fry, and moistened his lips. "It was all Oakhurst's idea."

 "That he should be killed?"

 "I don't mean that. I swear to God I don't know anything about his being killed. He wanted to disappear. It was like this. He's been having a difficult time. He was short of liquid capital. Too much locked up in the last merger. He had to make a big coup somehow. The best he could see was to stage a slump. Don't you see how it would work? If it was announced that he had disappeared there was bound to be a break in Oakhurst shares. When he turned up again they were sure to recover: first on sentiment, then on value: they're all perfectly sound. His scheme was to come out here and fix things so it would look he'd been lost in the mountains. That was why he went up to that beastly little hotel and let everyone know he was there and sent me back and went for a walk by himself. He had given instructions to his brokers that when I telegraphed a code word they were to start selling. They had been selling quietly for some time, but the big work was to wait till this vanishing act. The scheme was for him to get over into Switzerland and spend a few days there incog., till the slump was going strong, then come back and make a splash of it and tell the world everything was all right, all right. See? I swear that's the truth."

 "And yet he has not come back," said Dubois. "Also his teeth never went."

 "I know it's turned out devilish queer. Don't you see, that's why I was going to Geneva. He should have made that his first point. I wanted to find some trace of him."

 "And all this honest plan - why did I never hear of it till now?"

 "How the devil could I tell you before? That would have given the whole game away. Oakhurst told me to make a noise about his disappearance and swear I knew nothing about it. That was the only way to work it."

 Reggie stirred. "Did you get Oakhurst's instructions in writing?"

 Fry took time to answer. "It wasn't the sort of thing to put in writing, was it?" he said. "Oakhurst never did write, either. If you want evidence, there's his own brokers. I just telegraphed the code word 'tote' and they acted. They wouldn't do that for me. You'll find they had their instructions from Oakhurst."

 "Yes. I daresay we shall. Yes. And the other brokers, Mr. Fry?"

 "What do you mean?" Fry gasped.

 "Those other brokers, to whom you telegraphed the code word 'bookie'? Did they have instructions from Oakhurst?"

 Again Fry hesitated. "I was operating privately there," he said sullenly. "I've often done a bit for myself when Oakhurst was in the market."

 "I believe it!" Dubois laughed. "Come, then, this is your story: you were in a conspiracy with Oakhurst to make a great fraud on the public and you resolved to use it for yourself. The evidence is that in the progress of the conspiracy you killed Oakhurst."

 "I never touched him," Fry said hoarsely. "I never saw him after I left him at the hotel. Damn it, you don't even know he is dead."

 Dubois rang his bell. "Do I not?" He frowned. "Very well, try to persuade the examining magistrate that he is alive. For me, I have finished with you, Mr. Fry." And Fry was taken out.

 "Well my friend?" Dubois turned to Reggie with a smile and a cocked eyebrow. "Is that a case? We make ourselves some little compliments, eh?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. You told me Oakhurst had vanished for financial reasons. Very acute. Acceptin' that - from you and Mr. Fry - why Fry should slay him remains obscure."

 "You find it so?" Dubois's other eyebrow went up. "I can think of good reasons easily. Here is one. Mr. Fry wished to have the control of the slump to himself - to control all the Oakhurst things - there was a grand chance and he took it."

 "That makes a case, yes," Reggie said. "Well, well. He'll have to go to trial anyway. Not a nice man. I should say a jury won't like him." And Dubois went off to his magistrate.

 In the morning Reggie was waked to misery by a demand that he should go to the telephone. Dubois was speaking. A body had been found in the lake. He wished Reggie to come and see the body. "My only aunt!" Reggie mourned. "In the lake? And I haven't had my breakfast. In the lake? You shouldn't, Dubois, you shouldn't. I'll come." On the way, he called at the post office, and there obtained a telegram which had come too late for delivery the night before. But he went on to Dubois.

 "My friend!" Dubois grasped his hand. "I am a wretch to plague you like this - -"

 "Oh no. Let's go through with it," Reggie said sharply.

 "In fact, I want your help. You are the best evidence here what Oakhurst looked like alive. This - this that they have found - it has Oakhurst's clothes on - papers of his - but it is much injured. I think you are the best evidence in the world how it died."

 "Yes. You won't get a better opinion," Reggie murmured. "Come on." He was taken to the mortuary, where the police doctor waited beside what had been a man. . . .

 Some hours later he came out and drank coffee with brandy in it and returned to Dubois. "It's Oakhurst all right - it's the man I saw who said he was Oakhurst - it's the man who lost those teeth. Dead before he went into the water. Cause of death, injury to brain from blows. Head very much smashed now. Impossible to be precise about original blow."

 "That suffices, eh? With the other evidence. It was murder."

 "Acceptin' the other evidence, he was battered to death up there on the pasture. But you found him in the lake."

 "To be exact, like you, he was found where the river comes into the lake. Among the rubbish that is caught there. You saw the place - by those dams under the cafe. But it makes no matter."

 "You think not?" Reggie murmured. "No, it is quite simple." Dubois smiled. "Up there on the mountain the river is underground, you know. It breaks out in that great waterfall. They tell me some of those crevasses go right down to the river. You can hear the water flowing. What happened is clear. Fry killed him and flung the body into a crevasse and the river has brought it out again."

 "Yes, it could be," Reggie said slowly. "What, you are not satisfied?"

 "I wish I were." Reggie stared at him with solemn eyes. "I'm playing fair, Dubois. Which I don't want to. Let me take on for a bit, will you? Don't say anything to anybody. Come up with me to the Chateau Laroche. Tell Mrs. Rothay you are from the Surete and want some information from her. And then I'll do the talking."

 Dubois's eyebrows went up to his hair. "Still the ladies?" he said. "Very well. If you ask it - at your orders, my friend. But you make a mystery."

 "No, I don't. I want you to hear her without prejudice. It's a beastly business. But I have to go for the truth. This is the best way I see."

 "Come, then, I am content," said Dubois.

 Reggie drove his car up the winding road to the old chateau. The gate which led into the courtyard was closed. He pulled at a jangling bell and had long to wait. Then Semiond came. Dubois gave his official card and asked for Mrs. Rothay. They had to wait again before Semiond opened the other half of the gate and let the car into the courtyard. A woman almost as old as Semiond stood there and led them to a quaint room in which the decorations and the furniture of Louis XV were set off by some chairs of modern English comfort and Chinese rugs.

 The two ladies were sitting there. "I ask pardon for troubling Mrs. Rothay." Dubois spoke English. "I am the servant of the law. I have to seek some information. My friend, who is more at ease in English, will explain."

 "Pray do your duty," the old lady said, and pointed them to chairs.

 "As well as I can, madame." Reggie bowed. "Will you tell me, is there any pit in your chateau which goes down to the river?"

 Dubois gave no sign of surprise. Without a sound of movement he turned so that he could see both women. Miss Leigh was sewing, and her needle did not stop. "But I cannot tell you," Mrs. Rothay said placidly. "There is a pit in a dungeon under the old tower. It is called 'Gaston's Well.' The country people say it is bottomless. I do not know."

 "The body of Lord Oakhurst has been taken out of the river, madame. But he had been killed on land."

 Miss Leigh went on sewing. "I heard that Lord Oakhurst had disappeared," said Mrs. Rothay.

 "Did you know him, madame?"

 "I have seen him. I saw him at Folliquet's hotel. I have never met him."

 "I am told that you had suffered by some of his operations."

 "You have been misled. I have not suffered. Much of my husband's fortune was destroyed by Lord Oakhurst's operations in Lancashire."

 "Can you tell me anything of the way in which Lord Oakhurst met his death?"

 "I can tell you nothing at all. It is an absurd question, sir."

 "Then I have to put before you my account of the murder. On Monday at lunch Lord Oakhurst was so insolent to Miss Leigh that you left the hotel hastily. Some time afterwards Lord Oakhurst went walking. By that time Miss Leigh also was walking on the mountains. She picked some Alpenglockel and came back by the path through the meadows. Lord Oakhurst saw her - -"

 Reggie turned to the girl, but she was bent over her sewing. "He was again insolent. And then one of the peasants - was it Michel Pie? - came to her help and struck him with a mattock or some such thing. Lord Oakhurst was killed there on Michel Pie's meadow. Was it you, Mrs. Rothay, who decided that his body should be hidden?"

 "You imagine a story, sir. I have told you, these questions are absurd."

 "His body was brought along the path here - and then it went into the pit - this morning we took it out of the river." Reggie stopped and waited, watching the two women. But Miss Leigh made careful stitch after stitch, and Mrs. Rothay met his eyes with a dignity entirely calm. "Have you nothing to say, madame?"

 "Sir, I wish to believe you do not mean impertinence. I have been patient with you. But this is not to be endured. You invent and you conceal. You pretend to me that Michel Pie has committed a murder when you know very well that Michel Pie and Semiond saw the murder done by another man."

 "Yes, they said so. That man may go to the guillotine on their evidence. And you - are you content an innocent man should be executed?"

 "Innocent!" Mrs. Rothay said with contempt. "Madame, you know he is."

 "I know that Lord Oakhurst and Mr. Fry have been in many villainies together. It is nothing to me one should turn on the other or what comes of it."

 "I will believe they are rogues. I will believe that Oakhurst brought his death on himself. I will believe Michel Pie struck him, as any decent man might, because he was insulting a woman. But Fry should not die for that. Give him justice, madame."

 "I think he has it," said Mrs. Rothay quietly. Reggie drew a long breath. "And you?" he cried. "You've used this murder for your own profit. And you'd let an innocent man lose his head to hide it. But it's known. The morning after the murder you telephoned your bank in Paris. You have been selling Oakhurst shares."

 "You must be a very foolish person," said Mrs. Rothay. "I have no reason to hide that. When I heard Semiond's story, it was clear to me that the Oakhurst affairs would be injured. I was glad to take the occasion of recovering some of the losses which had been brought on my husband by Lord Oakhurst. I permit myself to think that quite just, sir. There can be no more that we have to say, I believe."

 "You will let Fry go to his death?"

 "I am quite without interest in the end of Mr. Fry," said Mrs. Rothay, and rang the bell. . . .

 Reggie drove the car out of the courtyard and on at a crazy speed till they came again to the shorn meadow. Then he stopped and looked at it with a miserable laugh and turned to Dubois. "Well? What now?"

 "Ah, you were right, of course. It happened all like that. You can never prove it, never. These peasants, they will swear their story as hard as iron. And you, you have no evidence at all. It happens like that sometimes. There is no power in France can stop the case. That would be so in your country also?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. And the wretched Fry?"

 Dubois shrugged. "Not a jury in Savoy would acquit him. But his head will not go into the sack. Do not fear it. A quarrel - a fight - that is the evidence - not cold murder. Prison only for him."

 "I see. Very comfortin'. You said we worked for justice, didn't you?"

 "Si j'etais Dieu!" Dubois sighed. "Ah, who knows, my friend? These animals, Oakhurst and Fry, they are beasts of prey. But our justice will not punish for that. Something punishes them all the same. I am not ill content."

 "Yes. Very fair and rational. Not alterin' the fact that we've arranged to convict a fellow of what he didn't do. I daresay we manage that quite often. But I don't remember bein' aware of it before. Unpleasant sensation." He laughed. "What's that verse? 'The utter truth the careless angels know'? Rather good."

 But that was beyond Dubois.

 THIRD CASE THE PAIR OF SPECTACLES IT has been said by Mr. Fortune that the case of the pair of spectacles ought to be printed as a tract. He desires to have it distributed to all detectives, expert witnesses, and public prosecutors for an example of how not to do things. The whole blame he takes to himself, declaring the case the most ghastly blunder of his career. He is without excuses. He will tell you that his one qualification for scientific work, his careful caution, forsook him completely. And so he stumbled into a position loading him with a gruesome burden of moral responsibility which ought to be a warning to all concerned with criminal prosecutions.

 The Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department when this was first explained to him, agreed, after a moment of stupefaction, that it ought. But they did not mean the same thing: and in this matter they never will.

 Yet the case began simply enough. Mr. John Lansdell, senior partner in the old firm of Lansdell & Lansdell, merchant bankers, lived thirty miles out of London, on an estate which had some good pheasant shooting in the park. It was his habit to spend an odd day walking around these coverts with his gun. In the dusk of a December afternoon a woodman found him lying dead, the gun beside him, the middle of his face shattered in blood.

 At this time Mr. Fortune was concluding a long investigation into the cause of measles. It consumed all his mental energy. He was therefore after dinner in a state of benign languor while his wife sang Purcell to him. He sat up to gaze with anguish at the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department. "All my apologies," Lomas was saying. "I won't keep him awake more than a minute, Mrs. Fortune."

 "Sabbathless Satan!" Reggie mumbled. Plaintive horror distorted his round face.

 "Bell will come round for you in the morning. Say nine."

 "I don't want to say nine," Reggie moaned.

 "Eight - thirty, then," Lomas smiled. "Quite a simple business. You'll be back to lunch easily. There's a banker been found shot down in Kent. It's bound to be an important case and the county police have called us in. The point for you is, was it accident, suicide, or murder? The local doctor seems inclined to sit on the fence. But it won't give you much trouble, what?"

 "I hate you," Reggie groaned.

 December that year was cold. For a week, each night had brought a frost and only in an hour or two after noon the sunshine had warmth. The sun did not shine when Superintendent Bell's car arrived. It was a grey and bitter morning. At low temperatures Mr. Fortune's brain is not active. Huddled in a fur coat, he declined conversation and squinted morosely at his reddening nose. . . .

 The body of John Lansdell awaited him in a mortuary. "I've only made a superficial examination, Mr. Fortune," the doctor explained nervously. "I thought you had better see him just as he was found."

 What Reggie saw was a man of sixty or more, a smallish man, in rough brown tweed. His hands were clenched. The middle of his face below the shattered spectacles was a black wound.

 "They found his gun close by. I have it here. One barrel was still loaded, that game bag was on the ground by him, too. Nothing in it."

 "Well, well," Reggie sighed. "Let's get on. . . ."

 When he had finished his examination he gazed at that doctor with pained surprise. "Any difficulty?"

 "Not medically speaking." The doctor was embarrassed. "I'm afraid there's no doubt, Mr. Fortune."

 "Oh, no. Not a bit. You might have told 'em so last night."

 "It's a grave responsibility in a case like this," the doctor muttered.

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap!" Reggie was annoyed. "No grave responsibility in stating facts."

 This maxim he commends to study as the awful warning of the case. They went out to Superintendent Bell.

 "Finished, sir?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Quite simple. The man was shot by a sporting gun pointing level with his face, the muzzle some feet away. Pellets are similar to those in the cartridge unfired in the left barrel of his own gun."

 "I see. That means murder, don't it?"

 "I'm afraid it means murder. Superintendent," said the doctor solemnly.

 Bell looked at Mr. Fortune. "Oh, yes. Yes. That is indicated," Reggie murmured. "I'd better have a look at the scene of death. But there's no conceivable method of suicide or accident. Tried the gun for fingerprints?"

 "Yes, sir. Nothing but a blurry mess. Might have been a struggle for the gun. But you couldn't swear to anything."

 "Anything in his pockets?"

 "Not to signify - some small change, knife, and spectacle case."

 And even then, as he points out ruefully, Reggie missed the point: an awful example of mental torpor. It was his crowning error in the case. "Well, well," he said fatuously. "Let's get on."

 The sun was breaking through a sullen sky as they came to the ring fence of John Lansdell's park. There was half a mile of it before the car turned in at a gate which had no lodge. "Big place, sir," said Bell. "Hundreds of acres to it. Rare fine place. Bit lonely, though." Reggie shivered and peered out of his fur collar at endless waves of grey turf and black coverts rustling in the wind.

 "Here we are."

 The car stopped on the crest of a slope which was sheltered by a laurel thicket. A seat was fixed there, and a patch, of ground about it had been fenced in by hurdles.

 "I had the place kept clear for you," Bell said. "You'll see there's a bit o' blood. That's where the body was."

 Reggie looked. Near the laurels the drab turf ended and the ground was marked with a confusion of footprints frozen hard. "Well, well!" he murmured. "That's where he bled. A little away from the seat. And some feet have been in between."

 "Looks like a bit of a struggle - if that trampling was done yesterday," said Bell. "And they say it did thaw for a bit."

 "Yes. Yes. I should say the trampling is relevant. A struggle - and then some. Looks as if a careful fellow had slurred over those footprints, Bell."

 "I daresay," Bell frowned. "No clear marks, anyway. And that goes with murder, all right."

 "Oh, yes. It was murder. Plain case. No possibility of accident here. He couldn't have shot himself as he was shot. Murder by person or persons unknown. Run along and find 'em. Quite simple problem. Few factors possible."

 Bell considered that stolidly. "You mean there can't be many people had a chance to get at him here - and there wouldn't be many had a reason to kill him."

 "Yes. Yes. Problem of opportunity and motive. People who had both must be few and obvious." Reggie got back into the car. "Elimination of the irrelevant should be easy. Do I leave you here?"

 "Just drop me at the house, sir. Then the car'll take you back to London."

 As they drove away, a woman vanished behind the laurels, a woman well made and of large swift movement.

 "See that, sir?" Bell grunted.

 "Yes. Potent - looking damsel. Who is she?"

 "John Lansdell's secretary. Queer, isn't it? Looks as if she was hanging about to see if we found anything."

 "Apparent interest in the scene of the crime. Yes." Reggie yawned. "Well, well, it didn't look feminine to me, but you never know. She isn't eliminated, then?"

 "She is not," said Bell.

 "Wonder what there might have been to find," Reggie murmured. "We didn't miss anything."

 "Oh, no. No. Wasn't anything there to miss." Reggie sank into his coat and shut his eyes and with determination dozed.

 He was in his laboratory at the end of a long afternoon when the telephone demanded that he should go to Scotland Yard. He went plaintively and found Lomas drinking Russian tea and was embittered.

 "Oh, my hat! You undermine civilized life, Lomas. You're an enemy of learning - you stop the progress, of science - and draggin' me here, wantin' my nice tea, you flaunt that noxious, disruptive fluid at me. My only aunt! You destroy all faith in human fellowship."

 Lomas rang a bell and said, "Tea and toast for Mr. Fortune. Plenty of butter."

 "Speakin' broadly, nought can atone." Reggie sighed, and dropped into a chair. "I left my bride at the altar - my bacilli passin' the filter - bother 'em. And there is no balm in Gilead. The department don't keep cream. Bah! What is your paltry trouble, Lomas?"

 "I want to take action in the Lansdell case."

 "Act away. Do noble things, not dream them all day long. Who's the villain?"

 "The man's son."

 "Oh! That's unpleasant."

 "It's going to make a noise. That's why I don't want any chance of a mistake."

 The tea came and Reggie helped himself. "No chance of a mistake by me, Lomas," he said. "The man was murdered. That's my evidence. It won't be shaken. Who fired the shot is your business."

 "You couldn't make anything of the marks on the ground?"

 "Nothing definite. I should say somebody had taken care there shouldn't be anything definite. Probably there was a struggle, probably with a man, probably that man scraped over the footprints. The only thing certain is that there was some trampling about the place where Lansdell was killed while the ground was soft."

 "Quite," Lomas nodded. "And that fits the rest of the case against the son."

 "What is the rest?"

 "There's a good deal. Arid some of it suggests that there may have been another person working with him."

 "Two murderers?" Reggie looked up from his tea. "I wonder."

 "I don't say present at the murder. With an active interest."

 "Oh! Meanin' the lady?" Reggie began to fill a pipe. "Yes, I thought the lady might be worth lookin' into."

 Lomas smiled. "I knew you'd have a theory."

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! Not me. No. How could I? I haven't any facts."

 "There are quite a lot. Take it from the beginning. John Lansdell had one son Charles, now a man of thirty - five or so. Didn't live with his father. Not in the business. Never done anything. Always been a disappointment to his father. Prodigal son in an ineffectual sort of way. Mildly bad egg. Left Eton as an impossible person. Sent down from Cambridge for general futility. Father insisted on trying him in the firm and he wouldn't stay. He's been knocking about London and Paris for ten years. There's nothing particular against him but he's a waster. The other Lansdells say they know nothing of his money affairs with his father, but I gather there's a feeling he bled the old man."

 "The other Lansdells?"

 "The old man's brother Henry and his son Alan. Both partners in the firm. Pretty well everything that Charles isn't. Solid City men, very ordinary and correct. They won't say anything against him, but it's pretty clear they think he made his father's life a misery. What's certain is that the old man left everything to Charles. The will was made years ago.

 The family solicitor says he had been talking of changing it lately. But he'd done nothing yet." Lomas cocked an eyebrow. "Before he did, you see, he was shot."

 "Oh, yes. Motive," Reggie murmured. "What about opportunity?"

 "When the old man was last seen alive, Charles was with him."

 "Oh, Charles was with him in the park on the fatal day. Well, well. Evidence of that adequate?"

 "The evidence is rather striking. Lansdell left the house alone with his gun. That was quite usual. He liked to loaf about the park coverts by himself. He said nothing to anyone, so far as we can find out, of expecting Charles. But between ten and eleven his head keeper saw Charles with him. That's the last time the old man was seen alive. In the dusk, which would be five hours later, the woodman found him dead."

 "One moment. Did anybody see Charles again?"

 "Nobody else saw him at all."

 "Your keeper is sure it was Charles?"

 Lomas smiled. "He's uncommon sure. And there's rather striking corroboration. After the body was discovered a local inspector of police went up to the house and asked Miss Hayes - that's the secretary - if Lansdell had been expecting anyone. She said not that she knew. Then he wanted to seal up the old man's papers till we could go through them. She made a bit of a fuss, wanted to go into the study first. And he found in the study waste - paper basket a torn - up letter from Charles. It was to his father and said he was coming down that morning. Well, of course, she might not have known about it. But to - day the keeper came to Bell and complained that Miss Hayes had been trying to get round him to make him say it wasn't Mr. Charles he saw. Bell had her in and asked her what she meant by it."

 "I can hear him," Reggie murmured.

 "Quite. He wouldn't be gentle, would he?" Lomas laughed. "Well, he didn't get much change out of her. She said the keeper was a fool and had got it all wrong. She'd only wanted to be sure he really had seen Charles - couldn't believe it herself and thought it must be a mistake."

 "Yes. Very bafflin' for Bell. Yes. And all this bein' thus, what is now the theory about the lady?"

 "I don't place her. But she's too interested in Charles. She may have known all about it. She may have been in it. Or she may only be trying to get him off because she has a weakness for him."

 "Yes. Several possible explanations. Yes. Do you know how she took the news of the death?"

 "They say it knocked her over. She nearly fainted and talked wildly. 'Dead? He can't be dead. It isn't possible,' and that sort of thing. Rather impressed the servants, because she's always been the modern business woman. No. I can't place her. But whatever her own game is, she's given us some good evidence against Charles."

 "No. I wouldn't say that," Reggie murmured. "Strictly speakin', the evidence is independent of the lady's actions. The letter was kindly provided by Charles. The keeper had told you he saw Charles before she got busy. At the most, all she's done by fussing round is to draw attention to the evidence."

 "Very well. There remains the fact that she has been trying to weaken the evidence. What do you make of that?"

 "I don't make anything," said Reggie wearily. "It isn't a fact. It could be. But there are other possibilities. She may have been just flustered and fussing round. She may really have thought the keeper had made a mistake. She may be trying to make quite sure there's no evidence against somebody else."

 "Meaning herself?"

 "It could be. But not probably. I should say it wasn't a feminine crime. The lady may not be feminine. Quite an unknown quantity. But I should say the murder had startled her. Otherwise she ought to have got at the keeper before you discovered what her game is."

 "That's a good point," Lomas nodded. "Take it like this: She has had her eye on Charles. She knew he was coming down. She never thought he'd kill the old man. When she found he had, she did her best to get rid of the evidence. That explains her perfectly."

 "Yes. Possible theory. Only a guess. You don't know that Charles ever had anything to do with her."

 Lomas smiled, "I know that Charles stands to come in for the old man's money if he isn't hanged. And she knows it, too."

 "Well, well. You may be right," Reggie sighed. "Guessing a good deal, aren't you?"

 "You're not satisfied?"

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! Satisfied! You haven't begun to prove anything."

 "What! I should say we have a clear case against Charles."

 "Oh, Charles. Yes. Strong evidence against Charles. He had a motive. He had the opportunity. No indications that anyone else had either. Obvious objection, he'd had the motive for years and he must have had many opportunities: why should he suddenly be worked up to killing?"

 "And the answer is the old man had been talking of a change in the will. Take it he threatened Charles with that and there's the new motive."

 "Yes. You win," Reggie said wearily. "My error. I seem to be missing things. Not one of my good days. The mind is largely flabby. I'd better go home. You have your case."

 "I think it will do," Lomas smiled. "At any rate, we'll ask Master Charles what he has to say about it."

 Reggie stood up and stretched himself. "Not much to be said. Unless there's more in Charles than you've heard of. Why did you worry about the woman so much? You can't bring her into it."

 "I fear not," Lomas sighed. "Not unless Charles gives her away. But I like to have a theory which explains all the facts."

 Reggie stared at him with tired bewildered eyes. "Oh, my hat!" he moaned. "Simple illusions of the detective mind. Good - bye."

 But after dinner that night the telephone called him. "Lomas speaking - -"

 "Yes. You always are," Reggie moaned.

 "Don't be peevish. When they went to arrest Charles Lansdell they found Miss Hayes in his rooms. I thought you'd like to know." A chuckle came over the wire.

 "We are not amused," said Reggie. "What did Charles say about it?"

 "Charles isn't giving anything away. Says he left his father alive and that's all he knows. Says Miss Hayes came to tell him the police were asking questions about him being with his father. When he was warned he'd be charged with the murder he shut his mouth. He's got a bit of a chin when you look at him."

 "And what did she say?"

 "Said she went to him to warn him the police suspected him. Told me she thought he ought to know it in order to defend himself."

 "And I told you so," said Reggie wearily.

 "What do you mean?"

 "I told you you couldn't work her into it."

 "Oh, I can't charge her, of course. But she's fitting into my little theory very nicely, you notice."

 "My only aunt!" Reggie moaned and rang off and went to bed.

 The case still failed to interest his mind, which was loath to break from the charms of measles. He is at all times apt to divert his attention from the problems of crime to the common diseases of daily life. He will insist that he was born to deal with measles and mumps and was made a specialist in the detection of criminals by cruel accidents. In the Lansdell case he could see nothing for him but dull routine: it was otherwise ugly and sordid: the facts had no obscurity which tempted him: none of the people waked his sympathy.

 The prosecution went the way of routine. Charles continued to keep his mouth shut. He was brought before the magistrates; his counsel with perfunctory challenge to the evidence reserved his defence and he was committed for trial.

 Before the day of that trial Reggie had ceased for some time to think about the case. When he was called to a final conference between Lomas and Waler, the prosecuting counsel, he came late with a dreamy and bewildered countenance. "Sorry and all that. Is there anything you haven't got that you want?"

 "No, thank you," Waler smiled. "Tell the same old story. You'll probably have a rough time. The only visible defence is that the man committed suicide."

 "He didn't, you know," said Reggie wearily.

 "All right. Better be prepared. Scottie's for the defence. He's a worrying little dog."

 "How good for you, Reginald," Lomas chuckled. "Quite a tonic. Renew your interest in life."

 Reggie blinked at him. "Life!" he moaned. "Oh, my hat!"

 Waler turned over his papers. "Yes, I should say the case turns on Fortune's evidence. If he satisfies the jury, we're all right. Unless Scottie has something to spring on us - and I don't see where he could get it."

 "Nothing doing," said Lomas. "We've worked it over and over."

 "No new fact?" Reggie looked up.

 "Yes. One. Nice little bit of corroboration. We've found a pub where Charles went in for a drink. I was glad to get that. Otherwise the only evidence he was actually down there that morning was the keeper's; and he might have been muddled in cross - examination."

 "Quite useful, the woman at the pub." Waler nodded. "Makes a clear case. Charles shot him - unless he committed suicide. That's your responsibility, Fortune."

 "Yes. Yes. All right," Reggie yawned. "Goodbye."

 Waler looked at Lomas. "Cold as a fish, isn't he?"

 "Not exactly cold. When he's sure he's right, he's ruthless."

 The trial went as Waler had predicted. To the first witness, the woodman who found the body, the first questions of cross - examination made the suggestion of suicide. Did the dead man look as if he had shot himself? Was his gun lying as if he had shot himself? The woodman scratched his head and could not rightly say. By the look of it he might or he mightn't. And Scottie, the little yapping leader for the defence, stopped short with a grin.

 The local doctor fared worse. Rather pompously and in many words he gave his opinion that Lansdell had not shot himself or been shot by accident. Scottie began with jeers. "Is that your own opinion? - Oh, you haven't been told it's your opinion? - Well, it wasn't always your opinion, was it?" He changed his tone and barked: "I mean this, doctor. You had a different opinion till you'd been told what you were to say by Mr. Fortune. Now, be careful."

 The doctor was flustered. He denied it angrily, declared that he took his opinion from nobody, and gave a summary of his career and qualifications. Scottie laughed. "Oh, I accept you're qualified to have an opinion. I put it to you, when you examined the body by yourself, you formed the opinion it might have been suicide?" The doctor became incoherent. "Be candid with the jury, sir," Scottie barked. "I put it to you, when you came with the body to the house, you said you couldn't tell how it happened."

 In a stammering rigmarole the doctor explained that what a doctor said in conversation was not always his considered opinion. "You were honest, I suppose?" Scottie snarled. "You were honest then. It was not till Mr. Fortune had taught you what was the opinion the police wanted you decided to say the man was murdered?" The unhappy doctor lost his temper in a confused wrangle and the jury looked at him with dislike and Waler frowned into his brief.

 Slowly and with solemn care Reggie made himself comfortable in the witness box. He surveyed the jury and his round face showed no interest in them or in anything. It was mildly devoid of expression.

 Waler set him off with a question, and in a small, clear voice he began to describe and expound. He was not long. He was not technical.

 "Did you form an opinion how such an injury was caused?" asked Waler.

 "It was caused by a cartridge such as remained in the other barrel of the man's gun. The shot was fired from a gun pointed at his face and held level with it at a distance of several feet. Such a shot could not have been fired by the man himself, or by an accidental discharge of the gun. Another person must have held the gun and pulled the trigger."

 "You have no doubt?" Waler asked.

 "It is not possible to feel any doubt. The facts cannot have any other explanation."

 Scottie started up. "You mean that's your opinion, Mr. Fortune?"

 "No. I mean that is certain."

 "We've just heard another doctor had a different opinion."

 "Not after he had been able to examine the wound."

 "Not after you'd talked to him. You were brought in because he said nothing was certain." As Scottie became more noisily ferocious, Reggie was still milder and of a more delicate precision. "I was brought in to make a post - mortem examination."

 "And you told your colleague what he was to say?"

 "No. I asked him if he had any doubts. And he hadn't."

 "You have often given evidence for the police?"

 "They often ask for my opinion."

 "So when you are called into a case you expect to find crime?"

 "I expect to find that the judgment of a medical man is required."

 "In fact, you generally do give evidence that a crime has been committed."

 "When I give evidence for the prosecution a crime generally has been committed. I don't recall a case when it hadn't been."

 Waler smiled. Scottie snarled and turned over his papers and barked out questions about the wound and lost himself and lost the jury. Slowly and with care Reggie came down from the box and composed himself beside Lomas. "And very nice, too," Lomas whispered. "You have him beat, Reginald."

 "Man's an ass," Reggie mumbled.

 An inspector of police was in the box swearing to the fragments of the letter found in the dead man's waste - paper basket. He was not cross - examined. The family solicitor swore that it was in the writing of Charles Lansdell. "You see, it states that the writer was coming to meet his father on the day of the death. Have you any reason to suppose the father desired to see his son?"

 "I do not know of any desire."

 "Their relations were not friendly?"

 "Not intimate. For a number of years Mr. Lansdell had seen little of his son."

 "Did the son make applications to his father for money?"

 "That has happened."

 "And his father refused?"

 "I have heard him say that he would refuse."

 "Mr. Lansdell was a man of large property. To whom had he left that?"

 "His will leaves everything to his son. It was made many years ago."

 "Had he ever spoken of changing it?"

 "Recently. Quite recently. I understood that he thought of establishing some form of trust."

 "That would have deprived his son of the estate?"

 "Placed it out of the son's control."

 "What was the reason for that?"

 "I understood that he had lost confidence in his son. He had long disapproved of Mr. Charles Lansdell's manner of life. It caused him much distress."

 "In fact the dead man and the prisoner had come to breaking point. The father had resolved to disinherit the son?"

 "I can only tell you what Mr. Lansdell had discussed with me. No document had been executed."

 Waler smiled and sat down and Scottie sprang up. "Now, sir - what do you know of Charles Lansdell's manner of life?"

 "Nothing but what his father told me."

 "You don't suggest it's not respectable?"

 "A matter of opinion," the solicitor sneered.

 "The jury doesn't want your opinions, sir."

 "That is why I do not offer them."

 "Would it surprise you to hear that Mr. Lansdell was very anxious for his son to take a place in the family business?"

 "Not at all. Mr. Lansdell has often complained of his son's leaving it."

 "Very good. You know that was the only difference between them."

 "I know it was not. Mr. Lansdell objected to his son's demands for money."

 "Mr. Lansdell was a wealthy man and his son's income is small?"

 "About a thousand a year. His father considered it adequate."

 "Would you be surprised to hear that Mr. Lansdell asked his son to visit him: and that his object was to persuade his son to rejoin the firm?"

 "I should be much surprised. I have every reason to think Mr. Lansdell had ceased to hope for it."

 "I suggest that when father and son met on the morning that was the one subject of the father's conversation."

 "You amaze me."

 Scottie snarled. "Do you suppose Mr. Lansdell told you all his intentions?"

 "I have been his legal adviser and a personal friend for thirty years."

 Then Scottie let him go and the judge adjourned. In their hotel Waler came to tea with Reggie and Lomas. "Now we know," he said. "The defence is, the father brought the son down to make a last appeal to him to come back to the family business, the son refused, and the father shot himself in despair. I should say the jury won't care for it. It shows up the son as an obstinate wastrel. The only difficulty I see is if they can produce the father's letter of invitation with something in it about this story. That would be awkward."

 Reggie sat back. The blank solemnity of his round face was enlivened. "It would be rather interesting," he murmured. "I wonder."

 "It wouldn't cut much ice," said Lomas. "That jury's going to take your evidence it wasn't suicide."

 "Yes, I think you've won the case. Fortune," Waler nodded. "You were very good to - day. The way you put Scottie's back up was admirable. He's always at his worst then."

 "My only aunt!" Reggie stared at him with dislike. "I'm not here to win a case."

 "Of course not. Simply in the interests of truth," Lomas frowned. He does not like Mr. Fortune's moral moments. "So are we all."

 When they began again, Waler put the gamekeeper in the box. He testified, in a shout, that he saw father and son walking together in the park, that they were talking eagerly and both excited. "Very well. You are quite clear about that. Has anyone tried to make you tell another story?"

 "Yes, sir." The gamekeeper was delighted. "That's quite right. Miss Hayes, she came to me - -"

 "Who is Miss Hayes?" said the judge plaintively.

 "John Lansdell's secretary, m'lud," Waler explained.

 "She came to me and she made a lot of talk as I didn't ought to say I see Mr. Charles. But I did and I won't say no other."

 Scottie began to cross - examine quietly. His misadventures of the day before had subdued him. He suggested that Miss Hayes was only anxious there should be no mistake, and the gamekeeper snorted, "Anxious as I should get Mr. Charles off, that's what she was." Still Scottie kept his temper. Where were the two seen, how far off were they, and so on, a string of questions to confuse the gamekeeper into admission that he did not see them clearly enough to be sure of anything, and could have seen no excitement.

 Waler thought it necessary to re - examine. "You are certain the two men you saw were John and Charles Lansdell?"

 "Saw 'em as clear as I see you."

 "They were walking in the direction of the place where John Lansdell was found shot?"

 "That's right. And they was Mr. Charles and the master and talking passionate like. And I never saw Master again till I saw him dead - with his gun and his game bag just like I see him with Mr. Charles. Ah, just the same - saving he had his spectacles on. Couldn't be no mistake."

 Reggie's head jerked back. He stared with large frightened eyes at the gamekeeper. His lips parted.

 The gamekeeper stood down and in his place came the landlady of the inn by the railway station. Reggie did not listen. He had slid down in his seat, limp, gazing at the floor.

 She had to say that Mr. Charles Lansdell came to her inn on the day of his father's death. She remembered him particular because he wanted a drink and couldn't have it at once, being before twelve.

 Reggie sat up and looked at her, and his round face was pale in the puzzled surprise of a frightened child.

 "Mr. Lansdell he made a fuss about it," the landlady was saying, "he wanted his drink so bad. But he just had to wait, for I wasn't never one to go outside the law for no one. Then he had his drink, which it was two whiskeys he had, and he went off to the London train and only just caught it."

 Reggie drew a long breath and looked at Scottie, but the little man had no questions.

 "That's a nasty one for him," Lomas whispered. "And he knows he can't touch it."

 "Oh, my hat!" Reggie moaned.

 A detective inspector gave evidence that when he went to Charles Lansdell's rooms Miss Hayes was with him: that when Charles Lansdell was asked if he could give any information about his father's death he said he knew nothing, and, being charged, made no answer. And that, m'lud, was the case for the prosecution.

 Scottie opened his defence with a display of contemptuous confidence. The jury might very well think that he had no case to answer. The only evidence that John Lansdell was murdered came from a doctor who did not think so and a doctor brought in by the police to tell him what to say. There was no evidence at all that Charles Lansdell had committed murder. He had come to see his father at his father's request and given written notice that he was coming. He must have expected to see his father in the house, where no crime would have been possible. After he had seen his father he went away openly, as they had heard, actually drawing attention to himself. No reasonable man could think such conduct was compatible with guilt. The charge was not only unproved, it was preposterous. But Charles Lansdell was not content to be acquitted for lack of proof. He was, as the jury would appreciate, bitterly hurt that he should have been accused. All his life he had felt the deepest affection for his father. He must claim the right to vindicate himself from this foul charge and in vindicating himself he would do his duty in clearing his father's memory from the cruel slander that there had ever been enmity between them. He would himself give evidence.

 He took his stand. He had, as Lomas said, a chin. He faced the jury with a sullen stare. He spoke slowly and laboriously, as if each phrase were a hard effort. It was not true that he had ever been on bad terms with his father. There was never any quarrel between them about money. His father had always been generous. The only difference between him and his father was his father's desire that he should be in the family business. He had tried it and found he could do no good at it, so he withdrew and declined to return. He thought that his father had come to accept that. For some time it had not been spoken of. Two days before his father's death he received a letter from his father asking him to come and have a talk. The judge looked up. "Is that produced?"

 "I didn't keep it," said Charles. "I never keep letters." He wrote saying when he would come. On his way from the station to the house his father met him and said that he wanted to see him about coming back to the office. They walked on through the park talking of it. His father did most of the talking - said he ought to take his place in the firm and look after his own interests and so on. All the old arguments they'd had over and over again. He said it was no good. Then his father pressed him - complained of getting old and finding the business too much and needing help. It seemed to him that it was no use arguing, so he went away. He could see his father was disappointed. He was very sorry he'd left him so. But even now he didn't know what else there was to do. He never could stand the office. They parted quite good friends. Then he went back to London.

 It was clear enough that he had made the jury think him a selfish, ill - conditioned fellow. Waler gave that impression time to sink in. "Now, sir," he frowned. "You say that you left your father alive. Have you formed any idea how he met his death?"

 "I don't know."

 "From your knowledge of your father, do you say he was a man to commit suicide?"

 "Any man may commit suicide."

 "He committed suicide because you refused to come back to his office - as you had been refusing for years. You tell the jury you believe that?"

 "I don't know."

 "You don't know if you believe it. Very well. Do you know of anyone but yourself who would gain by your father's death?"

 "I don't know."

 "You did know his will left everything to you?"

 "I never asked him about his will."

 "Can you explain why the lady who was found in your rooms tried to tamper with the evidence that you were seen with your father?"

 "I don't know anything about it." The sullen face flushed. "I've never had any relations with Miss Hayes. She came to my rooms just as a friend of the family to tell me the police were trying to get up a case against me."

 "A very friendly interest. How much money have you been drawing from your father?"

 "No regular amount. I have my own income."

 "Quite so. But you sometimes asked him for more. Did you always get it?"

 "Not always."

 "You didn't come down on the day he was killed to ask for money?"

 "I did not."

 "We have had it in evidence that he was intending a change in his will which would have put his money beyond your control when he died. I suggest he told you that in the conversation after which he was killed."

 "It isn't true."

 "Perhaps you heard of it from your friend Miss Hayes."

 "It isn't true."

 Waler had done with him.

 The judge looked at Scottie. "Do you call Miss Hayes?"

 "I call no other witnesses, m'lud."

 The judge blinked and finished his notes.

 Scottie's speech for the defence was noisy and angry. He spent his strength on worrying the case against him. He stormed at the doctors. He stormed at the gamekeeper. He stormed at the solicitor. All was malice to make a case against the black sheep of the family. There was no real evidence. The defence of suicide he sketched lightly and then laboured hard to make Charles sympathetic, an unhappy man with all his family and the police against him, an unfortunate son, an outcast because he could not work in an office, a good fellow misunderstood. It was not the sort of thing which Scottie did well, and the jury yawned.

 Waler was quiet, cold, and brief. No doctor had been found by the defence to dispute the medical evidence that the dead man was murdered. The prisoner, it was proved, had strong motive and clear opportunity to do that murder. There was no suggestion from the defence that any other person had either. The jury had heard evidence of his relations with the dead man. They had heard his own account of himself. They could form an opinion of his character. They must do their duty.

 And the judge summed up the case in a paraphrase of that speech and the jury took few minutes to find that Charles Lansdell was guilty. . . .

 Lomas's car was to take Waler and Reggie back to town. They had been waiting some time in the hall of their hotel before Reggie came along the street. "My dear fellow, don't mind us," Lomas exhorted him. "We like hanging about for you."

 "Oh, yes. We are in a hurry, aren't we?" said Reggie, sharply. "That's how we do things."

 They got into the car and he took one of the uncomfortable straight - backed seats and turned in it to stare at them settling down behind him. His round face was pallid and lined with the confession of an irritation rare in him.

 "There, there," said Waler. "No complaints. We've all done very well. Quite a neat case. Poor old Scottie! He wasn't the man for his job. They wanted someone who could pump up floods of sentiment for the poor, misused son. But of course there was no chance with a sane jury after Fortune's evidence."

 "Quite," Lomas nodded. "It was you did the trick, Reginald."

 "Oh, my Lord!" Reggie cried. "Don't rub it in."

 "My dear fellow!" Lomas was startled. "You're not feeling sentimental about that wretched creature? He's earned his hanging."

 "He can't be hanged." Reggie was shrill. "He mustn't be hanged. We've got it all wrong."

 "Good Gad!" said Lomas. "You mean something fresh turned up in the evidence?"

 "Yes. New facts. Devastatin' facts. And that ass for the defence didn't see 'em."

 "I didn't see them," Waler frowned. "I should say the case got more crushing as it went on."

 "Quite," Lomas nodded. "Absolutely conclusive."

 "Oh, my hat! And you fellows are experts in evidence."

 "Let's have it. Fortune," Waler was annoyed. "Do you say you've found reason to believe you were mistaken?"

 Reggie drew in his breath. "Yes. It's my blame," he said in a low voice. "I missed it. Absolutely. Same like you. But I ought to have known. My own particular job. And I did think I was always careful. The mind did not function." He looked at them with bewildered distress. "Rather ghastly."

 "But what is it you missed?"

 Reggie took a box from his pocket. "Exhibit A. Only it wasn't exhibited. John Lansdell's spectacles." He displayed a gold frame and some fragments of glass. "When he was talking to Charles he had no spectacles on. When he was shot he had. Don't you see?"

 Lomas and Waler looked at each other. "What on earth does that matter?" said Waler. "It means nothing."

 "Can't you see?" Reggie complained. "He didn't use spectacles except to read. I ought to have known that."

 "How could you?"

 "My dear chap! Quite obvious. The spectacle case in his pocket was empty. A man who always wears spectacles don't carry an empty case. If he only puts 'em on to read he may. And I missed that! Oh, my head! Besides, of course, there's the lenses. Reading glasses for hypermetropia."

 "Very well," said Waler impatiently. "He'd put on his reading glasses before he was shot. What's it signify?"

 "It means he'd been reading something before he was shot. And he hadn't anything to read with him when he was found. The only possible inference is that he was reading something which the murderer wanted."

 "Well, accepting that - it doesn't weaken the case against Charles. The old man might have had a draft of this new will he was going to make - read it to Charles - and been shot. Charles wouldn't want to leave that document in his hands."

 "The new will hadn't been drafted. Only discussed. According to our own evidence."

 "This is hair splitting. Fortune. He might very well have written out his intentions himself to show Charles. You're too ingenious. Nothing in this new fact about the spectacles weakens our case. Why be so agitated? You haven't found any reason to suppose you were mistaken in saying he was murdered. That's your only responsibility."

 "Oh, he was murdered all right," Reggie sighed. "Only he wasn't murdered by Charles. That's my trouble."

 And again Lomas and Waler looked at each other.

 "My dear fellow," said Lomas gently, "you're letting this get on your nerves. What does it come to? You didn't notice his spectacles were reading glasses. An oversight, if you like. You set yourself such a high standard. But it's quite irrelevant. When you go on to say it proves Charles didn't do the murder - well, that's simply panic."

 "Oh, Peter!" Reggie groaned. "I didn't say so. It don't prove anything. It suggests there was an unknown factor in the crime. A document very important to somebody. What proved Charles didn't assist in the murder was the lady of the pub." He turned on Lomas with some ferocity. "That wasn't my error. Why didn't you tell me what she was going to say? Then we wouldn't have got in this mess."

 "I did tell you," Lomas protested.

 "What do you mean, Fortune?" Waler cried. "She gave us very useful corroboration."

 "She smashed your case," said Reggie. "The time, man, the time. That's what you didn't tell me. She swore Charles was at the pub before twelve and stayed there till he caught the London train. But his father wasn't shot till afterwards."

 "How on earth can you tell?" Waler frowned.

 "The ground. Don't you remember? It was in that long frost. There were confused footprints by the body - marks of a struggle, scraped over. The ground didn't thaw enough to take footprints till long after twelve. I asked the gamekeeper today. He said not before one or two. Charles must have been out of the park by half - past eleven."

 Waler stared at him and grunted and lit a cigarette.

 "That has torn it," said Lomas slowly. "Thank you so much, Reginald. Have you any more pleasant surprises for us?"

 "No. No. No further errors yet emerge. There wasn't anything else to muck, I suppose. Else I'd have mucked it. Sufficiently ghastly as it is."

 "Quite. This is not one of our best cases, Reginald. I'm afraid I didn't realize the bearing of the time on the footprints."

 "It's my blame," said Reggie. "The mind did not function. I never saw the case as a whole - till now."

 Waler stirred. "Confound it, don't go on being humble. Everybody missed your infernal points."

 "Yes. Yes. I wonder how often that sort of thing happens," Reggie murmured. "Makes one feel horrid responsible." He looked dismally at Lomas.

 "Good Lord, man, we do our best, and the other side is responsible for finding our mistakes," Waler said impatiently. "Nothing to be nervous about. Well, how are you going to deal with the situation, Lomas? Inform the defence of the discrepancy found in the time and let them take it to the court of appeal? Poor old Scottie! That'll show him up," he chuckled. "They'll get the conviction quashed with the evidence we provide. Charles gets off and we save our faces. Quite satisfactory."

 Reggie stared at him. "But a man's been murdered," he moaned.

 "Yes, we're back at the beginning," said Lomas. "And nothing to start from."

 "I wouldn't say that," Reggie murmured. "No. I wouldn't say that."

 "What is there? Our neat case works the other way now. We could only find one man who had opportunity and motive - and he didn't do it."

 "Yes. There are other interestin' factors. The important document. The highly important document. It wasn't Charles took it. What was the old man reading that could be connected with killing him?"

 "We could ask the solicitor and the family."

 "You could. Yes. I didn't take to the solicitor myself."

 Waler grinned. "He was out for Charles's blood, wasn't he?"

 "Yes, I think so. I didn't think he was telling the whole truth. Another interestin' factor. Miss Hayes. You were always interested in her, Lomas. She's' more interestin' now. Charles didn't strike me as carin' for the lady. And rather bothered by her fussin' over him. Why did she fuss? And if she wanted to destroy the evidence against him. Why didn't she burn that torn letter before the police came along? And finally, why was she lookin' at the scene of the crime next morning? In case a scrap of the unknown document had got left there?" For the first time he smiled. "Yes. I thought Miss Hayes was so interestin', I asked Bell before I came away to have her watched. You don't mind?"

 "Oh, don't mind me," Lomas shrugged. "She'd better be looked after, no doubt."

 Waler laughed. "So that was what you were up to when you kept us waiting! You're a fierce fellow, Fortune. Miss hanging a man and you're after somebody else next minute."

 "I've been frightened," Reggie said. "I am frightened. Speakin' morally, I'm responsible for the mess. I don't like the feelin', Waler."

 "Too much conscience, my dear fellow, too much conscience," Lomas said. "Now let's arrange the next moves."

 He made them with bland discretion. Solicitor and counsel for the defence were invited to a conference and the discovery of the flaw in the evidence announced to them in such a manner as to make them feel it their fault they missed it. They were very grateful. When Lomas suggested that it would assist in the detection of the real murderer to publish nothing of the failure of the case against Charles till the appeal was heard, they readily promised silence. "Why, Mr. Lomas, it's the young man's own interest," Scottie cried.

 "Quite. Quite. That is my first consideration," Lomas said gravely. "I hope you will convince him that anything he can tell us should be told now without reserve," And they did. But Lomas got nothing out of Charles. He persisted that what he had said in the witness box was all he could say. Had his father been carrying any papers? He did not know. Could he think of anyone who might have murdered his father? He could not. Then could he believe his father committed suicide? He didn't know what else to believe. In fine, he remained obstinately listless.

 Lomas asked the family solicitor to come and see him. His questions to that reserved man suggested a desire to find more evidence against Charles. The new will, he understood, had never been drafted. But what was the arrangement suggested? The solicitor remained vague as ever. There was to have been a trust administering the estate. The trustees? No decision had been made. The restrictions? Control in some form. Including the family business? The business was not Mr. Landsell's property but a partnership. Was it possible Mr. Lansdell had with him some documents affecting this arrangement which he might have shown to Charles? "Possible?" The solicitor stared. "You put to me a conjecture about - a conjecture. It may be possible. I know nothing of such documents."

 Lomas tried the other partners in the firm. Henry Lansdell and Alan Lansdell, the dead man's brother and nephew. They were more open than the solicitor, two correct business men gravely urbane. But they had nothing to tell. The new will? They were aware of the intention, but the details had not been discussed with them. John Lansdell was reticent about his son's position. Could he have been carrying papers on the day of his death? It was obviously possible. They thought it unlikely. A man going shooting would not naturally carry papers. Lomas had to agree.

 So the days went by, till a morning came when Lomas read in the papers with angry horror a paragraph with the headlines: LANSDELL CASE NEW TURN It informed him that evidence had reached the authorities which compelled reconsideration of the Lansdell case and there was reason to expect the sentence on Charles Lansdell would not be carried out and startling developments might follow.

 He swore. He rang up Charles's solicitors and complained of this breach of their promise. They declined to know anything about it. He composed a general instruction to his department on the sin of giving information to the press.

 That afternoon Mr. Fortune drifted into his room, dreamy and serene. "Well, well. And are we yet alive to see each other's face?" He sank into the easiest chair. "Been doin' anything, Lomas? I hadn't noticed it."

 "We're no forrader," Lomas frowned, and related his discreet inquiries.

 "Results merely negative. Yes. Same like me with measles. As you were."

 "Did you see that?" said Lomas and showed him the offending paragraph.

 "Oh, ah. Yes. I wondered about it. What's the bright idea?"

 "You don't suppose I had anything to do with it? I got an undertaking from the other side they'd keep quiet. I've been devilish careful to give nothing away. Of course I have. The last thing I wanted was to warn the real murderer that we'd begun to look for him. It's an infernal nuisance. I wish I knew who leaked. I'd make him sit up."

 "Well, well," said Reggie mildly. "Casks leak at the top as well as bottom. Might have been inferred from your new inquiries. Anyway, bound to come out soon. And we haven't made much of lookin' for the murderer while he didn't know it. Unless the interestin' Miss Hayes has been showin' her hand. Any news of her?"

 "Drawn blank there, too," Lomas shrugged. "She's left Lansdell's house and gone to live in a lady's club in Pimlico. That's all. Any more useful suggestions?"

 "Lunch, I think," Reggie murmured. "A simple, solid lunch. The troubled mind needs solace. Beef and Burgundy."

 When they came back Superintendent Bell was waiting for Lomas with a face of reproach. "There's news of that Miss Hayes, sir. She went to the Lansdell office this morning. Was there some time."

 Lomas shrugged. "Nothing unnatural in that."

 "I couldn't say, sir. When she came out, she went to a tourist office and took a ticket to Paris. Then she changed fifty pounds into foreign money: French and Italian. She's gone back now to her club."

 Then Reggie murmured: "One of your larger cigars would do me no harm." He lit it and sank again into the easiest chair and surveyed Lomas with a benign smile.

 "This is what you expected from the lady, is it?" said Lomas.

 "Not specially. No. Not definitely. But this will do."

 "I don't see my way," Lomas meditated. "She mustn't leave the country, Bell. If she tries, stop her and bring her here to explain herself. Will that satisfy you, Reginald?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Pleased to meet her. You might see if you can trace where her money came from."

 "Man about it, sir," Bell said.

 "Good. And I should have some other men lookin' after Lansdell, pere et fils."

 "Yes. That's necessary," Lomas nodded. "Don't lose them, Bell."

 "I think not, sir," said Bell grimly, and strode out. Reggie contemplated the perplexed face of Lomas benignly.

 "You always said you wanted a theory which would account for the lady," he murmured. "You may get it now."

 "I don't see it. If she was mixed up in the murder herself, why did she try to get Charles off?"

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! She didn't. On the contrary. She only strengthened the case against Charles. Quite neat."

 "What is your theory, then? That she killed the old man herself?"

 "No. I wouldn't say that. No. The provisional hypothesis is that she knows so much about it she has to be removed."

 "By the Lansdell firm? That means those two fellows did the murder. They're about the last men you'd take for murderers."

 "Because they're so respectable? My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap!"

 "We have a long way to go before you can prove it."

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured. "You never know, you know."

 "Why should they suddenly think of getting her out of the way? They might have sent her off days ago, weeks ago, if they were afraid of her."

 Reggie's cigar was finished. "I expect they read the papers, Lomas," he said. "They've felt safe till to - day. Good - bye. Let me know when you've got the lady."

 That evening Miss Hayes was stopped as she was going on board the boat at Dover. A grave man told her that the police wanted some explanation from her and declined to tell her anything else, though she asked him all the way to Scotland Yard.

 Mr. Fortune was called to the telephone. "We've taken the woman," Lomas said. "She'll be here in an hour. The notes she changed were paid to Alan Lansdell for a cheque drawn on his private account. I haven't sent for him yet. I'm going to ask for her explanation first."

 "I shall be there," said Reggie, and rang off. He sat down by the telephone and smoked for some time, then turned up a number in the directory, but with his hand on the telephone changed his mind and put on his coat and went out. He walked to Scotland Yard. An unusual thing. On the way he went into a street call box.

 Superintendent Bell was interrogating Miss Hayes. She sat before him, her furs thrown back from her handsome body, flushed and defiant. "You've been brought here. Miss Hayes, because it is necessary in your own interest that you should tell us all you know of the murder of John Lansdell." And with voluble indignation Miss Hayes declared that she knew nothing. It was too bad to drag her into the case again. They hadn't dared to ask her anything in court - only to make nasty insinuations which were all lies. She wasn't going to be bullied in a wretched secret inquiry. "You're doing yourself no good," said Bell. "It's your own actions which have brought suspicion on you. Why did you want to leave England the day it was in the papers Charles Lansdell's conviction wouldn't stand?" She made a show of surprise. She hadn't seen anything about it. Was it true? But how splendid! She never believed Charles could have done it. She always told them so. "That's very well acted," said Bell. "Why were you leaving the country? Why did you take money from Alan Lansdell to go away? Why should he pay you?"

 Her hands closed on each other. "Don't be ridiculous," she laughed. "There's nothing strange in the firm paying the senior partner's secretary. Naturally, they're giving me something. I've lost a very good position and the firm recognise it fairly."

 "How much?" said Bell sharply.

 She hesitated. Her dark eyes glittered at him.

 "Yes. Be careful," said Bell. "You're trying to find out what I know. You can take it I know everything. What you have to do is to explain how you can be innocent."

 "Innocent of what?" she cried.

 Into the room came Lomas and Reggie. She opened her eyes at them. Lomas she did not know. She pretended not to know Reggie. "Who are these people?" she said.

 "Oh, you remember me. Miss Hayes," Reggie murmured. "You saw me at the trial. I thought we might meet again. I wasn't quite sure where it would be." She stared at him, and her eyes seemed to be all pupils. Reggie's round face showed no interest in her but a cold curiosity. "Well, what about that paper?" he drawled.

 "Paper?" she said faintly, and licked her lips. "What paper?"

 "Don't play the fool. The paper John Lansdell was reading before they shot him."

 She gulped. She could not speak for a moment. She stammered something and stopped herself. A man had come in and given Lomas a written message. He read it, picked up a memorandum form and scribbled an answer, and the man hurried out. She watched, breathing fast, and beads of sweat glistened on her face. Lomas gave the first message to Reggie. "Yes. That settles him," Reggie murmured. For the message was: Henry Lansdell left house seven - thirty. Went Knightsbridge tube station. Threw himself in front of train. Picked up dead.

 Reggie's eyebrows asked a question and Lomas nodded. Then they turned upon Miss Hayes.

 "Well?" said Reggie.

 "You haven't got anything against me," she panted. "You can't have. I never touched Mr. Lansdell. I never knew anything about it."

 "You knew who killed him. You knew why he was killed. You said nothing. You waited to let an innocent man get hanged for it. You took a price for your silence from Alan Lansdell."

 "My God! I never meant it," she screamed. "I swear I never thought they'd murder him. I don't know how it happened now."

 "Oh, yes, you do. You've always known."

 "I haven't. I haven't. I don't know what they did to him. I never dreamed of all this happening. Mr. Lansdell was making a plan to turn the firm into a trust. I had to type it for him. So I told the other partners. I thought they ought to know. I knew Mr. Lansdell was quarrelling with them and trying to push them out. Then when he got Charles to come down I telephoned to them and that's all I ever did. I swear to God I never thought of them killing him. I couldn't believe it. I thought it must have been Charles."

 Reggie turned away. "And that's that," he murmured. "She typed it for him."

 "Take her statement. Bell," Lomas said. And they went out. "Sweet young thing," Lomas chuckled. "I always said she was in it up to the neck."

 "You did. Yes. You did. How right you were," Reggie murmured. They came back to Lomas's room. "Well, well. Final scene. Call the first murderer."

 "You think the son was the leading spirit?"

 "I should say so. Yes." Reggie contemplated him with half - shut eyes. "That is the workin' hypothesis. There was a struggle to do the murder. The younger man must have been prominent."

 "Quite. But it's the father who's committed suicide."

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Bein' the weaker link. As per hypothesis."

 And Alan Lansdell was brought to them. He did not look strength. He had been drinking. He was unseemly as only a formal man caught in excited alarm can be. He began with bluster. "Mr. Lomas? Why am I brought here, sir? It's scandalous that I should be forced here like this without notice. If you - -"

 "In the first place," said Lomas, "you've been brought here to be told that your father has committed suicide."

 "Suicide? My father?" Lansdell stammered.

 "Does that surprise you?" said Lomas.

 "Surprise? Good God, sir, don't be so brutal. It's a ghastly shock." He wiped his brow. "Give me a drink, for God's sake." Reggie gave him a glass of water. "How did it happen?"

 "He threw himself in front of a train at Knightsbridge station."

 "An accident!" Lansdell said. "It must have been an accident."

 "Oh, no, it wasn't. Two of my men saw him do it. He was too quick for them."

 "Do you mean he'd been arrested?"

 "No. He was being watched - till the evidence was complete. It is now. You have been arrested. You will be charged with the murder of John Lansdell."

 "But you can't - -"

 "Be careful what you say. It may be used against you."

 "But Charles was proved guilty. He's convicted. You can't put it on me now."

 "Your father knew better than that," said Lomas. "The evidence that proves Charles innocent has been found. And the evidence that proves who was guilty."

 "My father!" Lansdell repeated. "Oh, God, this is terrible!" He looked away, dabbed at his eyes and his brow. "Can't you see what a ghastly time I've had? I couldn't speak. My father! It would have been treachery for me. And all the while poor old Charles - I've been in hell."

 "You think so?" Reggie murmured.

 "You'd better not speak now," Lomas frowned. "If you do - -"

 "I know. I know. It's against myself. What do I care now? I don't want anything hidden. It was the infernal quarrels in the firm that made the trouble. My uncle couldn't hit it off with my father. He was, an old man, you know, and old - fashioned. My father wanted to develop the business on his own lines. They wore each other to rags. My uncle began to talk of bringing Charles back as partner, which my father wouldn't have, and then threatened if he couldn't he'd make over his interest to a trust. He was senior, he had the governing power, and my father was furious. Then that ghastly day we had a telephone message Charles was going down to see him and settle things. My father went mad over that. He insisted on rushing off to stop it. I tried to calm him down but he wouldn't listen, so I went with him hoping I could manage to keep the peace. As we drove through the park we saw my uncle. He was sitting down reading some papers. My father stopped the car and went up to him and then they were quarrelling before I could interfere. I don't know how it began - something about what had we come for and what had he been doing with Charles. Then my uncle was saying it was just as well we had come, he had finished with Charles and he'd made up his mind. He began to read from those infernal papers - it was the scheme of the trust he had drafted. My father snatched at them and my uncle took up his gun and then they were struggling for it and before I could stop them my uncle was shot. My God! What could I do? I saw he was dead. I was dazed. My father said we'd better get away. I only thought of saving him somehow. What could I do? I had to let everything go but that. I couldn't say anything, for his sake. Don't you see? Great God, it's been torture for me all these weeks - and now he's gone. Well, nothing matters now."

 "You think not?" Reggie murmured.

 "You want to tell that story?" said Lomas.

 "Don't you believe me, Mr. Lomas? I swear it's the truth."

 "If you choose to swear it, you'll have your chance," said Lomas with contempt. "You'll be charged with murder." And Lansdell was taken away walking like a blind man.

 "What a worm!" Lomas shrugged.

 Reggie stood up. "Yes. Yes. I thought the father was the better man," he said. "Good - night."

 Two days afterwards he was in his study writing a little, pensive essay on measles. Lomas was announced and came with sprightly step. "Well, Reginald" - he was checked by the melancholy of Reggie's eyes - "my dear fellow, I'm not disturbing the flow of genius?"

 "What is this?" Reggie moaned. "Official consultation or droppin' in to tea?"

 "Well, I thought you'd like to know how things are going."

 "Oh, Peter!" Reggie groaned. "You haven't found a snag in it now?"

 "Nothing of the sort. Making a good case. We've been able to verify that the Lansdells were rung up from the old man's place that morning and went off together in Alan's two - seater. They left about eleven - thirty and didn't get back till three. So the times fit all right now. Our case will be, they went into the park by the gate the Maidstone side - there's no lodge there, so they could get in and out without being seen."

 "I know. I went in that way."

 "And it's not far from the place where the old man was murdered. I've put that old scamp of a solicitor through it and made him admit he had heard talk of turning the firm into a trust." "Oh, yes. I thought he was being very economical with the truth."

 "That will corroborate the woman's story. The only actual evidence the old man had the scheme on paper with him is Alan's confession."

 "He's going to confess in court, is he?"

 "Oh, he'll confess like the devil. It's his only chance to put the murder on his father and pose as the well - meaning son. If he touches the great heart of the public he won't get hanged."

 "I wonder. I should say the public won't fall for Alan. Not an appealin' character."

 "Oh, I hope to hang him. If not, he'll get a long term of penal servitude. That will do. It's come out quite neatly in the end. But I don't know where we should be if the Lansdell nerve hadn't broken. While they sat tight and kept the woman quiet there was no way of getting any evidence."

 "No. No. I noticed that," Reggie murmured. "That is why I put it in the papers we'd got some."

 "Good Gad! That was you!" Lomas cried.

 "Officially - not me, no. Speakin' confidentially, I thought a little experimental work was needed. So I made an experiment. Very instructive reaction."

 "You mean that paragraph scared them into hustling the woman out of the country? I suppose so. But I wish you wouldn't do these things."

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! Of course you do, officially. But unofficially - we wouldn't be anywhere if I hadn't. As you were sayin'."

 "I don't like it," Lomas frowned. "But after all, it wasn't that settled the matter. Henry Lansdell's suicide was what broke these other two."

 "Yes. Yes. That was conclusive," Reggie murmured. "You see. Henry Lansdell heard over the telephone the woman had been arrested and it was all up. Only that and nothing more. And he went out and killed himself."

 "You telephoned to him?" Lomas gasped.

 Reggie smiled. "Officially - not me, no. It was just a voice. From a public call box. It's all right, Lomas dear."

 "My God!" said Lomas, and stared at him. "You've taken an awful responsibility. Fortune."

 Reggie's smile vanished, and his round face was pale and troubled. "I know. That was what worried me. An awful responsibility."

 But, as was said in the beginning, they did not mean the same thing.

 FOURTH CASE THE BUNCH OF GRAPES MR. FORTUNE stood over the remains of a bunch of large black grapes and contemplated them in a gentle melancholy. He was in his laboratory.

 Slowly and sighing he turned to an apparatus of glass tube and bottles and poured some fluid into one. Bubbles of gas began to pass from that bottle to the other. His assistant, watching, showed with respect a lack of interest.

 The fluid into which the gas came was suffused with a faint tawny colour: a cloud formed in it, orange red.

 A faint sound escaped from the assistant. "Yes. Yes. I know you're disappointed." Mr. Fortune murmured. "That's the only consolin' factor present. But irrelevant to the problem."

 "Sorry, sir." The assistant studied the orange cloud, which did not become more substantial. "Only a small amount here."

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap!" Mr. Fortune murmured. "Did you happen to think that will simplify things?"

 "I don't see my way at all," the assistant grumbled.

 "It's something to know that," said Mr. Fortune cheerfully. "I knew I didn't some time ago. We'll try the other test, please." He went back to the grapes and looked at each one with minute care. He smelt them.

 The activities of the assistant were stopped a moment by a spasm of surprise. The grapes were reduced to fluid, another apparatus of bottle and tube was prepared, and gas generated in the grape fluid passed into a clear solution. In that came darkness and black mist.

 Mr. Fortune sighed again. "Which bein' thus, we have to work out the quantity. What is life that one should seek it?" For he does not love calculations.

 They worked on and at the end his assistant looked at him with puzzled curiosity. "Call it three grains. Say the rest of the bunch had the same proportion, about six in all. Small dose, isn't it?"

 "Yes. Yes. Economical for a poisoner. They're generally generous. But less than a grain has killed. I wonder." He contemplated the assistant with gentle sorrow. "Anything else occur to you, Jenks?"

 "Well, it's a very happy - go - lucky affair," Jenks complained.

 "I wouldn't say that. No. You're so professional. You don't allow for the limited resources of the amateur. Signs of careful work by an ingenious amateur. And that's very tiresome, Jenks. The country is so cold." He moaned and went to the window and looked at a sullen October sky and wandered out.

 This was his first investigation of the case which his sister considers his best. But she is a woman of sentiment - though she would not forgive the description.

 She is the sister who married a bishop: a fact of which his friends consider Mr. Fortune apt to boast. He professes himself afraid of the Bishop, but there are those who believe the Bishop more afraid of him. It is a wholesome condition for brothers - in - law, promoting family affection.

 At this point in the case Mr. Fortune told his sister by telephone that the world was a vale of tears and he would like to come and weep with her at Laxbury.

 "My dear child!" said the telephone. "How sweet of you! Come along. Bill will love it. I was really just going to ask you. We haven't seen you in ages. Bill was saying so."

 "Bless him!" said Mr. Fortune, and rang off. She is a little too fond of bringing the Bishop into her conversation.

 But the Bishop of Laxbury, a large impressive bishop, was most delighted to see Reginald and took pains about it. Reggie purred: he likes people to be nice to him: and the gaiety of his sister (she was in spirits) alleviated the zeal of the episcopal welcome. Yet he was nervous, he felt unworthy.

 They gave him an admirable dinner in the episcopal palatial style. Mrs. Brandon left the table, and struggling against exhaustion he was alone with the Bishop and the port.

 "I hope you like that," said the Bishop earnestly.

 "Oh, yes. Rather." Reggie roused himself to drink. " Wonderful."

 "It's the '78," the Bishop explained with decent pride. "There is not much left."

 "My dear chap!" Reggie sipped again. For port he has no reverence - that is one of his dearest heresies - but he appreciated the honour. "Wonderful." His heavy eyes opened a little wider. He was wondering why the pride of the episcopal cellar was offered to a casual brother - in - law.

 But the Bishop talked fervently of vintages and then with indignation of the decay of faith from which arose the cult of tawny port.

 Reggie was not required to take part in the conversation. He came back to life on the necessity of declining any more of the '78. Its level was low. "Well, then, let us smoke a cigar in the library." The Bishop rose and in a mild, dazed alarm Reggie was shepherded away. It was without precedent that they should not go to Pamela. Behold the awful reason for '78 port. And what in wonder could Bill the Bishop be confidential about? A ghastly question.

 The Bishop stood in front of the fire and cleared his throat. "I was so pleased you could spare us a day or two, Reginald. I have been anxious to consult you. In point of fact I had resolved to go to town. You won't think me selfish if I put the matter before you now?"

 "My dear fellow!" Reggie beamed.

 "You're very kind. It is causing me a great deal of anxiety," and the Bishop looked it.

 Reggie moved in his chair. "Something personal, Bill?"

 "Dear me, no, not at all. Except as touching my office." But the Bishop was still uncomfortable. "I don't know whether I am justified in forcing an evil affair upon another man's mind. But you are of great experience in such things."

 "Yes. My job's sin," said Reggie with some acidity. "What sin's this?"

 "I have received an anonymous letter," the Bishop announced.

 "Oh, my aunt!" Reggie moaned. "Is that unusual?"

 "It has occurred before. But hitherto only upon church affairs. This is of quite a different nature. This - let me show it you, Reginald." The Bishop strode to a dispatch box and came back holding, as if it were filthy, an envelope.

 Reggie received it without gratitude. "Thanks. Cheap stationery. Postmark, Laxbury. Addressed in laboured hand. Bishop of Laxbury, The Palace. Letter apparently in same writing. ' Bishop of Laxbury - Sir, This is to say you ought to know what's going on in Morton parish.' "He looked up at the Bishop.

 "Morton?" he asked.

 "A large parish, two miles out of the town. It has a very interesting Norman church."

 "Is that so?" Reggie murmured. "And did you know what's goin' on in Morton parish?"

 "My dear Reginald, I know the parish well. But this - pray read on."

 '"Mr. Waring is as good as a saint and he won't see anything though 'tis open scandal for all how his wife is with Mr. Ivor Gould. If someone don't stop them soon there'll be a wicked end to it. She is that set on Mr. Gould, she cares for nothing else now, not her husband nor her dear boy. Nor the shame of it. - A Friend!'"

 Reggie sat back. "Yes. Amiable composition. Common type. With points of interest. Any reason to believe it?"

 "I don't know how to answer you, Reginald."

 "Oh! Like that. Who is the saintly Waring?"

 "The Vicar. A dear good fellow, a fine spirit, the most unworldly of men."

 "Letter accurate so far. And the other members of the triangle?"

 "I can only tell you, Reginald, I am not surprised."

 "Oh, my hat!" Reggie moaned.

 "You see what a distressing situation I am in. Here is danger of a terrible scandal. Should I warn poor Waring? Or would it be better to approach his wife? She might be very difficult - -"

 "Yes. She might," Reggie murmured.

 "But I must endeavour to do what is right."

 "Yes. Very painful state of mind. Yes. Led to a lot of trouble."

 "Pray give me your advice."

 "Have you asked Pamela?" said Reggie.

 "My dear Reginald!" The Bishop was horrified. "I could not discuss such an affair with Pamela."

 "Sorry. My error. Well, as you don't know anything, you'd better not do anything."

 The Bishop was startled. "But really, Reginald, can I honestly say I don't know anything?"

 "It's all you can honestly say."

 "I should be most happy to repose in your judgment, my dear fellow. But - -"

 "You can repose all right." Reggie was tired of him.

 "But I am not sure you realize the grave issues -"

 "Only a life or two. That's all. Bill." Reggie looked at him with dislike.

 "Quite so. Quite." The Bishop cleared his throat importantly.

 "Well, I meant to stay a bit." Reggie got out of his chair. "I'll look into it. Good - night."

 He was in his bedroom, he was out of his coat and in a dressing gown, he had composed himself in a chair before the fire to meditation upon the parish of Morton when the door opened and Pamela came in.

 "Well, well!" Reggie smiled upon her. "Bless you, my child. You look about fourteen. And very nice, too."

 She was in a kimono, her hair down. She kissed the top of his head and sat cross - legged on the rug at his feet and looked up at him like an earnest child. "Bill told you all about it?"

 "Not to notice. No." Reggie's face became blank. "What do you happen to mean?"

 "This wretched anonymous letter."

 "Which is that?"

 "Oh, don't you be discreet," she cried. "The letter about the Vicar at Morton and Mrs. Waring."

 "Think of that!" Reggie sighed. "Are you a good' little girl? No. The ruling of Bill is that we couldn't possibly discuss such an affair with Pamela."

 "Bless him!" She laughed a little. "I was so glad you could come, Reggie."

 "Yes, I noticed that. Now I know why. Very gratifyin'. So he did show you the letter?"

 "Well, not exactly showed me," said Pamela. "I - I just gathered, Reggie."

 Reggie shook his head. "Now and then - only now and then - I am a little sorry for Bill."

 "Poor dear." Pamela looked charming. "He's been so dreadfully troubled."

 "Yes, that was indicated," Reggie murmured. "But Pamela isn't?"

 "It's a horrid letter." Pamela's little nose wrinkled disgust. "Oh, it's vile. I was afraid Bill would do something hopeless. You won't let him, will you?"

 "Oh! That was your idea. You don't believe it?"

 "My dear!" She looked up at him, a sad child. "One doesn't, does one - that sort of thing? And I'm sure the letter's not true. There isn't any open scandal. I should know. Morton's quite near. But it's so difficult. Mr. Waring is a sort of learned saint and she's different. And she has been a great deal about with this Mr. Gould. Oh, I'm horrid. I should never have thought anything of it except for this letter. But it is true."

 "Yes. Ingenious letter. Yes. And you don't care for Mrs. Waring, Pam?"

 "Why, I don't know. She's just not interesting. Quite an ordinary woman. Rather fine to look at in a big, hearty way, and she has a dear little boy. She's very much alive. Everybody likes her well enough."

 "And the Mr. Gould?"

 "Oh, he's a rich hunting man. I don't care for him. A hard, pushful creature. But he's quite well liked, too."

 "Somebody don't like somebody," Reggie murmured. "Any idea who would write the letter, Pam?"

 "My dear child, it might be hundreds of people. I thought it was a woman. It's just like servants' talk. Morton's quite close to Laxbury, and you know what a cathedral town is for gossip. How can one tell? There are hosts would know enough to make it up."

 "Yes. Takin' it for false. Anyone who would know if it was true?"

 Pamela was frightened. "That would have to be just chance, wouldn't it?" she cried.

 "Does anybody much live out at Morton - except these people?"

 Pamela meditated. "I don't know. It's an ordinary county parish. The only other big house is the Lyntons'. But he's a futile little man and she's the gentlest creature. She's been ill, too, just lately."

 "Oh! Serious?"

 "I don't know. Something internal."

 "Well, well," Reggie sighed. "What is life that one should seek it? Is there anything to look at in the parish of Morton?"

 "How do you mean?" She was startled.

 "Anything to attract the intelligent stranger?"

 "There's the church, of course. It's Norman and all that. It has a priest's chamber and a funny little staircase up to it - wooden but all squiggly, spiral; it's very wonderful. I've forgotten what they call it."

 "They call it a newel stair," said Reggie severely. "In wood it is unusual. I will go and look at the wooden newel stair. Go to bed, Pam." He stood up, lifting her to her feet.

 "You are a dear, Reggie." She kissed him. "It's so comfortable with you. I feel people are safe. You're nice."

 "I rather like you," said Reggie.

 But when she had gone, "Oh, my aunt!" he groaned. "Safe! What a mess! What a mess!"

 As an example of scientific method, Reggie considers that the value of the case is its demonstration of the importance of the open mind. At this stage his mind was very open. The possibilities seemed to him practically infinite. That was what kept him awake for an hour - an event very rare.

 It was not Morton Church he went to in the morning but the county police station.

 The Chief Constable received him with anxious solemnity. "Very good of you to come down. This is Dr. Antony, Mrs. Lynton's doctor."

 Reggie shook hands. "Any further illness?"

 "She's made a fair recovery. She's about again. - I'm afraid you have something serious to tell us, Mr. Fortune?"

 "Yes. It's going to be a tiresome case."

 "You found arsenic?"

 "Oh, no. No. Not a trace. I didn't think I should. Your account of the symptoms was very good and clear."

 "Dear me." Dr. Antony was disconcerted. "I thought there was strong suspicion of arsenic."

 "Effects do simulate each other," Reggie consoled him. "But the pulse, you know, the breathing."

 "What did you find, then, Mr. Fortune?"

 "Oh, antimony. Antimony. We found about three grains in the grapes. Assumin' the amount employed was equally distributed in the whole bunch, it was six grains or more. Our conclusion is, some grains of antimony were consumed by Mrs. Lynton. Rather indefinite, but adequate."

 "Antimony!" said the Chief Constable. "That's out of the way, isn't it?"

 "Yes. Not one of the popular poisons. Rather old - fashioned. Victorian. But it works all right."

 "Two or three grains," the doctor reflected. "I never saw a case, myself, but surely that's a small dose, Mr. Fortune?"

 "Quite enough for the symptoms. And the hypothetical six could easily be fatal. Still the amount is small. That's one of the interesting points."

 "What does it mean, Mr. Fortune?" said the Chief Constable eagerly.

 "I haven't the slightest idea. Hopeful ignorance of the poisoner - poisoner's fear of being too obvious - many other meanings possible. Attractive held for speculation."

 "It was diabolically clever, putting the stuff in grapes," said the Chief Constable.

 "You think so?" Reggie murmured.

 "That's never been done before, has it?"

 "I don't recall grapes. The raisin is suspect. Yes the use of the grapes also has interest." He gazed with dreamy eyes at Dr. Antony, who became uncomfortable.

 "Clever work to get it into them," the Chief Constable persisted.

 "Quite neat, yes. There's no actual difficulty for a light hand. It was generally inserted at the juncture with the stem. One or two punctures also. On ordinary inspection the grapes looked all right. Did you notice anything, Doctor?"

 "I did think the bunch looked a little knocked about," said Dr. Antony with some hesitation.

 "Yes. Was that after your attention had been. drawn to it?"

 "Oh, certainly. Of course. I didn't see the grapes till after Mrs. Lynton said she believed it was they made her ill. Naturally I didn't."

 "Quite," Reggie murmured, watching him.

 "Do you know what was used, Mr. Fortune?" the doctor asked eagerly.

 "Oh, tartrate of antimony. Tartar emetic. I rather suspected wine of antimony. I thought I could smell sherry. But there was only a faint trace of alcohol."

 "You're going beyond me," the Chief Constable complained. "What is wine of antimony?"

 "Common drug once, wasn't it. Doctor?" Reggie smiled.

 "Really, I don't know," the doctor snapped. "I never use it."

 "Of course not. No. Quite obsolete. Victorian." Reggie turned to the Chief Constable. "It's tartar emetic dissolved in sherry: a cure - all of the Dark Ages."

 "I see. I've heard of tartar emetic. That's common enough. Vets use it, don't they?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Quite easy to get. Well, all this bein' thus, let's have the history of Mrs. Lynton."

 "Poor lady, she hasn't any," the Chief Constable laughed.

 "She has enough to suggest poison to somebody," said Reggie.

 "That's true, of course. But I mean there's absolutely nothing about her to give a motive."

 "Queer things, motives," Reggie murmured. "Well, Doctor, what's her history?"

 "You mean her medical history, Mr. Fortune?" The doctor was nervous.

 "All you know about her," said Reggie sharply.

 "Well, really - I'm not a personal friend, you know. She's only a patient. She's a woman of about forty; she's lived twenty years at Morton, much respected. I think we can say she's happily married." He looked at the Chief Constable.

 "Certainly you can. Sweet woman - and Lynton's an excellent fellow. Very quiet and retiring, but one of the best. Perfect marriage, I should say. No children, of course."

 "There you have them, Mr. Fortune," the doctor went on. "It's always been a very pleasant household. Mrs. Lynton hasn't had good health recently."

 "Any previous suspicion?"

 "Not the least. She has been rather run down and depressed. Nothing more than you see in many women. This came on me like a bolt from the blue. Absolutely. A bolt from the blue. I had an urgent call from Morton House. Mr. Lynton's account was that she had been staying in for some days on account of a cold, but when they thought it had passed off she was suddenly taken with what seemed to be severe indigestion. She was very sick and had a lot of stomach pain. I found her, as I wrote, in a very disturbing condition: pulse small and very irregular, great irregularity of respiration, temperature below normal, a good deal of sweat, state of collapse. She said, and her husband confirmed it, the sickness came on just after eating these grapes. Before that, she had been quite comfortable. The food she'd been having previously was Byng's Invalid Diet and a little fish; on account of the cold. It was clear to my mind she must be suffering from some form of poisoning. I own I suspected arsenic."

 "Oh, yes. Did you tell them so?"

 "I didn't feel justified. I said I thought something she had eaten had upset her. They quite agreed. They said that it must have been the grapes. They were both very anxious and bewildered. I told them I had better examine what she'd been eating and took the grapes and what was left of the Diet and fish she had - -"

 "Very thorough. Yes. I appreciated that. Both quite innocent. It was only the grapes. As suggested. And then?"

 "Then I treated her for arsenic poisoning, demulcents and so forth, and she's made quite a good recovery, as I told you."

 "Very satisfactory. Yes." Reggie looked at him with half - shut eyes. "And are they satisfied, Doctor?"

 "Well, naturally, they have shown some curiosity." Dr. Antony was embarrassed. "Mr. Lynton has asked me more than once if I found anything wrong with the grapes. I told him I was having them examined. Mrs. Lynton has several times asked me if I think she is likely to have another attack."

 "And do you?" Reggie drawled.

 "Dear me, Mr. Fortune, how can I possibly say?" The doctor shifted in his chair.

 "But we've got to say," Reggie murmured. "And leavin' things as they are, I should say she is."

 "Good God!" the doctor cried.

 "Why the surprise?" Reggie stared.

 "Why, Mr. Fortune, I have been assuming it was arsenic, you see," the doctor hesitated. "I thought one of these arsenical washes used on the grape vine -"

 "Yes. Very ingenious. Yes. Only it wasn't. Whose vine were you thinking of?"

 "I was not," the doctor exploded in vague anger.

 "Oh, don't be cross. What's the origin of the grapes?"

 "I gathered they were brought by Mrs. Waring. The Vicar's wife, you know. She called with her little boy."

 "Did she really?" Reggie sat up. His mouth stayed a little open, his eyes were puckered as though he had a glimpse of something that startled him. He sighed and his round face became plaintive again. "The Vicar's wife," he murmured. "Oh, yes. Do vicars grow grapes much?"

 "Wouldn't be her own growing," said the Chief Constable. "The Warings haven't any glass. These were Black Colmar."

 "Yes, I noticed that. Yes. And very fine, too. Where would she get them?"

 "Really, I don't know." The doctor fidgeted in his chair. "I - I should think it most likely she had them from Ivor Gould. He does send grapes and so forth to the vicarage. For the sick, you know. He's very generous."

 "Oh, is he? I see. Mr. Ivor Gould sends grapes to Mrs. Waring for the sick. Mrs. Waring brings them to her friend, Mrs. Lynton, who has a cold. And they contain antimony in a probably lethal dose. Yes." Reggie turned to the Chief Constable. "There's your case. Major. Easy, isn't it?"

 "As nasty a one as I want," the Chief Constable growled "Baffling, absolutely baffling," Dr. Antony stood up. "It's - it's incredible."

 "Only it happened," Reggie said.

 "Well, it's quite beyond me, Mr. Fortune. I can only leave it in your hands. Of course, I'm at your service; but you've had everything I know about it." He fussed out of the room.

 "Rather shy, isn't he?" Reggie murmured. "Perhaps he is," the Chief Constable nodded. "But it's not a pleasant situation for him. All these people are his patients. He's been as frank as we could expect."

 "You think so? Well, you know him. "After all, he brought me the case and asked for investigation. If he wanted to hush it up, no need to let me know there was anything fishy."

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured. "I should say he hadn't much choice. The Lyntons had suspicions of something queer. He let that out. They're still worryin' him about it. Very desirable to protect himself."

 The Chief Constable was shocked. "I say, that's a nasty suggestion, Mr. Fortune."

 "Oh, no. No. The suggestion is Dr. Antony has been quite correct. But not anxious to assist."

 "I really don't know what more he could have told us."

 "Nor do I. I should like to. What he did tell us was only what we should get from the Lyntons as soon as we asked. And he don't mean to tell us anything else."

 "He was in a fluster," the Chief Constable admitted. "Yes. I think so. Nervous reticence by Dr. Antony. All these people are his patients. He's been in and out of Mrs. Lynton's house for umpteen years. But he protests she's not a personal friend. And he don't want to talk about how she came to be poisoned in grapes provided by the other patients. Yet that little point should interest him."

 "I suppose he feels bound to the others, too."

 "Yes. As you were sayin'. That was strongly indicated. I wonder where he went to in such a hurry."

 "Good God! You don't mean he's involved?"

 "I didn't say that. No. But he ran away just as we were coming to the point. Havin' dodged it some time."

 "But I don't follow you," the Chief Constable complained.

 "The motive. Why was Mrs. Lynton poisoned? Why was the poison put in grapes which came from Mr. Gould by way of Mrs. Waring?"

 "I don't mind owning, I can't imagine why anybody should poison Mrs. Lynton," the Chief Constable declared, "She's the most harmless woman alive."

 "And Mrs. Waring and our Mr. Gould - are they harmless?"

 "Absolutely different types, of course. I've nothing against 'em."

 "Anything in the association?" Reggie murmured.

 "I see what you mean." The Chief Constable pulled his moustache. "An intrigue between 'em - Mrs. Lynton came to know of it - and they wanted to stop her mouth."

 "Yes. Ever heard of that before?" Reggie watched him.

 "I have heard a joke or two about them, now you ask me. Smoking - room talk. My God, it's possible."

 "Rather indicated when our doctor ran away," Reggie murmured. "I wonder."

 "That makes a devilish case of it, doesn't it? "The Chief Constable meditated.

 "Yes. Poisonin' seldom is induced by the nobler emotions."

 The Chief Constable meditated more profoundly and at length. "We can't leave it like this," he announced.

 "I wasn't going to," Reggie moaned.

 "If this is the motive and these two arranged it, we've got to expect there'll be further attempts."

 "Yes. Something more will happen," Reggie murmured. "I don't know what, though."

 "Well, what are we going to do? Better put these two on the carpet and have it out with them, I suppose."

 "As at present advised - yes. Pendin' the effects of our doctor's efforts. Don't be in a hurry."

 "What do you mean?"

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! Dr. Antony went to warn 'em."

 "Good God, if he's done that!" the Chief Constable exploded.

 "Yes? What then?"

 "Why, it looks deuced ugly for him."

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured. "I meant him to, you know. Instructive to watch the reaction. See you again in the morning."

 He went out and bought a guidebook to the county and read it over a lunch in the wrong hotel. It had much to say of Morton Church: of the saddle - back tower and the strange beasts at the south door, of the priest's chamber over the chancel, of the small newel - stair of oak carved with angels by which it was reached, and the black - letter books in the chamber. Reggie saw no difficulty in being the curious visitor to the church of Morton.

 His car brought him to the village and his head came slowly out of his coat collar, for the air was crisp, which pains him. The village was comely but without human life. The church tower could be seen some way beyond. Church and vicarage stood together as though the church were in the vicarage garden or the vicarage in the churchyard.

 Reggie surveyed one and the other dreamily. The vicarage also seemed to enjoy a lifeless peace. But from somewhere behind it a child's voice sang joyfully: "With a fearful, frightful, frantic frown I bared my big right arm, I seized him by his little pigtail as on his knees fell he, An' my sabre true cut cleanly through his cervical vertebrae."

 "Well, well!" Reggie sighed, and gazed at the grim Norman mass of the church. That song in that guileless voice made a queer harmony with the grotesque horror of the beasts cut in the stone above the door. Slowly he moved to the door and opened it: stood a moment: called to his chauffeur and ran in.

 On the floor of the chancel lay a man's body. A woman was kneeling beside it. Reggie came to her. "I am a doctor, madam. Let me see him."

 "A doctor?" She stared at him. She was flushed and panting. "I think he's dead. He fell - he must have fallen down the stairs - he was in that room up there." She pointed to the newel stair.

 Reggie glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, yes. I see." He bent over the body. Sam, the chauffeur, arrived, and as he came doors banged. Reggie looked around again. "What was that?" he said sharply.

 "Sorry, sir, I left the door in my 'urry. It's the wind."

 Reggie worked upon the still body. . . . "Is he dead, Doctor?" the woman said eagerly.

 "No. No." Reggie looked at her. "I can't promise you anything, madam."

 She clasped her hands. She gave a cry of fear. "We must have him in hospital at once."

 "Oh, no! The vicarage is just close by. He's my husband, you know."

 "It's a case for a hospital. You can't treat him at your house," Reggie said sharply, and she looked away from him, breathing fast. "Have you a telephone?" She nodded. "Sam, run across and telephone Laxbury hospital for an ambulance. Mr. Fortune is bringing a bad accident case." Sam departed. "Were you here when it happened, madam?"

 "No, I wasn't. I - I'd been in the church putting flowers on the altar. My husband was in the priest's chamber up there. I heard a noise and came back and found him. He must have fallen down the stairs."

 "I see. Well, the ambulance will be here in a few minutes. You'd better get some things for him."

 "I shall go with him, of course." She started up.

 "If you please," Reggie said gravely. She was gone. He stood up and peered round the church and after a moment moved to the newel stair. It was a short and narrow spiral. He frowned at it, looked up to the door of the chamber above, and slowly, examining each stair, climbed, and entered the chamber, a dark place with a black old table and chair and chest. The chest, which had books in it, stood open. On the table a book lay open, too. "Well, well," Reggie murmured, and wandered about the room. He came back to the door and knelt on the threshold and looked along the edges of that and the newel stair, then ran down and pored over the chancel floor. "Oh, my hat!" he moaned. He turned away and was walking down the nave when Sam put his head in.

 "Ambulance just coming along the road, sir."

 "Good. Tell Mrs. Waring."

 Sam vanished and Reggie walked on. Opposite the south door by which they had entered was another. He tried it and it opened. He stepped out upon a path which led by a stile in the churchyard wall to fields, and no creature but sheep could be seen in them. He turned back.

 On the other side of the churchyard the ambulance drew up. The Vicar's unconscious body was being placed in it when his wife came breathless.

 "You may be more comfortable in my car, madam," said Reggie.

 "You are going to the hospital?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes, I shall be wanted."

 She looked at him fiercely, defiant or desperate. "I'll go with him in the ambulance," she said, and turned to get in.

 "Very well. By the way, did you happen to see anyone else about the church?"

 She stopped with her foot on the step. She did not look round. "I didn't," she said in a moment. "There was no one."

 "Thank you." Reggie shut the door on her and waved the ambulance on. He contemplated his chauffeur gloomily, "Did you, Sam?"

 "What, sir, see anyone? Not me. Not a sign."

 "Oh, yes. Both doors banged," Reggie murmured. "Well, well. Let's get on. As quick as you like."

 While Sam turned the car he saw the face of a small boy appear and vanish at the comer of the vicarage hedge, the face of a boy doing what he should not, a troubled, reckless face.

 The car shot away, but in a hundred yards was checked by the coming of another down the narrow lane, and each crawled to a point where they could pass. Reggie obstructed the passing by a head out of window. "Dr. Antony, I think. Fancy meeting you!"

 "Mr. Fortune!" Dr. Antony stopped his car. His face showed no kind of pleasure at the meeting. "I didn't know you were here."

 "No. No. I gathered that."

 "Have you been to the vicarage?"

 "Oh, no. Only to the church."

 "I'm told the Vicar has had an accident?"

 "Yes. That is so. Who told you?"

 "I just heard of it - I heard of it in the village. Is it serious?"

 "Considerably smashed, yes. I've sent him to Laxbury hospital."

 "How terrible for Mrs. Waring!"

 "Yes. Yes. Not very nice for him."

 "Dear me, no, poor fellow. But what has happened?"

 "Oh, weren't you told that? A fall. Good - bye."

 Some hours afterwards Reggie wandered into the Chief Constable's office and sank wearily to its one easy chair. "Well, well!" he moaned. "Todgers's can do it when it chooses. And you do, you really do. I wanted a reaction to the discovery of the poison and I've got it. Could there be weak tea and bread and butter? Quite a plain tea. The mind is much confused."

 "Of course, of course." The Chief Constable ordered it. "How is he?"

 "As well as a man can be with concussion and a dislocated shoulder and two ribs and a leg broken. Nothing else happened to him."

 The Chief Constable considered that it was enough.

 "Yes. Yes. If not as much as intended," Reggie murmured. And a policeman came with the tea and interrupted the Chief Constable's exclamation.

 "Good God! Do you mean - do you mean he was assaulted?"

 "Speakin' legally, no," Reggie mumbled through bread and butter. "Speakin' morally, yes."

 "Has he spoken?"

 "Yes, I thought so. The house surgeon didn't. I thought he said he fell."

 "Well, then - "Oh, yes, he probably believes it. And anyway, it's true. All the injuries were caused by a fall from the priest's chamber to the chancel. Do you know his church? Say twenty feet plus." Reggie looked plaintively at the Chief Constable. "The stair didn't break his fall. So he did fairly well."

 "Is he going to recover?"

 "A good chance, yes."

 "Thank God."

 "I wonder. Yes, I suppose we ought to. It won't solve his problem, poor beggar. That's our little job, Major. And very confusin' to the simple mind."

 "He's not been murdered, anyway," the Chief Constable said.

 "Not yet, no. Nor was Mrs. Lynton."

 "You put the two cases together?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. And it makes a complex mess."

 "But look here, Mr. Fortune, as soon as Waring's better he can tell us all about it."

 "My only aunt!" Reggie was shrill. "He don't know. That's the one certain factor. He don't know enough."

 "I don't follow," the Chief Constable complained. "You make it so involved."

 "Me! Oh, my hat! Not me. It's a nightmare of involutions. I'm strugglin' to keep touch with myself. Take this little bit. Waring is found smashed on his chancel floor with wife in attendance. Her statement - she heard a crash and ran in and found him; he had been up in the priest's chamber; she saw no one about the church. Quite plausible. But for the observed facts. When we left the door open, another door banged. When I went to the priest's chamber, I found he had left the book chest open and a book open on the table. I found also that the newel stair had recently been moved some way from the chamber door and moved back again: which would require two people or one hefty man. The inference is that while Waring was reading the stair was moved, that Waring had some sudden reason for coming away from his books and as the stair wasn't there fell smash, after which the stair was put back and someone went off, leaving the second door open."

 "My God! That means it was attempted murder and his wife was in it."

 "Yes. That is the obvious hypothesis. Yes. She was certainly lying. She knew there was someone else there. She was hit hard when I suggested it. Strong, determined woman. But I don't think she moved the stair by herself. I don't think she could. Say someone else moved the stair, then someone gave Waring a sudden call - and you account for the facts."

 "I see what you mean," the Chief Constable nodded. "Ivor Gould moved the stair and she called him down. What a devilish trick!"

 "Well, our Mr. Gould is strongly indicated. There's some further evidence. We had reason to believe Dr. Antony was anxious about Mr. Gould. Takin' it he went off and warned Gould there was trouble about the grapes, as intended, immediate activity of our Mr. Gould is the reaction."

 "Guesswork though, isn't it?"

 "Not wholly, no. Before I got away from Morton, Dr. Antony drove up. He'd heard the Vicar had had an accident. Heard very quick, didn't he? He said he'd been told in the village. I don't think the village knew."

 "Antony in it, too!" the Chief Constable growled. "It is a foul case."

 "Very uncomfortable, yes. We're just blunderin' about among 'em and they don't know what they're at. Feel almost wholly inadequate, don't you? Everybody else is all wrong and you're the only one sane. A state of feelin' very bad for the mind."

 "What on earth are we to do, Mr. Fortune?"

 "Well, you were goin' to have a talk with our Mr. Gould in the morning. I should. Mrs. Waring can wait." Reggie stood up with difficulty. "Other possible factors. You might have a man sniff round Morton in case anyone saw anyone. I want a map - a large map." He yawned. "Oh, Peter! I want my dinner," he moaned, and wandered out.

 In those benign moments when he likes to talk about himself he will claim as his chief intellectual virtues that he keeps an open mind and that he is naturally careful, and these from time to time make up for his besetting weakness, a lack of imagination. The virtues and the defect he points out were well displayed in this case. A useful imagination would have shown him the dominant force in it at an early stage - when Pamela sat on his bedroom rug - whereas he had to work painfully from one thing to another with no guidance but the sensation of being caught in a muddle of emotions.

 That sensation brought him pensive and dreamy and a little late to dinner. Pamela gave him one quick glance and began to chatter; the Bishop talked earnestly of trifles. Reggie's attention was not required. When Pamela was gone, the Bishop's smalltalk was cut off as by a tap. "This is a terrible thing which has happened to poor Waring, Reginald. I heard just before I dressed. They tell me you know all about it."

 "Oh, my hat!" Reggie moaned. "I went out to Morton to look round things. I found him smashed. I picked him up and I've been tryin' to put him together again. Speakin' physically, I think I've done it. That's all I know."

 "I understand he fell from the priest's chamber to the chancel."

 "Yes. So do I."

 "A dreadful accident." The Bishop in a majestic way exhibited curiosity. Reggie did not respond. "I cannot but think it a strange thing it should have happened just now."

 "You'd better not think," said Reggie.

 The Bishop recovered from shock. "My dear Reginald, I value your discretion - -"

 The return of Pamela interrupted him. "Bill, Mr. Lynton has rung up. He says they've just heard of Mr. Waring's accident - -"

 "Oh. You know, do you?" Reggie murmured.

 "Yes, of course, dear. He's been to the vicarage to inquire and heard Mrs. Waring was in Laxbury. He wanted to know if we knew where."

 The Bishop shook his head, declining to know anything of such a woman, "I really couldn't say, my dear."

 "You see, Mr. Lynton found the little boy alone and rather sorrowful and wanted to take him to their house if Mrs. Waring didn't mind."

 "I really couldn't advise," said the Bishop primly.

 Reggie had made a little sound. Pamela turned to him, but he was looking at neither of them. His lips were parted in a small smile, his eyes bright and eager as though he had seen something which he wanted. "What do you think, Reggie?" Pamela said.

 "The little boy. Oh, yes. Very nice of Mr. Lynton. The little boy has been overlooked, hasn't he?"

 "Do you think the Lyntons might have him, dear?" said Pamela.

 "Eh?" Reggie gazed at her as if she had just occurred. "Oh, you know 'em. I don't."

 "They'll be sweet to him, of course. Mrs. Lynton's a dear with children."

 "Well, well." Reggie smiled at her. "If she satisfies you, she won't hurt him. Make it so." But when Pamela had gone, the smile vanished and his round face was set in plaintive perplexity. He gazed with the fascination of fear at the Bishop offering port. "Oh, no. No. I want to go to bed."

 The Bishop was surprised but indulgent. He always likes his guests to go to bed. "I'm afraid you have had a trying day, Reginald."

 Reggie moaned and made haste away. But before he got into bed he spent some time over a map of the parish of Morton, six inches to the mile.

 Still pathetic and puzzled, like a child in a strange and terrible world, he presented himself next morning to the Chief Constable. "Here we are again. Same like the clown says. He also says how are you tomorrow. And very sensible of him. That is the main question."

 The Chief Constable was too earnest to listen. "It's opening out, Mr Fortune. I sent two men out to Morton last night as you said and they've got something. Gould was seen there - came across the fields from his house - went off another way in a deuce of a hurry: seemed to be going to Laxton - that's where Antony lives. So you may say we have Gould. You were right."

 "Oh, yes. Yes." Reggie sighed. "Quite clear. Very gratifyin'. Neither walk bringin' him naturally by the stile in the north wall of the churchyard and the north door."

 "I really couldn't say. I - -"

 "I can. Always wise to get up your facts. But generally disheartenin'."

 "Very likely he dodged round to hide."

 "It could be. Yes. Your fellows heard of no one else?"

 "Mrs. Waring was about, of course. Not actually seen with Gould."

 "And her little boy?" Reggie murmured.

 "Why, the child wouldn't be noticed. Good God, you don't think he was in it?"

 "My dear chap!" Reggie sighed. "How old is he? Seven or eight. Of course, he wouldn't be noticed." He sat up. "Who is that, Major?"

 It was someone whistling a song from the Mikado: "The criminal cried as he dropped him down - -" the song which Mrs. Waring's little boy had sung in the vicarage garden.

 The Chief Constable frowned disciplinary wrath at whistling in his office. "Maybe that fellow Gould. I wrote him to come at ten. We'll have him in, eh?"

 Mr. Gould was brought, a loose - built, big man, with a florid face which looked ample resources of will and a manner of assured insolence. "Morning, Major. What's doing?"

 "Sit down," the Chief Constable grunted. "This is Mr. Fortune of the Criminal Investigation Department."

 "How d'ye do?" Gould nodded. "By the way, how's old Waring, Major?"

 "Haven't you seen his wife to - day?" the Chief Constable snapped. "We'll take one thing at a time, please. A month ago Mrs. Lynton fell ill after eating some grapes brought to her by Mrs. Waring which Mrs. Waring received from you. Those grapes have been analyzed and found to contain poison. I want to know if you care to give any explanation."

 "No. I don't care to. Because I can't. If there was any poison in the grapes which came from my place, take it from me, I didn't put it there." Gould laughed. "Rum idea, what? Poison inside grapes! Is somebody telling the tale?"

 "I found poison there," said Reggie. "The woman might have died. Any idea who poisoned her, Mr. Gould?"

 "Search me. What was the poison?"

 "Does that matter to you?" Reggie murmured.

 Gould's eyes flickered. "No. I thought you wanted to talk it over."

 "I want information. About a crime. You're not bein' helpful."

 "What the devil do you expect me to say? The grapes passed through plenty of hands after they left my place."

 "Oh! You put it on Mrs. Waring?"

 "You be damned. I never said so."

 "No. You didn't say it," Reggie murmured.

 "I didn't mean it, either. There's servants, God knows who. The old girl may have poisoned herself."

 "You think so? Why?"

 "Don't try and trick me. There's nothing doing."

 "The tricks aren't this side of the table, Gould," the Chief Constable said sharply. "You're doing yourself no good."

 "Well, well, let's get on," Reggie sighed. "Mr. Gould, is this the first time you've heard the grapes were poisoned?"

 Gould took time to consider that. Then he asked, "What do you mean?"

 "Don't you remember talking to Dr. Antony yesterday?"

 But Gould was ready for that. He went on fluent and loud. "Oh, you've got at him, have you? You might just as well go straight. You won't catch me. I've nothing to hide. Antony told me there was some tomfool suspicion of the grapes. That showed me I had to get things clear with Mrs. Waring. So I went over. I saw her and her husband going into the church. That didn't suit me. I waited about till she came out. She said she couldn't talk to me, her husband was up in the room over the chancel and might be down any moment. I said I'd have a look, buzzed into the church, and moved the stair so he couldn't get down and told her he was all right. Then I had it out with her - -"

 "Arranged what you were to say, you mean," the Chief Constable growled.

 "Arranged nothing. Ask her. She got the wind up. While we were talking, there was a crash in the church and we went in and found old Waring on the floor. Silly ass hadn't noticed the stair was gone and taken a toss."

 "That's what you wanted, eh?" the Chief Constable said. "You fixed it so he should break his neck."

 "Go to hell! He didn't. And if he wasn't a ruddy ass he wouldn't have been hurt at all. I put the stair back and went off and told Antony he was wanted for an accident to the Vicar. There you are. Major." Gould grinned. "That's the lot."

 "Is it?" The Chief Constable scowled at him. "I warn you, you'll probably hear more of it."

 "That be damned! You can't touch me."

 "You think not?" Reggie murmured. "I wonder."

 Gould's pale eyes turned on him a moment. "Going to try?"

 "Good - bye, Mr. Gould," said Reggie. "You're finished." The Chief Constable pointed to the door and with a laugh and a swagger Gould went out.

 "There's a dirty dog," said the Chief Constable. "Oh, yes. Absolutely. I should say he was tellin' the truth, you know."

 "I daresay he was. That's the devil of it." Reggie smiled. "Yes. I feel that. Yes."

 "He wants hanging."

 "Kicking," Reggie corrected. "Good and hard."

 The Chief Constable was in a measure comforted. " I'll attend to that, believe me," he said with relish. "Things can be made very nasty for him socially. I'll pass the good word along."

 "Very gratifyin'! Yes, I should say he won't wait for it. He's funkin' like sin, you know. Quite a yellow man." Reggie stood up.

 "Skunk!" said the Chief Constable. "But look here, Mr. Fortune, we're not out of the wood. He's put the poison on Mrs. Waring. The next thing is, we'll have to get her story."

 "Not now," Reggie said. "I left her sitting with her husband."

 "Shaken up, is she? Well, she's got herself in a nice mess-and all for that swine, Gould."

 "Rather shattered, yes."

 "Well, when you've seen her again--"

 "Oh, yes. I'll see her again." Reggie drifted out. But he did not go to see Mrs. Waring. He ate a slow and pensive lunch and directed his car to Morton House.

 He found it among shrubberies, a plain Victorian place in grey brick. He found Mr. Lynton also prim, a little bearded man with gold spectacles, shy but anxious to be civil and unable to conceal curiosity.

 "Mr. Fortune? Am I right, sir, you are the surgeon ' who was so kind to poor Waring? All his friends will be very grateful to you. I am so sorry my wife can't see you at the moment. She is lying down. I have to insist on her lying down for two hours every afternoon. Perhaps you have heard, she has been seriously ill?" Reggie was so sorry. He mustn't disturb Mrs. Lynton. Quite unnecessary. He'd come over to see the Waring's little boy. Lynton said it was very kind. He hoped Mrs. Waring wasn't worrying - Michael was perfectly well and happy - a dear child - they were so glad to have him.

 "How nice of you," Reggie murmured. "Where is he?"

 "He's in my den, you know. I call it my den. A sort of workshop I have in the grounds. Michael loves to play with my tools. There's nothing to hurt him and he's a very good, careful boy. But I'll send for him."

 "Don't bother. I'll go out."

 "Oh, really, if you don't mind - but hadn't I better - just as you like, of course -"

Reggie made plain that he was going.

 "It's rather untidy, I'm afraid." Lynton tripped along at his side. It was a wooden hut in one of the shrubberies, with a carpenter's bench and racks of little tools and many incomplete masterpieces of fretwork. On the floor sat a small boy gloating over a box of fireworks.

 "Michael, here's a gentleman to see you. It's Mr. Fortune, the doctor who's looking after your father," said Lynton. "Isn't it kind of him, Michael?"

 "Thanks very much," said Reggie sharply. "Now, may I have a talk with him?"

 "Oh, certainly." Lynton backed away. "By all means, Mr. Fortune. Well, I'll just leave you. You'll stay to tea, won't you? My wife will so want to see you." He fled.

 The small boy was on his feet staring at Reggie with solemn eyes. "You're the man who came in the big car," he stated.

"You're the boy who sang the song," Reggie said in equal solemnity; and he whistled, 'With a fearful, frightful, frantic frown--' "Where did you learn that?"

"Mr. Gould," the small boy muttered.

 "Like him?" The boy shook his head. "Mum doesn't like me to sing it."

 "Well, well. Don't bother about Mr. Gould."

 "I didn't mean to sing it then. I didn't know. I'm never going to sing it any more. Is Dad going to be all right, please?"

 "We're making him all right again."

 "Oo." The boy's eyes confessed tears. "Does it hurt him much?"

 "Like being ill, you know."

 "I do hate Mr. Gould. Mum always did hate him."

 "Oh, yes. Why was that?"

 "He was always there," said the small boy vehemently. "We didn't want him."

 "Don't worry. No more Mr. Gould. Is it all right here?"

 "Mrs. Lynton's very nice," the boy said with care. "Awfully nice. I like being home best."

 "Want to go home now?"

 "I want to see my rabbits." The boy looked wistful.

 "Right. Run off now. I'll talk to Mrs. Lynton."

 "Could I really go?"

 "Just nip off through the shrubbery, so they don't see. I'll make it all right. You come back to tea."

 Reggie watched him vanish in the bushes, turned back and bent for some time over the box of fireworks. Then he walked slowly back to the house.

 At the door he was met by Mrs. Lynton, a frail woman, flushed and breathless, with anxious eyes. "Mr. Fortune! But how very good of you," she panted. "George should have told me at once. I did so want to see you. Have you heard anything of poor Mrs. Waring?"

 "She's with her husband."

 "Oh, really, is she? We couldn't hear where she was. I'm so glad. I suppose one shouldn't say that, but it's so difficult. Do come in. Have you had your talk with Michael?"

 "Oh, yes. In the hut. Nice place for him. So kind of you to get him fireworks."

 "Poor child, for Guy Fawkes' Day, you know. I wanted - Oh, my God!"

 A blaze of flame broke from the hut: it was filled with a glare and dense smoke enveloped it. She ran forward crying, " Michael! Michael!"

 Reggie followed at leisure.

 She did not stop or falter, she rushed into the fire. Then Reggie ran after her.

 He caught her as she reeled, groping through fume and flame, and swung her out to clear air again. "Don't -" she gasped. "Let me go - Michael - find him."

 "Michael's not there. Michael's all right. He's just run off to the vicarage. It's only your fireworks blown up."

 Then she fainted. Her husband arrived saying wild words.

 Reggie picked her up. "Don't worry. She's rather burnt her hands. That's all."

 "Oh, thank God, thank God!" the little man gurgled.

 "Yes. I think so," Reggie said gravely, and moved away with her.

 "She's so fond of Michael, you know," the little man explained.

 "She's proved that. Yes." Reggie carried her to her room and she began to come to herself. "Well, now. I'd better dress these bums. Have you got a medicine chest?"

 "Certainly, yes, a medicine cupboard. You're very kind."

 Reggie was taken to it. He found many shelves, an array of grandmother's remedies. "Well, well," he mumbled. "Some good old drugs here."

 "Yes, indeed. My family used to give all the parish medicine, I believe."

 Reggie was moving some of the bottles. "Takin' a chance, what? Still a useful method." He surveyed the little man with a benign smile. "However - among the genuine antiques here's some modern croton oil. Now, if you just let me see to Mrs. Lynton, I think I can make her comfortable."

 He was left alone with her; he dressed hands and arms and sat down by the bedside.

 "It was rather fine, goin' into the fire for that boy," he said gently.

 "It didn't do any good. I wasn't wanted."

 "Oh, yes, it did. Quite a lot. Showed the sort of woman you are. Worth finding out, Mrs. Lynton. I don't believe you knew yourself."

 "I've always loved Michael." she cried.

 "I can believe that."

 "I haven't one of my own, you see."

 "I know. That was the trouble, wasn't it? You'll love him better after this."

 "What do you mean?"

 "Rather hard lovin' what isn't yours sometimes. I'm goin' to tell you what nobody knows but me and you. It hurt you Mrs. Waring should have Michael and you no child at all. You wanted to hurt her. You believed she was in love with Ivor Gould. It came into your head, if you could make it look he and she had tried to poison you, she'd be ruined. You had a cupboard full of old wives' medicines. There was wine of antimony, wasn't there - not very much perhaps, but enough to make you ill? When Mrs. Waring sent you a bunch of Gould's grapes you put that stuff into them and you were ill. But the doctor didn't get the right suspicions. So you sent the Bishop an anonymous letter about Gould and Mrs. Waring. And still nothing happened. Then yesterday you went to Morton to watch. Perhaps you'd been before. You came to the church by the north door. You saw Gould and Mrs. Waring talking; you knew the vicar was in the priest's chamber; you called to him so he should come and see them and he fell right down and was nearly killed."

 "I didn't mean that. I didn't mean that," she sobbed.

 "No. I don't think you really meant anything you've done. It was not loving Michael the right way. That's why I'm not going to say anything to anyone but you. This is the end of it. You begin again."

 She lay sobbing. "Oh, I'm wicked. I'm a wicked woman."

 "No. You're a better woman than you thought you were. That's what's hurting you now. It's going to be all right."

 "How can you say that - you? How can you trust me?"

 "Because I know a little," said Reggie. "Goodbye."

 An hour or two later he appeared before the Chief Constable dreamy and benign. "Well, Major, the Vicar's doin' nicely, thank you, and Mrs. Vicar's dozin' by the bedside."

 "Is she? When are we going to ask her about the poison?"

 "We aren't. Because she don't know anything."

 "Are you satisfied of that?"

 "Oh, yes. Absolutely. I satisfied her, too." Reggie smiled. "She believes it was Gould. She's had a tryin' time. Not a nice man, our Mr. Gould. Beast o' prey."

 "I know he is. But you don't believe he doctored the grapes. Who did?"

 "Speakin' from experience" - Reggie eyed him solemnly - "I should say you'll never know. And they all lived happy ever after. Eliminatin' Gould. But a very interestin' case. Glad you gave it me."

 "Well - if you're content with it - -"

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! Very neat, I think." Reggie made an affectionate farewell.

 Pamela came into her drawing room to find him curled up eating muffins. "My dear child!" She smiled upon him. "How nice you look!"

 "I am," Reggie mumbled.

 "As pleased with yourself as a cat. I know you've settled things when you're that way." She rumpled his hair. "Who was it, Reggie?"

 "Exit our Mr. Gould. Peace reigns in Morton."

 "But who was it?" Reggie did not answer. "I always thought it was Mrs. Lynton, you know."

 Reggie opened round eyes. "Well, well," he murmured. "Then thank Heaven you didn't say so."

 FIFTH CASE THE SPORTED OAK MR. FORTUNE strolled into the room of the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department and chose an easy chair, and in the act of sitting down stood up again and walked to the table. A large flat box of chocolates lay open upon it and the chocolates also were large and imposing. He gazed at it.

 Lomas came in with Superintendent Bell. "Would you like one, Reginald?" he chuckled. "Sweet and comely to die for your country. But rather more sweet than comely this way."

 "You're very happy to - day," Reggie contemplated him. "Who's dead?"

 "No deaths yet. Only painful symptoms. That box was sent to the Vice Chancellor of the University of Oxbridge."

 "My only aunt!" Reggie murmured. "Like sending toffee to a headmaster. High treason. Who is Vice just now? Oh, it's Benenden. Benenden of Prince's. They call him Pompey, you know. Large and proud."

 "Do they?" said Lomas. "Not an adequate reason for sending him poisoned sweets. Well, the Vice Chancellor had some people coming to tea and in the afternoon this box of chocolates arrived by post. It was produced and handed round. Two people took a chocolate. Then a professor - Greg - professor of pure mathematics - do you know him?"

 "Oh, yes. Very pure mathematics. Brilliant person. Practically without intelligence."

 "Well, Professor Greg had a look at a chocolate and said it had been tampered with. So they didn't eat any more."

 "I saw somebody had been pawing them," Reggie murmured. He turned the chocolates over with the little tongs in the box. He looked up at Lomas. "Extraordinary thing. Greg seems to have been right. Holes in 'em afterwards filled up."

 "He was right. The two people who ate chocolates, Dr. Krug, a German savant visiting Oxbridge, and a Lady Hilda Smith both report sick - very sick."

 "Any medical evidence?"

 "Patients doing well. Doctors suspect irritant poison."

 "The customary arsenic. I wonder."

 "The Vice Chancellor called in the Oxbridge police and they sent the chocolates up for analysis. And here you are."

 "Yes. Same to you and many of 'em," Reggie murmured. "Very interestin' case. This is an age of progress. In the brave days when we were twenty - one we didn't poison our Vice Chancellor. Or did you, Lomas?"

 "It didn't occur to me," said Lomas. "I might have ragged him if necessary. But all in love."

 "Yes. That was the spirit," Reggie nodded. He went off with the chocolates.

 At the end of the next day's work he wandered into the room again. "And how is the Vice Chancellor?" he inquired, and sank into a chair.

 "Death not yet reported. Have some tea?"

 "No. No twice. Thanks. The official tea is the crackling of thorns in a pot. No. I thought he'd be still with us. Any news at all?"

 "Oxbridge don't mention it."

 "Happy is the Vice Chancellor who has no history. But I should say it will be continued in our next. A nice case, Lomas. Quite nice."

 "My dear fellow!" Lomas put up his eyeglasses. "Did I ever hear you say that before? I think not. What are we coming to?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea," Reggie smiled. "But I like it."

 "This is inhuman professional pleasure, Reginald," Lomas rebuked him. "The doctor rejoicing in the mystery of his wretched patient's obscure disease. The Vice Chancellor is not to be butchered to make a Fortune's holiday."

 "Oh, no. He wasn't. He isn't. He wouldn't have been."

 "What! Do you mean to say the chocolates weren't poisoned?"

 "No poison, no. Not strictly speakin'."

 "But the two people who ate 'em were mighty sick. Sick all night. So they say."

 "Yes. Quite possible. Unpleasant but not dangerous. It was apomorphine."

 "What's that? Sounds deadly enough."

 "Quite harmless. Unless you're in a delicate state of health. It's an emetic - acts on the nervous system. Not much used. Mild dose of apomorphine in most of the chocolates - preparin' a cataclysm for the end of the tea party - only averted by an extraordinary gleam of reason from the mathematician."

 "I'm not much amused, Reginald," Lomas frowned. "No, nor am I. Not at the awful possibilities. Shockin' thing to make a Vice Chancellor sick. Though probably wholesome. The fell intent is in the worst of taste. I condemn and deplore it. But there's something fundamentally ridiculous about it. Don't you feel that?"

 "I should say there was a nasty little mind," said Lomas severely.

 "That is indicated. Yes. I wonder."

 "Undergraduates didn't do this sort of thing in my time," said Lomas.

 "No. As we were saying, playful young barbarians, but gentlemanly. Always the little gentleman. But this is an age of progress. I'm told they are clever nowadays. All clever."

 "Oxbridge is going to the dogs," said Lomas with a certain satisfaction. He had been at Camford.

 "Don't be superior. The emetic might have come from Camford. Modern development of university contests. However. Where did the chocolates come from?"

 "Came by post. We have the wrapper," said Lomas, and took up his telephone and asked for it. In the hands of Superintendent Bell it came, and while Bell heard with solemn disapproval - for he is the most respectable of men - what had been found in the chocolates, Reggie inspected the address and the postmark.

 "Posted Whitehill - that's a suburb of Oxbridge - where the married dons live - night before the tea party. Addressed to the Vice Chancellor, Prince's College, Oxbridge. In a laboured hand." He looked up. "Has the higher intelligence studied this?"

 "I thought it looked like a woman's writing, sir," said Bell.

 "Yes, general style feminine: with some marked peculiarities. Long tails, big Greek e's. It is a nice case, isn't it? I think I'll go down to - morrow and see the Vice Chancellor. Come with me. Bell: not necessarily for publication but as evidence of good faith. Policemen are so harsh to me."

 Bell looked coy. "I'd be glad to come, sir. I'm afraid I couldn't be spared."

 "Oh, go on!" said Lomas. "Keep him out of mischief."

 Reggie sent a meek note to the Vice Chancellor announcing himself, took Bell down by the luncheon train, sent him to establish friendly relations with the police, chose rooms to his heart's desire in the hotel which has new baths, and strolled into the cloister quad of Prince's College. At the Warden's Lodging he was told that the Vice Chancellor had gone out. "Well, well. I thought he expected me. Let him know that I called. Mr. Reginald Fortune. I am staying at the Bear." He wrote it on his card.

 "If you please, sir." The butler looked at him with some curiosity.

 Reggie wandered away to the rooms of a don of his acquaintance, the senior tutor of Prince's known in the university from his elegance of person and precise speech as Bill Sikes.

 "My dear Fortune! This is delightful. I had promised to walk with the Dean." Reggie was welcomed with both hands, set with many cushions in the window seat above the college garden, asked if he was staying in Oxbridge, reproached for putting up at a hotel. "You are a thoughtless fellow. The comfort of an intelligent guest when we are all in residence is great. And you used to be intelligent. Fortune."

 "Oh, yes. I am. That's why I didn't quarter myself on you. It might be embarrassing. Bill. I'm official. Investigatin' your assault on the Vice Chancellor. Anything you say may be turned into evidence against you."

 "What a charming thought!" said Mr. Sikes. A long and exquisite hand on which there was a cameo ring caressed the peacock - blue tie and the sapphire in the gold ring which confined it. He sighed, "Hope, hope, fallacious hope! My dear Fortune, is it possible you have been deluded into taking this absurd affair as a crime?"

 "It was a crime, all right," said Reggie cheerfully, and lit his pipe.

 "I have great difficulty in believing you." Mr. Sikes gazed at him. "Much as I should like to."

 "Why is that?" Reggie murmured.

 "Naturally I should be pleased to think there was someone in Oxbridge of sufficient enterprise and public spirit to poison the Vice Chancellor. But I know the university well. We are a feeble folk. 'Do not beat me,' said the ass, 'but if you will you may.'"

 "Oh. The Vice isn't popular? Pompey will be Pompey still? Yes. Suffered from a sense of his own importance when he was only a junior don. He might be rather awful as he swelled. Still you won't believe anybody doped his chocolates? The evidence is, people ate 'em and were sick. What is your theory, Bill?"

 "The operations of nature. Her punishment of folly. The German archaeologist had devoured abundantly before the chocolates came. Lady Hilda is of the type which poor Byron had in mind when he complained that he could not endure to see women eat. The punishment fitted the crime."

 "You were there?" Reggie chuckled. "You were assistin'? Splendid! And you didn't have a chocolate. And you're confessin' animosity. The prison gates are gapin' for you, Bill."

 "You flatter me," said Mr. Sikes. "I have sometimes dreamed that I could have had a success in murder. But I lack firmness of purpose. I should always give the lady the daggers."

 "Don't introduce ladies," said Reggie severely. "You confuse me. The chocolates were doped. With an emetic."

 Mr. Sikes turned pale. "This is not a joke, I do hope, Fortune," he said faintly.

 "I'm not much amused myself. It looks like an effort at humour."

 "Revolting," said Mr. Sikes.

 "Yes. In fact. Yes. Does that suggest anything?"

 "It suggests a guttersnipe." Mr. Sikes was almost fierce.

 "You think so? Many of 'em at the university now?"

 "We have many more men from the lower classes and have become much more virtuous. Drearily virtuous." Mr. Sikes spoke slowly, weighing each word, but his tone was defiant. "The women undergraduates are now abundant. I find them of a depressing earnestness."

 "Yes. So I've heard. Yes. However. Who was at this tea party?"

 Mr. Sikes enumerated with difficulty. The Vice Chancellor, Dr. Krug, Greg, another don or two, a number of women. Lady Hilda Smith and Miss Hutchins, he remembered. Miss Hutchins was a tutor at Haworth College. The others were vague in his mind. Women were so like one another. But a regiment of women. "Like many fierce moralists, the Vice Chancellor is fond of female company."

 Reggie shook his head. "You have a shockin' mind, Bill. It corrupted my youth. Are you implyin' your drearily virtuous undergraduates don't approve of the Vice Chancellor's lady friends?"

 "Let us have tea," said Mr. Sikes amiably, and summoned a scout with the materials thereof. "Thank you, Walter. Take my compliments to Mr. Botynor and ask him to come up." He turned to Reggie. "One of our virtuous youths, my dear Fortune."

 Reggie gazed at him. "Thanks very much. What for?"

 "As a type." Mr. Sikes smiled. "A leader of modern thought. The leader, I think, in this college."

 Swift steps ran upstairs. The young man whom they brought was large and pleasantly awkward, showing no sign of thought or morals. "I'm glad you were in, Botynor." Mr. Sikes introduced them. It was plain that Botynor had heard of Mr. Reginald Fortune and was the more shy. He sank his bulk deep in a chair and looked at his tea and looked at Reggie with a quaint mixture of awe and amusement betrayed in his sunburnt face, as if he expected Reggie to do tricks. Reggie had not only heard of Mr. Botynor but seen him bowling tremendously for his effete university. Reggie made small talk about cricket. . .

 "Your fame is known, Botynor," Mr. Sikes shook his head. "I was trying to present you to Mr. Fortune as one of our intellectuals."

 "Why was that, sir?" Botynor said quickly.

 "Natural perversity," Reggie murmured. "He wanted to make me believe Oxbridge had changed. It hasn't."

 "Mr. Fortune has come down to investigate our morals," said Mr. Sikes. "So I told him he had better meet you."

 "Oh, I say!" Botynor looked from one to the other. He had an engaging sinful smile, but his blue eyes were of boyish innocence. "He's pulling my leg, Mr. Fortune. Or yours."

 "Oh, yes. Both. Simple sports of the learned."

 "I deplore this levity," said Mr Sikes. "You have infected him, Botynor. You were always destructive of serious thought."

 "I don't know why you're ragging me, sir," Botynor complained.

 "Mr. Fortune seems to have formed the opinion - I cannot imagine why - that there is some disaffection to your pastors and masters, Botynor."

 "Dear Clarence, that cannot be true!" Botynor muttered. "Sorry, sir, it's just a verse came into my head."

 "I am acquainted with it," said Mr. Sikes. "Endeavour again to be serious."

 "Well, I don't know what Mr. Fortune's thinking of." Botynor looked at him with the solemnity of a wise dog.

 "Lot of women at the university now, aren't there?" Reggie murmured.

 "Rather. Lots. My sister's at Haworth." Botynor smiled again. "I suppose it was different in your time, sir?"

 "Yes. Only a few in those ancient days. They were nothing accounted of. I had no sisters up with me."

 "A happy condition, Botynor," said Mr. Sikes.

 "Oh, I don't know. It's all right." Botynor looked shy.

 "His sister came to tea with him alone," said Mr. Sikes in a deep voice. "A hideous crime. The Vice Chancellor met them in the quad. A decree went forth from Caesar Augustus that no man should entertain women without written leave from the tutors of each. Thus is our virtue saved, Fortune."

 "You think so? Yes." Reggie considered the large extent of Botynor with dreamy eyes. "Life is gettin' very difficult. Decree not popular, what?"

 "Rather a bore, sir. Men are grousing of course." Botynor was uncomfortable. "Dons will be dons, won't they?" He grinned at Mr. Sikes.

 "It is a bitter truth, Botynor," Mr. Sikes sighed. "I have not observed that it depresses your spirits."

 "Bearing up. Waiting till the clouds roll by."

 "And the outraged sister?" Reggie murmured.

 "Oh, she's still laughing," said Botynor quickly. "I say, I've got an essay to write, sir." He took a hurried leave.

 "What zeal for work!" Reggie murmured.

 "This is very edifying."

 "The child is frightened of your grim repute, Fortune."

 "You think so?" Reggie was dreamy. "Would there be a last, lingerin' crumpet? Thank you. You're very subtle, Bill. Why so subtle? You didn't tell me of this edict about girls till you'd got the boy here."

 "My purpose," said Mr. Sikes, "was simple. Surely you see it? I desired that you should hear the matter put to him with an open mind."

 "Oh, yes. Him bein' the youth I should drop on when I looked for a fellow who had a special grudge against the Vice Chancellor. So you wanted me to feel his innocent charm first. Rather underratin' my intelligence. All right. You win. Mr. Botynor never sent anybody an emetic. Quite impossible."

 Mr. Sikes caressed his tie ring with pleasure. "My dear Fortune, I think more highly of your intelligence than ever."

 "I hope so. However. He didn't do it, but there's a sister involved. The female of the species is more dreadful than the male. What about the sister?"

 Mr. Sikes smiled. "She is ridiculously like Botynor."

 "Oh, my hat! Not the same size?"

 "Not more than may become a woman. His familiars call him the Wogger. She was naturally called the Wogg. A pleasant creature. She has his gift for happy fatuity. I have reason to know. She attends my lectures on political philosophy."

 "How nice for you. Yes. She doesn't sound like emetics, either. But she's at Haworth. One of the ladies at the fatal tea party was a Haworth don."

 "The Goop," Mr. Sikes said with contempt. "Oh, yes, she was there."

 "What is this, Bill?" Reggie frowned. "You are intimate with the lady?"

 "I beg your pardon. There is a frightful fitness in the nickname. Miss Felicia Hutchins, senior classical tutor at Haworth. But the Goop describes her far more clearly. Few festivities of the Vice Chancellor are complete without her."

 "Oh. Like that." Reggie looked at him from under drooping eyelids. "But revertin' to this edict against girls. Very strict, what?"

 "A reduction of discipline to absurdity. You know there was always a simple rule that a man must not have a woman in his rooms alone. The Vice Chancellor's horror at seeing Botynor with his sister seems to have been infuriated by the girl smiling at him. But he has long been babbling about the dangers of our laxity."

 "Well, well. The Vice Chancellor, with him, Miss Hutchins, makes a decree that mixed tea parties must be certified respectable. He has Miss Hutchins to tea and somebody sends him chocolates containing an emetic. Would you say that was a boy or a girl, Bill?"

 "I decline to accuse either," said Mr. Sikes.

 "There isn't another sex," Reggie murmured. He stood up slowly. "I must go and talk to your friend, the Goop." He started and turned back. "But there's one little point. Where is the Vice Chancellor? I wrote to him I was coming this afternoon. And he'd gone out. No excuse. Very naughty of the Vice Chancellor."

 "Entirely like him," said Mr. Sikes.

 "Oh, yes. Pompey will be Pompey still. Yet odd. A little interest in the emetic seems required. However. I'll go and try again."

 Mr. Sikes walked across the quad with him. The Vice Chancellor was still out, though expected at any moment. He had a dinner party.

 Reggie turned away. "Me for the Goop, Bill. Goodbye."

 He went first to his hotel and there collected Superintendent Bell. "A little walk before dinner. Bell," he sighed. "I am told it encourages the appetite. But we must take these risks. How did you find the police?"

 "Very nice and friendly, sir. Rather surprised to see me. They're not taking this case seriously, you know. Quite made up their minds it was a students' joke. They say this Vice Chancellor has been asking for it. Have you heard anything about that?"

 "Yes. Quite a lot. Yes. All the evidence points to that distressin' conclusion."

 "I don't quite know what we're going to do about it."

 "We're going to see the lady in the case," Reggie smiled. "I want you to protect me, Bell."

 They came through the suburbs to Haworth College. It had not the reverend dignity of Prince's; it looked like an expanded Victorian villa in red brick. The portress did not think Miss Hutchins was in and sent an underling to find out. Miss Hutchins was not in.

 "Oh. Funny, that," Reggie murmured. The stare of the portress was wooden. "I had better see the Principal."

 The Principal of Haworth was not what he feared from the higher education but a buxom woman of red face and white hair, who might have been a country squire's wife. "Mr. Reginald Fortune?" She held out a large and capable hand.

 "And Superintendent Bell," said Reggie.

 "I suppose you've come about this affair of the Vice Chancellor's chocolates."

 "Yes. I came to see Miss Hutchins. But she's not in."

 "What? That's very strange. She ought to be in."

 "Is that so?" Reggie murmured. "Well, well, I think perhaps you can help me. This is the paper the chocolates were sent in." He opened it out. "Could you tell me if you recognize the writing of the address?"

 The Principal frowned at him. "You think it was sent by someone at my college?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea," Reggie smiled.

 The Principal bent over it, looked up at him with a curious expression and again examined it and put it down. "Well!" An exclamation of amazement. "I should have said it was Miss Hutchins' writing."

 "Oh, yes. Marked peculiarities - and these are hers, what? That's very interesting."

 "It's almost incredible," the Principal said sharply, and continued to study the address. "She makes those long tails and the Greek e. The general style is hers."

 "And it was posted at the Whitehill post office. Which is close by."

 The Principal tossed the paper aside. "But it's preposterous," she said angrily. "It's the last thing in the world she would do."

 "Oh, yes. Those are the things people do in moments of excitement. However. Second alternative. Somebody imitated Miss Hutchins' writing." He gazed at the Principal with large inquiring eyes.

 She compressed her lips. She spoke incisively: "If you expect me to believe that one of my girls sent poisoned chocolates you're in a mistake."

 Reggie smiled. "I don't. Not since I saw you. Speaking strictly, it wasn't poison. Only an emetic."

 For a moment the Principal seemed likely to laugh. Then she said: "How disgusting! But was it really worth while for Mr. Fortune to investigate such a trick?"

 "Yes, I think so." Reggie considered her dreamily. "Curious case, you know. Someone sent an emetic to put the Vice Chancellor, and party out of action.

 Someone was either Miss Hutchins or a person wishin' Miss Hutchins to have the credit of it. When I come to ask Miss Hutchins her opinion she isn't in. Though she ought to be. Very curious case."

 "Certainly you must see Miss Hutchins." The Principal started up. "Come with me."

 "I was hopin' you'd say that," Reggie murmured. He gathered up the paper and with Bell followed her.

 The Principal swept along the ground - floor corridor of the college, a dim place of shiny floor and walls, and stopped at a door where two girls were standing with papers. "I don't think Miss Hutchins can be in. Miss Frobisher," one said. "We've been knocking."

 The Principal tried the door. It was locked. She called the servant of the corridor. The door was opened, and they went in and shut out the interested girls. "Does Miss Hutchins generally lock her rooms, Jane?"

 "She 'as done lately, miss," said Jane, and was dismissed.

 "I was wonderin' about the customs of the college," Reggie murmured. "Oaks not generally sported. As with the male. But Miss Hutchins has lately taken to sportin' her oak."

 The Principal did not listen to him. She walked across to another door, tapped, vanished into what could be seen to be a bedroom, and returned to announce: "She's not there."

 "No. She wouldn't be," Reggie said. "Any reason for recent sporting of the oak by Miss Hutchins when absent?"

 "I can't imagine her reason." The Principal frowned. "It's not done."

 "Certain distrust indicated." He lowered his voice and spoke with timid reverence. "Do girls ever rag their dons' rooms, Miss Frobisher?"

 "Quite unknown," said the Principal severely, and then added with a grim smile," in my time, Mr. Fortune."

 "So I should have thought. However. She sported her oak. And left the windows shut. Takin' no risks." He looked round the room. It was large and of pleasant shape, but full of little things. "Miss Hutchins is a bit of an antiquary, what?"

 "She is a collector," said the Principal with dislike. "She has specialized in archaeology."

 "Oh, yes." Reggie was wandering about the room. He stopped before a table in a corner. There was a small brown cylinder on it which looked like old and crumbling wood, but had been proved a roll of some thin stuff, for the edge had been found and part was unrolled and pinned down on a pad of felt. "Roll of papyrus," he murmured. "Well, well. Ancient document." He sat down and took up the reading glass beside it.

 The Principal came to look. "An old Greek script," she pronounced without interest.

 "Yes, I think so," Reggie murmured, poring over it with eager curiosity. But after a minute or two the strain relaxed. He sighed and sat back and his round face had the disappointed, puzzled look of a child baulked of pleasant expectations. "Well, well," he mumbled. "Simple, household Greek. Throwin' no light whatever on the original problem: where is Miss Hutchins?"

 "Why should it?" said the Principal. "She is often at work on papyrus manuscripts - she is expert in handling them. I don't know that there is any problem. She has probably gone out in her car and been delayed by some accident."

 "Oh, yes. Quite likely." Reggie looked round the room again. "Would you mind ringing me up at the Bear later on? I'd like to know."

 "Certainly I will," the Principal agreed and they went out.

 Reggie stopped at the door. "I should sport her oak again," he murmured.

 "Oh, very well." The Principal turned the key and took it out. "I don't see the necessity."

 "No. Nor do I," Reggie smiled. "But she did." And Bell and he took their leave. A group of girls about the lodge watched them go and were amused.

 Reggie strolled on, surveying the outside of the college, stopped a moment by the closed windows on the ground floor which marked Miss Hutchins' rooms. "Very obscure problem. Bell."

 "I don't know, sir," Bell objected. "Like the lady said, it needn't be much of a problem, somebody going out in a car and being back late."

 "No. It needn't. I meant the second problem. Why did she sport her oak?"

 "I didn't quite get that, sir. What is sporting your oak?"

 "Lockin' the outer door of your rooms. Not done, Bell. Same like the lady said. The heart of the mystery, the sported oak."

 Bell thought about it. "Well, sir, if this Miss Hutchins has made herself unpopular with the girls, there's a reason. And that takes you on to the chocolates. Some of the girls wanting to have a game with her and this Vice Chancellor, they put the emetic in and imitate her writing for the address."

 "Yes. Temptin' theory. Very temptin' theory. I should say the affection of the university for Miss Hutchins and the Vice is one of the factors. By the way, the Vice is missing, too. Perhaps he also went out in his car and had a breakdown. Very sympathetic of him."

 "Good Lord, sir!" Bell exclaimed. "That's curious."

 "Lots of things is curious. Same like the small boy said of Jonah and the whale. However. Neither the Vice nor Miss Hutchins was visible when required by Mr. Fortune."

 "Do you mean they're afraid of you, sir?"

 "Others have been," Reggie smiled. "No, I didn't mean that. I don't mean anything. Many possibilities. But some fundamental absurdity. I told you that in London." He took hold of Bell's arm; he began to walk faster: "See that damsel?" he murmured, looking after a girl who had just passed them at a high but graceful speed.

 "She was one of the lot watching us when we came out," said Bell under his breath. "You lie back." Bell crossed to the other side of the road, and while Reggie ambled on behind gave an exhibition of expert observation of a suspect. But the girl showed no sign of fear that she was followed. She sped along the straight way to the centre of the town and when the pavement became populous turned into a teashop.

 Reggie found Bell waiting just beyond it. "Gone in there, sir. Big young fellow waiting for her inside. Rather like her."

 "Oh, yes. I thought so. Wogger and Wogg. But no hour for healthy youth to be drinkin' tea. I'm afraid you'd better drink tea, too, Bell. It would be grateful and comfortin' to know what they're talking about. I'll be at the hotel."

 But he went first to the chemical laboratories of the university.

 Bell tapped at the door of his room and found him holding to the light a small glass flask which contained a liquid of vivid green. He set it down and opened his dressing case. "Well, what of the untimely tea?"

 "They had coffee, sir," said Bell.

 "Oh, my aunt! Our profligate youth. A lawless age, Bell. Coffee before dinner! No wonder lady dons elope with Vice Chancellors. Anything could happen."

 "I reckon they didn't know if it was coffee or cocoa."

 "It is too likely," Reggie mourned. "How often one doesn't! An evil age, my Bell."

 "They'd just gone in there to talk. Very intimate they were. Nothing objectionable, I mean to say."

 "Oh, no. No. You have a nice mind, Bell. Not like the Vice Chancellor. They're merely brother and sister." Reggie took off coat and collar.

 "I thought they must be related." Bell said. "Fine pair they make. Bit of the devil in 'em, too, I'd say. Well, I haven't got much. Both seemed rather above themselves. The young woman was telling him something about us going to her college. She's got on to it we're detectives."

 "Bless her," Reggie smiled as he stepped out of his trousers. "I have not lived in vain."

 "Seemed to excite 'em both," said Bell. "Lot of talk with their heads very close together. A queer word now and again, something like Goop. Seemed to amuse the young woman."

 "I fear so," Reggie sighed. "The Goop is Miss Hutchins."

 "Is it?" Bell said heavily. "Well, that don't help us much. Seemed to end up in both of 'em being satisfied. The young man said, 'Righto, old dear. Morning's at seven. All's right with the world,' and they quit."

 "Quotin' the late R. Browning," Reggie murmured. "Seven a.m. Nasty time. Nasty fellow. Well, well. You'd better arrange to have a car outside Prince's at six - thirty. A car I can drive." He wrapped himself in his dressing gown. "I'll go and have my bath. Have a bath yourself. Mercy knows when you'll get another. We will dine late but well." Before they sat down he was called to the telephone. The precise tones of Mr Sikes came to him. "I thought you would like to know that the Vice Chancellor has not returned for his dinner. This is immensely gratifying to all, but in particular to his guests. It is also without precedent in the history of the college. We are now discussing whether to call in the police. A pleasant evening lies before us."

 "Yes. I think so," Reggie murmured. "Good - bye." And the news did not disturb his dinner.

 The grilled salmon of the Bear was worthy of its ancient fame, the vol - au - vent could be eaten, the sirloin won earnest devotion. Reggie had finished the last of the Pichon Longueville with his strawberries before he remarked that the Vice had not turned up and it would be good and right for Bell to find out what the police were doing about it.

 He sank down alone in the lounge and was dreamily coming to the end of his cigar before the telephone called him again. The Principal of Haworth was speaking. "Miss Hutchins has not come back, Mr. Fortune. We have had no message from her. I begin to be uneasy. Do you advise me to inform the police?"

 "No, I shouldn't do that," said Reggie. "Not yet. I'll come out."

 Though it was close upon eleven when the gate of Haworth opened for him, some girls were still loitering about the lodge. He saw the gleam of the knobs of fair hair which shone on either side of the Wogg. But he was taken at once to the Principal.

 She sat comfortable in an easy chair with a large cat in her lap and a whisky and soda at her elbow. Reggie cannot resist nice cats. He paid compliments, and the cat and the Principal purred. It was probably from this moment that the Principal and he fell in love. "Give yourself some whisky, Mr. Fortune." she said.

 "Thanks very much. Only soda."

 "Oh, really?" The lady's affection suffered a slight shock but recovered as he pulled out a pipe and asked leave. "Do, please. Bartholomew prefers pipes."

 "Wise person." Reggie scratched Bartholomew's head skilfully.

 "It's very good of you to come," said the Principal, to a loud accompaniment by Bartholomew. "I can't make up my mind whether I am making a fuss about nothing or taking a serious matter too lightly." She gazed at Reggie with a grim but kindly smile. "And I can generally make up my mind."

 "Yes, I should think so," Reggie murmured. "And you have now. You've sent for me. Very wise. It is a case for a specialist."

 "What kind of specialist are you, Mr. Fortune?"

 "Oh, very cautious. Not dashin', not brilliant. But safe. No sounder opinion. Miss Frobisher."

 "How very modest you are! But I meant what sort of case do you take this to be, a crime, or just a mystery?"

 "These classifications!" Reggie sighed. "Always a delusion. Certainly an element of crime. People mustn't send people emetics. Not necessarily heinous crime. Obvious element of mystery. Motives and facts both obscure."

 "I have nothing to do with the emetic," said Miss Frobisher sharply. "The only matter before me is that the woman hasn't come back to take her pupils this evening. It's extraordinarily unlike her. But there may be a quite innocent, natural explanation."

 "Oh, yes. And we don't want a major operation unless necessary."

 "I beg your pardon?"

 "You don't want the police at Haworth and a public scandal if you can manage without. That's why you were wise in sending for me."

 "What do you suppose has become of the woman?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea," Reggie murmured. "Has anybody been callin' on her to - night?"

 "I'm told several people have come to the lodge asking if she was in. The portress didn't know them."

 "No. She wouldn't. No." Reggie smiled. "Confirmin' the conclusion that the central problem is, why has Miss Hutchins taken to sportin' her oak? Two possibilities - fear of ragging, fear of robbery. If she's been detained, abducted, or what not to - day, the inference is that what she was afraid of is likely to be attempted to - night, robbery or rag. Confirmed by the inquiries to make sure she hadn't got back. The treatment indicated is that I should go privity and by stealth to her room and wait for what's coming."

 The Principal sat up, to the grave annoyance of Bartholomew. "What! You propose to pass the night in Miss Hutchins' rooms?"

 "Yes. Quite proper, you know. She won't be there. At least I don't think she will."

 The Principal compressed her lips. "It's a most irregular proceeding. I'm afraid you're an irregular person, Mr. Fortune."

 "Oh, my dear lady! She'd be quite safe with me. The whole college would."

 The Principal was persuaded to a grim smile. "You would hardly be safe with them."

 "You think not?" Reggie murmured. "Tom asunder by wild damsels. But in the cause of duty. However. The scheme is that Mr. Fortune is left in Miss Hutchins' room investigatin' the cause of her disappearance - no respectable objection to that. Anybody who comes in will have to explain what they're up to. Quite simple."

 "You had really better have some whisky," said the Principal. . . .

 The corridor was deserted when she took him to Miss Hutchins' room, the college was quiet. He received the key from her. "I'll come back at six then and see if anything has happened," said the Principal. "I shall hope to find you alive."

 "Oh, yes. Sleep sound." Reggie smiled. He neither locked himself in nor put on the light, but having looked out of the casement window discreetly and seen the road empty, made some examination of the room with a torch. The roll of papyrus was as it had been: everything seemed to be where he had seen it before. He took a chair to a position out of the range of sight from window or door and sat down to wait.

 Two hours he waited, and only the chimes of the many clocks of Oxbridge disturbed his peace. But Miss Hutchins' chair did not tempt sleep.

 A tinkle of glass fell from the window, a hand came through and turned the latch of the casement. Reggie sat still but took from his pocket a small glass flask. Through the open casement a large man climbed into the room, drew the curtains, and flashed a torch about him. It revealed Reggie, it blazed into Reggie's eyes. The man rushed forward and struck. Reggie flung the flask into his face but he was not checked nor his blow turned. As Reggie staggered from it. the fist came again and found his chin. He fell over his chair to the floor, hearing some gurgle of oaths, fell and was out of life. . . .

 When he found himself in it again, he was looking up at a cluster of girls in pyjamas. "Well, well." He sat up and felt his face. "All right. Give me air." They fell back from him, and he looked round the room, which was in some disorder.

 "What are you doing here? " said one severely.

 Reggie's eyes dwelt upon her. A thick fair pigtail hung over one shoulder: she was slight in her pyjamas, but a comely sight. "Feelin' like Mr. Pickwick when discovered in the girls' school. I am very like Mr. Pickwick. Don't you think so?"

 "I want to know what you're doing here," she repeated, with rising voice and colour.

 "Investigatin' the disappearance of your Miss Hutchins," Reggie smiled. "Someone came in and knocked me out. Someone's makin' a great rag of it, Miss Botynor."

 There was a gasp. "Oh, Wogg!" A girl clutched Miss Botynor's arm.

 But she gazed at Reggie with wide blue eyes, much like her brother's in the mingling of awe and excitement. "Whoever would knock you out?" she said with sinful innocence. "Why should anyone?"

 "Findin' me in the way. I am rather in the way, you know."

 "What is this disturbance?" said a voice of command, and the girls drew together. The Principal, dressing - gowned but majestic, swept in upon them. "Go to your rooms. Every one of you. Go to your rooms at once." They fled. "Whatever has happened, Mr. Fortune?"

 "Only the burglar. The anticipated burglar. Hefty fellow." Reggie moved quickly across the room. The roll of papyrus was gone.

 "But you couldn't catch him?"

 "Not here, no. I didn't mean to. But he was more resolute than expected. My error. Painful but not serious. We'll get him, all right. Good - bye, Miss Frobisher. Many thanks for a pleasant evening."

 When unkind words are said of Reggie's powers of movement, he is apt to refer to the claim that once he ran all the way from Haworth to the Bear. He refers to it often.

 Superintendent Bell had gone to sleep with his clothes on. When Reggie came into his room he was at once on his feet and intelligent. "Ah, I thought you were up to something, Mr. Fortune. Glad to see you back. Been in a bit of trouble?"

 "How alert you are. Bell?" Reggie panted. "Quite Napoleonic." He looked at his red and damaged face in the glass. "Yes, the eye blackens. The jaw is stiff. Some cosmetic work is a social necessity. But duty before decency. A burglar has been in Miss Hutchins' room. Desperate fellow. Hence the lovely black eye. But the burglar is now green. Alizarine green. Thus facilitatin' identification."

 Bell breathed heavily. "How do you mean, sir?"

 "I dyed him. He knocked me out, which was not accordin' to plan. But I dyed him for you, as arranged. Run along and collect him."

 Bell's mind struggled to assort this information. "That green stuff you had?" he said in the manner of the half - conscious. "I wondered about that."

 "Oh, yes. Aniline dye. Now you go round to the police station and tell 'em you suspect Dr. Krug, German archaeologist now staying in Oxbridge, of committing burglary on Miss Hutchins. Get 'em to let you have a man or two and dig him out. They must know where he's staying. He was an alleged victim of the emetic. If he's green bring him along to the station. See? Quicker the better. He won't have so much time to wash. His clothes should be green also. And there's a wife. She might be in it, too. Though not green. Get on. I'll come round to the station as soon as I've repaired my face."

 Some time passed before Reggie presented his anointed face to the inspector on night duty at the police station. He was told that Bell had been given a sergeant and a couple of men and the Chief Constable, informed over the phone, was coming down to take the case himself. Reggie was conducted to the room of the Chief Constable and before long he arrived, a large, quiet man, with the manners of a perfect policeman.

 "Mr. Fortune? Very glad to have your assistance, sir. By what Superintendent Bell tells me, you had a rough time at Haworth. I'm sorry. But this is rather a queer turn, isn't it?"

 "Yes. Very involved case."

 "This German, Dr. Krug, he was one of the two who took the emetic."

 "He said he did, yes. Any evidence?"

 "Well, you know, the doctor said he had symptoms of irritant poisoning."

 "Oh, yes. And he told the doctor what his symptoms were."

 "I see what you mean. He didn't really swallow the chocolate at all: just pretended to eat it to encourage the others and prove he knew nothing about any dope. That's as good as to say he doped the chocolates himself: he wanted to make the Vice Chancellor or Miss Hutchins go sick. I suppose your idea is, he was always wanting a chance to get at Miss Hutchins' rooms. That's very clever. But are you sure it was Krug broke in to - night?"

 "No. I'm not. I've never seen Dr. Krug. Pleasure to come."

 The Chief Constable was soberly amused. "Well, he's big enough to knock you out."

 "Yes. I thought that, too. And if it was Dr. Krug, he's green. I may be bruised, but he's green.

 It fortifies my soul to know that though I blacken, he is so."

 "But why do you think it must have been Krug? You know the undergraduates have a down on the lady and the Vice - I don't say I blame 'em altogether - but - -"

 "No. Nor do I."

 "You know all about it? Well, then, you see, it's rather likely to have been some of them trying to rag her rooms."

 "Yes, it could be," Reggie murmured. "They swear, I fear. But they don't swear in German. This chap did. The last thing I heard when sinkin' into oblivion. Verflucht something."

 "That's good evidence," the Chief Constable chuckled. "I don't mind owning I shall be glad to fix it all on Krug. I haven't been wanting a criminal case against the undergraduates. Then what about the Vice Chancellor being missing, and Miss Hutchins, too? By your ideas, that's Krug, he's got her out of the way somehow to burgle her rooms?"

 "Yes. It could be," Reggie smiled. "That also."

 "Then what was he after, anyway?"

 "I know what he was after. A papyrus. An ancient manuscript. He got away with it."

 "But what for?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea," Reggie murmured. "That's fundamentally bafflin'."

 While they discussed the case further, there was a bustle in the police station and protesting voices. "This sounds like your superintendent is delivering the goods," the Chief Constable said. The noise died away and Bell came in, flushed, smoothing his hair.

 "Well, sir, here we are. I've got Dr. Krug and his wife. He's your man, all right. As queer a colour as ever I saw. And a queer customer, too. Very high and mighty. Threatening, calling us robbers and hypocrites."

 "Oh, my Bell! Meaning you? What a shame!"

 "Meaning English people in general, as far as I could make out. Swearing his country would see he had justice. And as for the lady - well, she told me off proper."

 The Chief Constable was perturbed. "I say, Mr. Fortune, I hope we haven't made a mistake."

 "Oh, no. Not if he's green." Reggie smiled. "Wouldn't be two men dyein' their faces green in one night."

 "He's green, all right," said Bell. "Kind of sickly colour now. He's washed. And I've got his collar. That's green absolutely. There's no mistake. When I got to his hotel, he was having a bath. That's a bit of good evidence, too. What was he doing in a bath at half - past three in the morning? His wife was dressed, too. And the night porter said they hadn't come in till getting on for three. We've got plenty of evidence."

 "Sounds like it," the Chief Constable agreed with relief. "Have you charged Krug with burglary?"

 "Not me," Bell smiled. "That's up to you. I told him the police had reason to suspect him and his wife had been concerned in a burglary at Haworth College and they must come to the station and give an account of themselves. They didn't actually resist, but my word, the talk! A regular hymn of hate - God strafe England!"

 "Well, well!" Reggie murmured. "I thought he'd be annoyed. But this patriotism is surprising. The war's been over some time."

 "Working up a bluff, I suppose," the Chief Constable said. "Wants to make out we've got a down on him because he's a German, I'm not going to be put off by that. German or English, it's all one to me."

 "Oh, yes. These patriotic prejudices are quite unprofessional. But curious in the context. Let's have *em in, what? The explanation of Dr. Krug might be interesting."

 They were brought, two large people, the lady of ample body and the face of a militant Germania. Dr. Krug was leaner by nature, a formidable shape, and from his misadventure ferociously hostile, for his gaunt countenance had a bilious tint, deepening to green in the lines about his eyes and nose. Some reflection or conference had chastened their patriotic wrath, for they kept silent, but stood together scowling defiance.

 "Dr. Krug?" Reggie smiled. "We've met before. But you didn't wait for me to introduce myself. My name's Fortune. Reginald Fortune."

 Dr. Krug did not answer these amiable advances. "Who is de chief of police here? " he demanded. The Chief Constable declared himself. "Den I say to you, sir, dis is an outrage."

 "Oh, no. It's only alizarine green," said Reggie. "It'll wear off in time."

 Dr. Krug continued to ignore him. "I am here in Oxbridge to visit your university. I am de guest of your professors, and you drag me from my bed - -"

 "No, no," Reggie complained. "From your bath."

 "Dis is de English way, dis buffoon talk." Dr. Krug glared at him. "You are barbarians, you - - "His wife grasped his arm.

 "Yes, the lady's right. You'd better cut all that out," said the Chief Constable. "You know why you're here. Matter of burglary at Haworth College. What have you got to say for yourself?"

 "You are mad," Dr. Krug roared. "I do not commit crimes. Do you not know who I am? I am director of the Historisches Museum at Karlstadt. I am director of the excavations at Scheria, I ..." He gave a short list of his academic distinctions.

 "All that's nothing to do with me," said the Chief Constable. "How did you get dyed green? A man broke into Miss Hutchins' rooms at Haworth College. Mr. Fortune was there and threw a bottle of green dye over him. Just afterwards we find you bathing yourself and still green and your clothes green. What's your explanation of that?"

 "I do not answer your questions," Dr. Krug frowned. "You make traps for me. I say noding to you, noding at all. I shall tell my Ambassador, de German Ambassador, how you are doing vid me."

 "Very good. No explanation. Nothing to say. I'll have to detain you for further inquiries."

 "Who charges me vid anyding?" Dr. Krug growled. "Is it dis Miss Hutchins?"

 "No, it isn't," the Chief Constable said quickly. "Miss Hutchins has disappeared. What do you know about that?"

 "Ach, so! Miss Hutchins she is not here to charge me!" Dr. Krug laughed. "Dat is very convenient. Dat is a clever trap."

 "Oh, Dr. Krug!" Reggie sighed. "You know she wasn't at home. You took pains to make sure. Mustn't blame us."

 "I know noding of de woman," Dr. Krug cried.

 "Well, well. It was Mrs. Krug inquired if she'd come back. All in the family."

 "You are infamous!" Mrs. Krug said fiercely.

 "Oh, no. Only careful. However. One simple question at the root of the matter: why ever did you want that papyrus?"

 The two stood silent, staring at him. Then they looked at each other, showing great amazement. "Papyrus?" said Dr. Krug.

 "He is mad," said Mrs. Krug.

 "I have no papyrus, sir," said Dr. Krug. "I do not know what you mean."

 "Takin' it like that?" Reggie sighed. "Pity. You'll have to be searched, you know." He looked at the Chief Constable.

 "They will. Both of 'em." The Chief Constable stood up.

 "It is shameful," Mrs. Krug cried. "It is a brutality."

 "I shall appeal to my Ambassador," Dr. Krug roared. "You shall not end dis so, do not dink it. My country shall do me right." They were pushed out.

 "What's the thing like, Mr. Fortune?" the Chief Constable asked.

 "A roll" - Reggie measured on one hand with the other - "so long - about two or three fingers thick - brown - looks like wood. If it's not on one of 'em must be in their hotel somewhere. They hadn't time to send it off." He looked at his watch. "Well, well! Hectic life. I'll be back in an hour or two."

 "You've had a night of it," the Chief Constable sympathized. "Spot of breakfast, eh? Not a bad thing."

 Reggie took Bell's arm, and when they were outside, "Breakfast!" he moaned. "My Bell, oh, my Bell! Where's that infernal car?"

 "Are you going to work out that line just the same, sir?" Bell was surprised. "It's all on Krug now, isn't it?"

 "You think so?" Reggie sighed. "I wish I did. No. Our Wogger don't get up with the lark for fun. Confound him."

 A car of reputable make but some age stood prepared for them. Reggie surveyed it with distrust. "Well, well. The hireling fleeth because he is an hireling. Let's hope so. Otherwise this won't flee much." Bell looked at him with apprehension.

 Reggie drove into the main street and stopped with a clear but distant view of the gate of Prince's, gray colleges on either side dreaming in the profound peace of early morning, only the birds and a few hurried hapless mortals to be heard. He yawned largely. "If that sinful youth isn't punctual!" he moaned. . . .

 A large man came out of Prince's and strode on. "Bless him! Here he is." Reggie set the car moving and followed. The Wogger did not remark it: he was at high speed on his own business. He turned into a by - street, into a garage, came out of it in a sports car and shot away.

 "Oh, my hat!" Reggie sighed as the hireling accelerated with dignity. "The moral is greater than the material. Napoleon said so. Not bein' a moral man. I wish he'd driven this car. Perhaps he did. Must be of the same period." They caught a glimpse of the sports car again, checked by some traffic from the railway. "Oh, taking the Metford road. Well, well! Better to go the same way as a fellow when you're pursuin' him. We continue to pursue. By will power."

 The sports car was out of sight. They drove on an empty road fragrant of summer meadows, melodious with many birds. "Lapsin' into the freshness of the early world," Reggie murmured.

 "Do you know this country, sir?" said Bell anxiously.

 "'Once, my dear, but the world was young then,'" Reggie sighed. "Oh, yes. I know it. Makes me feel luxurious and sentimental."

 "I mean to say we've passed some by - roads."

 "We have. They don't go anywhere. Not to take a Vice Chancellor - or a sports car. Though different animals."

 "Where do you think he's going?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea. Are we downhearted? No. To travel hopefully is better than to arrive."

 "Seems pretty hopeless to me," Bell grunted. "Good Lord!" He was jerked from his seat as Reggie jammed on brakes and the sports car shot out of a blind drive across them. It roared away back to Oxbridge.

 "Reckless young rascal," Bell growled. "But what on earth has he been up to? He was still alone in the car."

 "I wonder," Reggie smiled. "This drive goes up to Lord Wansdyke's place. Let's go and call."

 The drive led through unkempt shrubberies to a house in which the blinds were drawn and which showed no sign of life but two empty cars before the open door.

 As they got out a face appeared at the door, the pale bewildered face of a woman whose hat was on one side, whose clothes were dusty. After her came a bulky man, who needed grooming, too, who looked nervous and frightened.

 "Dr. Benenden, I believe, and Miss Hutchins?" Reggie smiled. "My name's Fortune. This is Superintendent Bell."

 "You are police officers?" Miss Hutchins cried.

 "Mr. Fortune? Mr. Reginald Fortune?" the Vice Chancellor said. "Thank heaven you've found us, sir."

 "Yes. Very proper, yes." Reggie murmured. "I've been at work on your case all night. And Dr. Krug was arrested this morning."

 "It was Krug!" the Vice Chancellor exclaimed, and looked at the lady. "Good heavens!"

 "Not wholly surprised, what?" Reggie murmured. "Complex case. Well, you'd like to get back now. Do you feel you can drive your own cars? I shall want you presently at the police station."

 "At the police station?" the Vice Chancellor echoed.

 "To deal with Dr. Krug," Reggie explained.

 "I can quite manage to drive myself," said Miss Hutchins, and the Vice Chancellor thought so, too, and they conferred together over their cars and departed.

 Bell stared at Mr. Fortune. "Not giving much away, were you?" he grunted.

 "No. Nor were they." Reggie smiled. "Very complex case, Bell."

 "They were locked up in this house and they think it was us let 'em out," Bell objected.

 "Yes. That was indicated. Yes. Life is full of illusions. No matter. Baths are real and so are breakfasts. Come on."

 He seemed to Superintendent Bell dreamy and voluptuous over both: but at last with a long cigar in his mouth was persuaded to speak of the case again. Then he sighed. "You want to get it over? Well, well! I've been enjoyin' it. It will be a thing of beauty when complete. But the highest pleasure is in workin' at it. Go and ring up for 'em to be at the police station."

 When Bell and he arrived there the Chief Constable was in high spirits. "Well, Mr. Fortune, I think we've got it. This is the article, eh?" He produced a cardboard cylinder. "It wasn't on 'em. We had a rare hunt through their room. Found it at last in a jar of bath salts. Not bad work."

 "Splendid!" Reggie opened the cylinder, took out a roll of papyrus, and with care spread out and pinned down on a blotting pad a few inches of it. He examined the writing. "Yes. This is the thing." He gazed at it with an affectionate puzzled smile. He looked up at the Chief Constable. "Miss Hutchins will be coming round to identify it."

 "Ah. I was just going to ask you about them. I heard she'd got back, and the Vice Chancellor, too. Have you seen 'em?"

 "Oh, yes. We found 'em in Lord Wansdyke's house. You know - Woodsend, on the Metford road."

 "That place! It's been empty for a year. They were shut up together? But how did you - - Oh, here they are."

 Reggie covered the manuscript with papers, while the Chief Constable received them. He was very glad to see them. He was afraid they'd had a bad time. He hoped they were none the worse.

 "I am much fatigued, sir," the Vice Chancellor announced. "I fear Miss Hutchins is exhausted. We have been the victims of an abominable trick."

 "Shut up together all night, weren't you?" the Chief Constable sympathized. "Too bad. However did you get trapped in Woodsend, sir?"

 "I will tell you. Let me have your attention. Yesterday morning I was called to the telephone. A person representing himself as the secretary of the Earl of Wansdyke stated that his lordship was on a short visit to Woodsend and would be glad of some conversation with me. You will understand that I have the pleasure of Lord Wansdyke's friendship. Naturally I agreed to go and the hour named was free. A similar invitation was given to Miss Hutchins - -"

 "I beg your pardon," said the lady severely. "It was a woman spoke to me. I was asked if I could go to tea with Lady Wansdyke, as she was anxious to meet me."

 "Precisely," the Vice Chancellor's voice again filled the room. "I drove out to Woodsend. The door was opened by a man with grey whiskers dressed as a butler. He showed me into a room which I thought ill - kept and close. But I was aware that his lordship had not recently been living at Woodsend. What could I suspect? Nothing. In a few moments Miss Hutchins also was brought to the room. While I was expressing my surprise at her presence, the butler - to call him so - the butler returned and asked us to come up. He led us across the hall, opened a door, and before I could be aware of his purpose had precipitated me down a flight of stairs. Miss Hutchins fell upon me. When we recovered ourselves we found that we had been put in the wine cellar. The door was made fast. There appeared to be no other way out. We remained there in extreme discomfort - you will understand my reluctance to say more of this - until, hearing movement above, I ventured to try the door - -"

 "I tried the door," said Miss Hutchins sharply.

 "Very well. We tried the door," the Vice Chancellor boomed, "and found we had been released by Mr. Fortune."

 "Well out of that, weren't you?" said the Chief Constable. "But it's wonderful how Mr. Fortune got on to you." His honest face was puzzled.

 "I understand you have satisfied yourselves that the whole scandalous affair was devised by Dr. Krug?"

 "That's about it," said the Chief Constable. "Having put you out of the way, he broke into Miss Hutchins' rooms last night and stole a - what do you call it?"

 "A papyrus," said Reggie. "Now we'd better have Dr. Krug and his wife," and the Chief Constable sent for them.

 The Vice Chancellor and Miss Hutchins looked at each other with speaking eyes. "I think you've been working on a papyrus, madam? " said Reggie.

 "Yes, I have," she was slow to answer. "It's not of any great value."

 "No, I thought that. No. However." He uncovered it. "Is this the one?"

 She came with reluctance, she looked. "This is it, certainly."

 The Krugs came in and Dr. Krug emitted a roar. "So! You come, den. You dare to come against me!" He glared at the Vice Chancellor.

 "That'll do, that'll do!" the Chief Constable ordered. "You keep a civil tongue. Now, then. We found this thing here - the papyrus - hidden in your traps. Miss Hutchins has identified it as hers. What have you got to say for yourself?"

 The first thing Dr. Krug said was something about Miss Hutchins which cannot be printed. Then he turned upon the Vice Chancellor. "You - you sneak - diet - you tell dem I stole it? Tell dem how de old woman got it."

 "Really, sir. Upon my word, sir. Your language is intolerable," the Vice Chancellor stammered.

 "Sheep's head," said Dr. Krug. "You dink to put your police on me? Den I expose you to all de world. Listen, gentlemen. I was director of de excavation at Scheria. Dis Vice Chancellor he come travelling dere. I treat him like a brother scholar. I show him all. And he, he bribe one of my men to give him dis papyrus dat is just found. A papyrus of de first century. Afterwards I learn what is done and follow him. He has not it himself any more, I find dat. He has not de knowledge to use it, he gives it to de old woman to work on. Dat is de scholar he is. And I, I go to her room and I take back my own papyrus.

 Now, you charge me dat I am a dief? Den I make all de world know your Vice Chancellor what he is."

 "It's a queer story." The Chief Constable rubbed his chin and looked dubiously at the Vice Chancellor. "What do you know about it, sir?"

 "The whole affair is preposterous," the Vice Chancellor announced. "If Dr. Krug had exercised the ordinary self - control of a gentleman, it would have been quite unnecessary that - that the affair should have developed on these lines. I - I certainly did acquire the papyrus at Scheria. It never crossed my mind that he attached any importance to it."

 "Oh. You mean you don't care to prosecute him?" The Chief Constable frowned.

 "I should not consider it," said the Vice Chancellor. "The papyrus is of no value at all. You agree with me. Miss Hutchins?"

 "Absolutely worthless," said the lady.

 Dr. Krug laughed. "Worthless. So you stole it from me and hid it. Dat is good!"

 "Yes. Expectin' the lost works of Sappho, Aeschylus, or what not," Reggie murmured. "But have a look." He pointed to the papyrus. Dr. Krug flung himself upon it, and Reggie looked over his shoulder. "Not very valuable. Sort of family doctor of the period. Domestic remedies. Strong cheese boiled is a charm for the itch. I didn't get any further."

 Dr. Krug stood up and scowled at the universe.

 "Yes. Disappointing to all, but appropriate. We end on a charm for the itch." Reggie smiled. "Now you'd better all go home and be good."

 "I am free?" Dr. Krug growled. "I take dis." He picked up the papyrus and stalked out with his wife on his arm, throwing a snarl at the Vice Chancellor.

 "An impossible creature," the Vice Chancellor pronounced.

 "Well, I should say you're well out of this, sir," said the Chief Constable. "You've been asking for trouble."

 "I am accustomed to deal with gentlemen, sir. Good - day to you." The Vice Chancellor opened the door for Miss Hutchins.

 "Is he more of a humbug or more of a fool?" the Chief Constable said. "But look here, Mr. Fortune, there's more in this than you let him know. It wasn't all old Krug."

 "The emetic? Yes, I think so. That was to put those two out of action while the Krugs searched round for the papyrus. Neat touch to copy Miss Hutchins' writing."

 "I daresay. What about the stunt last night? If that wasn't undergraduates I'll eat my hat."

 "Oh, no. No. Don't do that. Might need a cure from Krug's papyrus."

 "How did you get on to their being shut up at Woodsend?"

 Reggie smiled. "You don't want to know, do you? You'd better not know."

 "I thought so," the Chief Constable chuckled. "All right. Do those two a bit of good when the story goes round, won't it?"

 Reggie went back to his hotel and before he fell into bed wrote a little note to the Wogg and the Wogger, which asked them to dine with him.

 They came. He surveyed them critically. Evening clothes subdued the size and vigour of the Wogger. The Wogg in a long and simple frock of silver might have been a girl of the perfect past. They looked good children and shy, but suffering an awful joy. "So glad you could come," Reggie murmured. "I don't think you need written leave for this, Miss Botynor."

 "I'm sure it's quite proper, Mr. Fortune," she said demurely.

 "Oh, yes. I always am. In the most delicate situations. Don't you think so?"

 "I thought you were beautiful." Wide blue eyes gazed at him with sinful innocence.

 "You looked rather well, too." Reggie smiled and considered her critically. "But perhaps it's best as it is." He obtained a blush.

 "I'm afraid you had rather a rough house with Wogg and the children, sir?" said the Wogger with grave sympathy.

 "Your eye doesn't really show much, Mr. Fortune," the Wogg said kindly.

 "I brought you here to appeal to your better nature, Miss Botynor." Reggie sighed. "Have you got any?"

 "I don't think so," she smiled. "The Wogger has. A sweet nature."

 "The woman tempted him?" Reggie inquired.

 The Wogger laughed scornfully. "The Wogg couldn't tempt a baby."

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured. "Wait and see. But cultivate a better nature. You're so hard. The Vice Chancellor is offensively proper, so you shut him up with the Goop."

 The Wogg clutched the Wogger's arm. "Fly for your life. All is known."

 "Not all," said Reggie. "I don't know who played the butler. Either of you would be recognized." He looked from the Wogger to the Wogg. "Even in whiskers. But if you're good children now nobody will inquire. Your blood be upon your own heads - if any. Now come and have dinner."

 The Wogg looked at him. "You're not really like Mr. Pickwick. Only in spirit." She put her arm in his, and it was affectionate.

 Reggie smiled upon her and glanced at the Wogger. "I suppose he'd better come too," he said sadly.

 SIXTH CASE THE OAK GALL THE man in the bed was trying to sing. "'At Trinity Church - at Trinity Church I met my doom - -'" The words came hoarsely and were broken off by a cough. He lay drawing himself together and groaning, a big man. His unshaven face still in its haggard misery had a look of strength and scorn.

 Mr. Fortune bent over him. . . . Dr. Frayne and a nurse helped in the examination. . . . The man did not resist, but he could not lie still. . . .

 Mr. Fortune stood up and put his stethoscope aside. Dr. Frayne, arranging the man's pyjama jacket, drew it away from a dark discolouration of the shoulder and upper arm and with a glance desired Mr. Fortune's attention to that.

 "Oh, yes, thanks," Mr. Fortune murmured. He watched Dr. Frayne and the nurse make the man comfortable again. He slid a hand under the bolster and brought out a small round box of red wood. It contained a slip of paper and a twig on which was something round and hard and brown.

 "What on earth is that?" Dr. Frayne muttered.

 The nurse looked. "I don't know what it can be, Doctor. I didn't know he had it."

 "It's an oak gall," said Mr. Fortune. "With inscription." He read from the paper. "'You got some.'" He looked at Dr. Frayne. "Well, well!"

 "What an extraordinary thing!" said Dr. Frayne.

 "Yes. Unusual. However. He seemed to want it."

 Mr. Fortune shut the box and slipped it under the pillow again. His face was grave and pitiful.

 The man lay restless, breathing in grunts. Again he tried to sing. "'Oh, 'Arriet, I'm waiting, waiting, for you, my dear I Oh, 'Arriet - - '" and he laughed, which was worse, and a cough tortured him.

 Mr. Fortune turned away and Dr. Frayne took him downstairs to a room of sullen splendour, a library where books were not read. He sat down and with solemn eyes contemplated the shrewd red face, the large, alert efficiency of Dr. Frayne. "This isn't much in my way, you know," he said plaintively. "Lobar pneumonia, of course. There's nothing else. I should say he has a very bad chance."

 "I am afraid so," Dr. Frayne agreed.

 "Yes. Quite clear. I suppose you brought me to look at that bruise?"

 "I thought it best to have your opinion, Mr. Fortune. I have never had anything like it in a case of this kind. I observed it first yesterday evening and rang you up at once. It's right to say I have complete confidence in the nurses. But I find Sir Wolseley was left without a nurse for some time yesterday. Lady Coole was with him, and also his son Herbert - the nurse left the room at their request. Afterwards he was alone for a few minutes."

 "Your inference bein' that he was bruised by his wife and son or by himself?"

 "I am simply putting the facts before you," said Dr. Frayne.

 "Oh, yes. Quite correct."

 "I have never seen such an injury in a case of this kind."

 "Haven't you?" Reggie's eyes opened a little.

 "That is why I felt your opinion was necessary. I cannot myself think it possible Lady Coole or his son were in any way to blame. They are devoted to him. A most united family."

 "Oh, yes. I wasn't suspectin' them. I should say he did it himself. Probably got out of bed when he was alone to find that box and fell against something. It's that sort of bruise. Fellows do very queer things in pneumonia sometimes. You know that, what?"

 "He has certainly been more or less delirious for two days," said Dr. Frayne. "Well, then, I take it you are clear this injury has no bearing on the case?"

 "The bruise is nothing. Otherwise - - " Mr. Fortune spread out his hands.

 "Quite so," Dr. Frayne said. "I agree we must be prepared for the worst. You will see Lady Coole, won't you?"

 Mr. Fortune was taken into a drawing - room still more sternly splendid.

 Lady Coole was in the same style, a woman who had been handsome, who made too much show of decorating a lean body and face. Her son sat beside her. He had inherited his father's big frame; he was for the rest a young man's version of her, severely correct in feature and bearing and clothes.

 But their anxieties were unconcealed and keen. Upon Mr. Fortune's warning that he could give them no hope, the son broke in: "Did you find anything besides pneumonia, sir? Is that enough to account for his being so bad?"

 "Oh, yes. Quite," Mr. Fortune murmured. "What else were you thinking of?"

 "We didn't know. Frayne's been rather mysterious," the son grumbled, and sent a scowl at Dr. Frayne which did not ruffle his bland composure. Lady Coole began to argue that there must be hope, her husband was strong, had always been strong, was young for his age, however serious the illness he would still fight through.

 "I can't believe he'll let this beat him," the son agreed. "He loathes being beaten."

 "He has always been a fighter," Lady Coole cried. "You don't know him, Mr. Fortune."

 "Yes. He's making a fight." Mr. Fortune shook his head. "You should understand he's near the end of his strength."

 "But he can't die like this," said Lady Coole passionately. "He doesn't know any of us. He hasn't known me for two days now," and she fell to pleading the delirium must pass, he must become conscious again.

 "It is possible," Mr. Fortune said. "If he is conscious, he'll be very weak."

 "But this is dreadful!" she cried. "You don't know what it means to me," and she went on with a passionate appeal to Mr. Fortune as if he had power to order the event. It was long before he could escape.

 Dr. Frayne went to the door with him. "Most kind of you to come, Mr. Fortune. I have been so glad of your help. Lady Coole feels this very deeply."

 "Yes. Sad case. Yes," Mr. Fortune murmured. "Has he settled his affairs, do you know?"

 "I have not been told. I should imagine a man of his large interests would have made arrangements."

 "Yes. That is usual. Good - bye."

 Some days afterwards the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department came upon Mr. Fortune in a lonely upper room of his sleepiest club. He was sunk deep in a chair, an evening paper lay beside him, his eyes had closed, but a large pipe was in his mouth and rhythmically he emitted smoke.

 "Reginald!" Lomas rebuked him. "This is an inhuman habit."

 "What? Thinking?" Reggie's eyes opened slowly.

 "No," said Lomas. "Smoking with shut eyes. Not done by the sane. It suggests a superior person - or a fiend."

 "Only withdrawin' from the world," Reggie mumbled. "The world is too much with us, Lomas. And very confusin'."

 "I know you only play this trick in moments of mental stress. What's the matter now?"

 Reggie picked up the paper. "Seen that?" he pointed to an announcement of the death of Sir Wolseley Coole.

 "Yes. I saw on the tape he was dead. Been ill sometime. What about it?"

 "They called me in," Reggie murmured.

 "You? He had pneumonia, hadn't he?"

 "Oh, yes. It was pneumonia all right."

 "What on earth did they want you for?"

 "I wonder. I've been wondering quite a lot, Lomas." He related with careful accuracy what happened when he visited Sir Wolseley Coole. "There you are. Apply the higher intelligence. Tell me what all that means. Much confused material. Several suggestive points. Pointin' different ways."

 "It's a queer business," Lomas agreed. "Looks like a skeleton in somebody's cupboard. You often get a hint of that when a man comes to die. And very small things look ugly then."

 "Yes. That is so. Quite wise and charitable remarks. But irrelevant to the particular difficulties. Sort 'em out. Why did Dr. Frayne call me in to a simple case of pneumonia? Why were Lady Coole and son hammering at me the patient must be conscious again before he died?"

 "You're rather hard," Lomas frowned. "Surely that's natural in a man's wife and child. Do you mean they weren't sincere?"

 "Oh, no. Quite sincere. I should say brutally sincere. They hated to think he was going to die quick. But not on his account. They wanted something out of him first."

 "Then the probability is he hadn't made his will," said Lomas.

 "Yes. I thought that. I asked the careful Frayne. He was quite correct. Said a man like Coole would have made his arrangements. So you'd suppose. This rag" - he nodded at the paper - "says he was one of the richest men in England."

 "Not that." Lomas shrugged. "But quite wealthy. Jute and tea and rubber - he was in business in Calcutta."

 "Oh, yes. The box was an Indian product: red wood, made for carrying betel nut. However. One thing at a time. You wouldn't expect this big business man to omit making a will. Why did he - if he did? And why should wife and son care whether he did or not? If there's no will, they'll get all his money."

 "Very ingenious, Reginald." Lomas smiled. "But you make the difficulty yourself. Take it they had a simple human anxiety the man should recover and they are quite natural."

 "Yes. You didn't hear the lady," said Reggie. "No simple affection there. However. Let that go. Why did the careful Frayne bring me into the case?"

 "By what you say it was to have your opinion of that bruise. I suppose that means he had a suspicion there had been foul play or at least criminal negligence."

 "Yes. It could be," Reggie murmured. "But the bruise isn't much of a reason. Trivial injury. Not uncommon for patients delirious in pneumonia to hurt themselves. Though the careful Frayne pretended he hadn't heard of it. However. First possibility: Frayne called me in to protect himself or his patient, thinkin' there was dirty work going on. Several objections: Lady Coole and son were keen to keep the man alive, that bruise couldn't hasten his death, and the careful Frayne must have known it wouldn't. Second possibility: Frayne called me in to frighten Lady Coole and son by indicatin' that he was ready to put the police on to them, if he found it worth while."

 "Wait a minute," said Lomas. "Suppose Frayne himself is up to something - then he might call you in to get it on record the man's death was all in order."

 "Yes. Another way of puttin' my second possibility. Highly attractive possibility. But it has no meaning at present."

 "Frayne might have had his own reasons for contriving the man's death."

 "He might. But he didn't. No. That's not one of the possibilities. I should say Dr. Frayne is a clever fellow. Kind of fellow that it's a pleasure to deal with. But he can't give people pneumonia."

 Lomas looked demure. Lomas lit a cigarette and lay back and gazed at the ceiling. "Possibility number three, Reginald: he gave something else."

 "Thank you. This confidence is touching. No, Lomas dear. I'm not brilliant but I am careful. It was a plain case of pneumonia. The man died a natural death. Absolutely. But there's something queer about." He looked at Lomas with plaintive, wondering eyes. "Don't you feel it? Evil intent. Probably crime in the offing."

 "My dear fellow!" Lomas laughed. "You're getting mystical."

 "Not me. No." Reggie was hurt. "Only natural. I believe in the facts. That's all."

 "Do you know anything against Frayne?"

 "Oh, no. Quite a good reputation. In fair practice. There's one thing. A little while ago the Cooles dropped their old doctor and went to Frayne. The old man thinks it was Lady Coole's doing. Suggests recent change in the feelings of the Coole family."

 Lomas smiled. "We're rather making evidence, aren't we?"

 "You think so?" Reggie sighed. "I should say you're ignorin' it. You haven't noticed the most strikin' facts."

 "Which are they?"

 "Well, there was the patient's choice of songs. "At Trinity Church I Met My Doom' and 'Oh, 'Arriet.' Ancient lyrics. Popular about the time Sir Wolseley Coole was a bright young thing. Rather before my day. But you ought to remember. Dealing with marriage and love's young dream. In a humorous spirit." And Reggie crooned happily: "'You ain't forgotten yet that night in May Down at the Welsh 'Arp, which is 'Endon way You fancied winkles and a pot of tea - -' Recall your vanished youth, Lomas."

 "I know it, of course," Lomas was annoyed. "What about it?"

 "And at Trinity Church he met his doom," Reggie smiled. "Impressive choice of poems."

 "My dear fellow! What a man repeats in delirium! You don't suggest anything can be inferred from that? Surely the most respectable people say filthy things."

 "Yes. Sometimes. Yes. And frequently with some relation to what interests their conscious minds. I don't suggest the late Sir Wolseley did meet his doom at Trinity Church or eat winkles at the Welsh Harp. But I think his mind had been occupied with young love and marriage - taken facetiously. He had a sardonic look, poor chap, in spite of the pain."

 Lomas shrugged. "Lots of men have, when they're near to the end and think of the beginning."

 "A philosophy of life: by the Hon. S. Lomas," Reggie murmured. "Well, well! First strikin' fact doesn't strike you. The higher intelligence declines to be interested. Try the second. Box of Indian origin containing an English oak twig with a gall on it and a scrap of paper with uneducated writing 'You got some.' And it interested the late Sir Wolseley so much he'd managed to have it under his pillow without the nurse knowing. What does the higher intelligence make of that, Lomas?"

 Lomas meditated. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing," he said slowly. "Good Gad! It is a queer case."

 "Yes, I think so," Reggie smiled. "Some interest at last awakened. This is very gratifyin'. Yes. Highly complex case bein' dealt with in a suspicious way. And if we knew what that oak gall meant we should understand the main factor."

 Lomas sat up. "Come along, Reginald. You have some theory about it. I know that innocent smile."

 "It is innocent," Reggie said plaintively. "I am innocent. No theory. Only an interest in facts. Peculiar anxiety about life and death of patient by doctor and family: sardonic concentration on young love by patient: ironic comment by somebody outside. I should say there'll be other things to explain before we can explain these. They look like an explosive compound."

 "Good Gad!" Lomas was impressed. "You're expecting criminal developments."

 "Oh, yes. That is indicated. As I was sayin' some time ago," Reggie sighed.

 "I daresay Coole was worth a million or so," Lomas meditated. "Plenty of temptation. But where is the place for a crime? What's anybody going to do, what's anybody going to gain?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea," Reggie murmured. "But you might look into the early life of the late Coole."

 "What is the use of that?"

 "I wonder. Did it occur to you he might have been married before?"

 "Damme!" Lomas exclaimed. "Another wife in the background - children, too, perhaps - then if he hadn't made a will that would leave Lady Coole with a nasty hand to play."

 "Yes. With possibilities for the careful Frayne. Yes. Explain some things. You'd better look into Code's bright youth. And if you come across a man of low degree who had an Indian connection and is now living where oak trees grow I'd like to meet him."

 "That's a hopeful search, isn't it?" Lomas got out of his chair "I wonder," Reggie murmured. "I should say he'll come our way before we get to the end. Good - bye. I've got to dine with a bishop. My sister's bishop." He wandered out.

 Sir Wolseley Coole was buried with dignity, and Superintendent Bell attended the funeral and reported that nobody went to it who did not look nicely respectable. After some days knowing people began to tell one another that old Coole had left no will, his wife and son would come into everything, which was what the knowing people had always expected, the old boy was simply wrapped up in them. And Superintendent Bell worked upon a quiet investigation of the old boy's past.

 It produced in time a conference. Reggie, being summoned, came dreamy and vague to Lomas's room, nodded at Bell, sank into the largest chair, and gazed upon Lomas. "A certain complacency," he sighed. "You like yourself. This is distressing."

 "I thought you would be glad to hear the ultimate result." Lomas smiled.

 "Did you?" Reggie murmured. "Always an optimist. I doubt if any of us will be glad myself."

 "Don't be ungrateful. Bell's put in a lot of honest toil. Exhausting and exhaustive."

 "I don't know if I'd say that, sir," Bell demurred. "It's been a bit of trouble. And I've got a good deal. But I can't see it amounts to much. Sir Wolseley Coole was born down in Stepney, 1867, son of a sea captain; educated at private schools; started as a clerk in the office of the Argosy Shipping Company - that's the firm his father worked for. They shut down thirty years ago. Father's been dead longer. No relations or anything left in Stepney - of course all that district's changed out of knowledge. I found an old fellow out at Clapton who'd been cashier in the office with Coole - remembered him as a hard fellow desperate keen to get on - didn't know much of his private life, but he had no idea of any wife about. Some time in the early 'nineties Coole got a job in Calcutta, and this old boy is sure he didn't take a wife out with him. You see that means he was in India at twenty - five or so without a wife. He was home again about 1900. Put up a tombstone to his father. Sold off a house or two his father owned in Stepney and settled up everything down there. That's the last I could trace of him till he came back as a rich man after the war. This Lady Coole he married in India in 1906. People say she's had him in her pocket ever since, except for business. He didn't let her into that. Otherwise she owned him. Absolutely the family man. His wife's husband and his son's father and nothing else - outside business. But there he was a tiger to the last." Bell stopped and looked at Reggie. "That's all I can get, sir."

 "Self Help by Samuel Smiles," Reggie murmured. "Quite," Lomas chuckled. "Not the sort of man to make a rash and early marriage. Not the sort of man to have a secret wife at all. I'm afraid you're barking up a tree without a cat in it, Reginald."

 Reggie shuddered. "You have a low mind, Lomas. A low, coarse mind. I never bark at cats. Darius would hate it."

 Bell breathed hard. "Darius?" said Lomas. "Oh, your princely Persian."

 "Darius the King," Reggie purred. "And Darius likes dogs. They amuse him."

 "As futile creatures. Quite so. We also are futile, Reginald. There's nothing to be made of this. I told you your case was largely imaginary."

 "You did. You said it very loud and clear." Reggie gazed at him with dreamy eyes. "You don't happen to think you've proved it, do you?"

 "I take it we've proved there's nothing to be done."

 "No. Perhaps not. We return to the usual process of the department - shutting stable door after horse is safely stolen. Very grateful and comfortin' to all. However. You didn't happen to look into the careful Frayne? I'm told he's still calling assiduous on the family of Coole."

 "Anything unusual in a widow wanting medical attention?" said Lomas sharply.

 "Oh, no. No. Especially when the doctor's hard up."

 "What's this? Professional scandal?"

 "Yes. A wicked world, Lomas. You hadn't noticed that? Well, well! Let me know when you wake up." He drifted out.

 "I'd say he's on to something, sir," Bell said slowly.

 "Confound him," Lomas grunted. "He may be. But he doesn't know what it is. Like a dog running after a smell. We can do nothing."

 They proceeded to do it for the space of a week. After which came a morning when Lomas, departing to lunch, was intercepted by Bell with a typed report of a telephone message.

 In a cottage on the northern border of Epping Forest, its owner, Thomas Weekes, a retired seafaring man, had been found murdered. The woman who kept house for him, believed to be his granddaughter, was missing. The local police urgently desired she should be found. Name Nelly Weekes, unmarried, age about twenty or more, short, well made, slight, dark hair worn long, grey eyes, considered pretty, nervous manner. She was last seen on the morning of the day before. But the murder had not been committed till the evening. Reason to believe robbery was one of the objects of the crime, but impossible to say what had been taken. The local police asked for an expert in curiosities to come and inspect the cottage.

 "Curiosities!" Lomas chuckled. "They seem railed."

 "I should say they mean the odds and ends of foreign stuff a sailor collects," Bell suggested.

 "Very likely. I should say they're a bit above themselves with a real murder in their district." Lomas chuckled again and took the telephone and rang up Mr. Fortune. "Oh, hallo, Reginald. Are you an expert in curiosities?"

 "Yes," a weary voice answered. "Yes. Lots of experience of your department. Yes. What do you want? Valuation of it for sale?"

 "There's a fellow been murdered - -"

 "That's not a curiosity. They only do it to annoy because they know it teases."

 "- out Epping Forest way. The local men are asking for an expert in curiosities. Thou art the man. What?"

 "I said what's the curiosity?"

 "Probably a green parrot and a ship in a bottle. Victim is a retired sailor man."

 "What did he die of?"

 "Apparently of his adult granddaughter. That's all we know here. Go and see the curiosities."

 "Yes. I think so," said the weary voice. "In Epping Forest. There'll be oaks there. I wonder if he had gall, Lomas."

 "Good Gad!" Lomas exclaimed.

 "As you say. Send Bell round for me. We'll try to close this stable door for you. Good - bye."

 Lomas hung up the receiver and stared at Bell and spoke bitterly. "He's got it into his infernal head this is mixed up with the Coole case."

 "Ah," Bell breathed hard. "Wonderful how he feels things. I don't get that at all myself."

 "Nobody could. Retired sailor living in a forest - and Coole's papa was a sailor - and some low fellow who had oaks handy sent Coole a message. Missing young woman - and Fortune had a guess Coole had a secret marriage and offspring. That's what he's working on. Dreams, not evidence. Confound him, he said the Coole case would bring us trouble and now he hopes he's got it. Take him down and let him loose on it."

 Bell and his car went to Wimpole Street and found Mr. Fortune waiting for them. But he was silent; he had the vague bewildered look of a tired child. In vain Bell repeated to him a full report of the telephone message. It produced no commentary; it made him more torpid. "Should you think this young woman is somehow connected with Sir Wolseley Coole?" Bell asked. Reggie made a faint, aggrieved noise. "Daughter or granddaughter or something, sir?" Bell persisted.

 "The mind is blank," Reggie mumbled and shut his eyes, and while the car made the long transit of London and the sprawling eastern suburbs he slept.

 The cottage of Thomas Weekes stood alone some quarter of a mile away from the high road half a mile from the village. Old oaks, survivors of a time when the forest had covered all the countryside, stood here and there in the hedges.

 As the car stopped Reggie woke up and blinked. Thomas Weekes had loved paint. The timbers in the red brick of his cottage had been painted bright blue; the windows had become pea green; the gate was red - and a large new summer house in the scrap of garden stood white and gold.

 "Sailor's place all over," said Bell.

 "Yes. Picturesque person," Reggie sighed. "And there's his oaks."

 An inspector received them. The body had been taken to the mortuary - doctor said there was no question of the cause of death - head smashed in - everything else was just as it had been found.

 They went into a room which was in wild disorder: a room like a curiosity shop which had been ransacked. It was crowded with furniture, some good ugly Victorian stuff, some exotic, a Chinese cabinet, a painted Italian chest. On everything which had a top stood odds and ends, worthless and valuable, from the four quarters of the world - metalwork, china, glass, shells, coral, carved wood and ivory. On the table a square bottle of whisky lay upset by a pipe, and the smell of it mingled with the various sickly scents of Thomas Weekes's curiosities and the stale odour of shag. The Persian carpet was stained dark.

 "That's from the hole in his head," said the Inspector. "Lying on his face, he was. A woman came up from the village to do a bit of washing for 'em - she comes regular - found the house open and him lying here dead and cold and his granddaughter gone. That lamp was still burning. Only one glass on the table, you see. He'd been drinking alone. No sign of anybody breaking in anywhere. Who would break in with Weekes sitting there in the light? And whoever did it was after something Weekes had got. Look at that cabinet."

 "Yes. I was," Reggie murmured. The Chinese cabinet had been forced open with a pointed tool. He examined the break in the lacquer. "I should say there's blood there. Possibly from use of the lethal weapon." He opened the cabinet. Its contents were in tumbled confusion. Boxes which held nothing but relics of unguessable importance to the dead owner half emptied, jars of Indian sweetmeats knocked over, and in the mess an amber necklace and some lumps of jade. "That's a good piece," Reggie murmured, fingering one with affection. "However." He turned away.

 "What do you think she was after, sir?" the Inspector said eagerly.

 "She?" Reggie was looking at the wall. "Oh, yes. The vanished woman. I haven't the slightest idea. The theory is, she did the murder?"

 "Well, she's bolted. She was here yesterday."

 "Yes. That's very bafflin' and disturbin'."

 "And there's more to it," said the Inspector, swelling.

 "Yes. There will be. Quite a lot." Reggie wandered to the Italian chest.

 "I wasn't referring to that, sir," the Inspector complained. "But you'll find that's been gone over, too."

 The chest had been broken open, and though there was nothing in it but fabrics, silk shawls, lace, an old red ensign, and some signal flags, these were all huddled together.

 "Well, well! Interestin' and significant." Reggie shut it again. "What about his own room?"

 "You have a look," said the Inspector. "She didn't mean to miss anything."

 Thomas Weekes's bedroom also was overcrowded. Of the many objects in it Reggie selected a stuffed parrot and the model of a ship to gaze at first. "This is distressin'," he moaned, and approached the ship: it was a model of a steamship in careful detail: examination of it interested him. The Inspector made impatient noises. Reggie turned to look at the confusion of the room. Drawers were but half shut, clothes lay upon the floor. A sea chest had been broken open, and beside it lay an overturned wooden box which had spilt some photographs, Victorian trinkets, a wedding ring. Inside the chest was a cash box, the lid forced; it contained no money, but a batch of receipted bills and a cheque book.

 "Thorough, wasn't she?" the Inspector snorted. "Earnest search, yes," Reggie murmured. "Ought to be plenty of fingerprints," said Bell. "I wonder. What about the lady's own room?"

 "Ah! Now you're coming to it," the Inspector nodded. "Next door, sir." He flung open the door. "Look at that."

 This third room was also disorderly, drawers open, clothes hanging out of drawers, but not, like the others, crowded. Thomas Weekes had provided his granddaughter with no more than the bare necessities of a bedroom, trusted none of his curiosities to her.

 The Inspector directed Reggie to the washstand. Water stood in the basin which had been used to wash off the blood. By the washstand lay something like a small pick, metal - shafted. "That's the thing she did the job with," the Inspector said, pointing. "Doctor says there's no doubt about it. Queer article."

 "New sort of tool to me." Bell frowned. "Yes. Not much used in English crime," Reggie murmured. "It's an old Indian war axe."

 "Oh, that's it," said the Inspector with relief. "One of old Weekes's curiosities. I wondered where she got it."

 "You'll see the place it hung on the wall downstairs. Have you tried it for fingerprints?"

 "I have. Can't get anything. She must have wiped it. She's a cunning one."

 "You think so? Well, well! I should say you won't get any prints anywhere, Bell. Hands washed, weapon wiped - probably gloves on to make the search."

 "That's about it, sir," said the Inspector with satisfaction. "She's deep, that young woman."

 "As you were saying," Reggie gazed at him. "That's her reputation, is it?"

 "I couldn't hardly say that. Quite shy piece, they tell me. The old man was a Tartar and rode roughshod over her. I've often found that makes a woman turn vicious."

 "Yes. It could be," Reggie mumbled, still gazing at him with bewildered eyes. "Bafflin' case. I'd better see the body. Send a man down with me."

 "Right, sir. What do you suppose she was after, turning the house out like this?"

 "I wonder. See if there's any papers left anywhere. We shall want that cheque book. I'll come back."

 The body of Thomas Weekes detained him some time. When he came back the Inspector and Bell were in the kitchen of the cottage comforting themselves with a pot of tea. "Will you have a cup, sir?" said Bell. "You look to want it."

 Reggie saw the colour of the brew and drew back. "Oh, no. Thanks. No. Any papers?"

 "Not a scrap in the house. Barring that bunch o' bills."

 "No. I thought not," Reggie murmured and sat down. "What did you make of the body, sir?" said the Inspector eagerly.

 "Cause of death as stated. Blow from heavy weapon with point broadening rapidly - such as that Indian war axe - which fractured left temple and penetrated brain. You'd better go through everybody in the place for evidence of two strangers being seen with Weekes or granddaughter or round about. Tall, powerful man, dark complexion, small black moustache, regular features, good - looking in a hard way. Middle - aged man, middle size, strongly made, clear - shaven, full red face, grey hair, careful manner. Either of 'em, please."

 Bell's mouth opened and shut again.

 "I don't get this, sir," the Inspector complained. "What's the idea? Do you mean to say these two men were in the murder?"

 "No. I don't say that yet. No. But get evidence one of 'em has been down here; he'll have a lot to explain."

 The Inspector stared at him and from him to Bell's solemn frowning face. "You had reason to suspect these two were concerned before you came down?"

 "Yes, some reason. Confirmed by what I found."

 The Inspector laboured with thought. "What, looking at the body you found out there were two men doing the murder?"

 "Oh, no, I only found out the granddaughter didn't do it. She's short and slight. Blow was struck by someone taller than Mr. Weekes and of great strength."

 "But what about the evidence against her?"

 "Weapon and washing up in her room? Oh, my dear fellow! Murderer had to wash somewhere. Might as well do it where it would do good - making evidence against the innocent. Don't you notice the evidence for her? She'd know where her grandfather kept things. She wouldn't have to turn the house upside down looking for what was wanted. If she wanted to get off with something, she needn't have bothered to kill him: quite easy to take it while he was out of the way and bolt. Simpler and safer." Reggie stopped suddenly. "Oh, my aunt!" he moaned. "Perhaps she did. That also is a possibility. House was ransacked because she'd got away with the goods. Very bafflin'."

 "Or these fellows of yours who were ready for a murder, they may have done the girl in, too!" the Inspector cried.

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Quite possible. Or they may be arranging it. Yes. You'd better get on. You know their description, Bell. Stay and help him here. I must go and talk to Lomas. Give me that cheque book. Good - bye."

 But on the way he stopped at the post office and used the telephone. "Is that Lomas? Fortune speaking. . You'd better rope in Dr. Frayne and Herbert Coole."

 "Good Gad!" said Lomas, and said no more for a minute, then asked: "What's the charge?"

 "No charge yet. Wanted by the police to explain themselves. Who - were - you - with - last - night and what not. Then detained for inquiries."

 "What's the evidence?"

 "The murdered man was the man who sent the oak gall with message to Wolseley Coole."

 "The deuce he was!" said Lomas, and again was silent a moment before asking: "Anything else?"

 "Bell's looking for people who saw Frayne or young Coole down here. Make sure of 'em both."

 "Are you coming up?" said Lomas.

 "On the way."

 "Good!" Lomas rang off.

 When Reggie came into his room he was working on routine papers. "Have you got 'em?" Reggie cried.

 "Just a minute," said Lomas, rang for his secretary, and sent the papers away. "Now, my dear fellow. What exactly is your evidence?"

 "Cheque book of the late Weekes," Reggie produced it. "Careful fellow. Filled in objects for which cheques were drawn on the stubs. Writing the same as the message with gall: 'You got some.' And there were plenty oaks by his cottage, and he was the fellow to have an Indian box. Lots of things like it in his room."

 Lomas lit a cigarette. "Very ingenious, Reginald," he said. "Very impressive. But it's not evidence that Frayne or young Coole murdered the man."

 "No. I didn't say it was. It's enough to bring them here and ask 'em what they know of the relations between old Coole and the late Mr. Weekes."

 "I considered that." Lomas blew smoke rings. "If they were concerned in the murder, they would say they knew nothing."

 "Of course they will. Then you detain 'em for inquiries."

 "I don't see my way," Lomas said slowly. "We have nothing definite against them. Not even a rational ground of suspicion. It's a very harsh measure to hold men in custody while we make fishing inquiries. I couldn't justify it here. I can't do it, Reginald. And as a matter of tactics it would be a mistake. Suppose they're guilty, we're more likely to convict them if we don't warn them they're suspected till we have something of a case."

 Reggie gazed at him with melancholy eyes. "Oh, my Lomas!" he moaned. "My poor Lomas! I can bear official morals. But the official mind is crushing. No rational ground for suspicion! My only aunt! Weekes had a secret with Wolseley Coole. Coole dies, to the anxiety of his wife and son, leaving no will. Then Weekes is murdered and his house is ransacked and no papers are left in it. Natural inference, the crime was committed to obliterate the Weekes - Coole secret: that is, by people who knew there was one and had an interest in it. The Coole family and Dr. Frayne are indicated. The murder was done by a man of some height and strength. Which fits either Frayne or Coole. Isn't that all rational?"

 Lomas put out his cigarette. "It's a reasoned theory," he said slowly. "But it's founded on guesses and you have many weak places in it. Take the guessing. You have no proof that the Coole family were worried by the man making no will. You only think so because you didn't like their manners. You have no proof the gall and message had to do with a serious secret. Just as likely to be a joke between old cronies."

 "My poor Lomas!" Reggie sighed. "Can't you see the case as a whole? You're leaving out the remarkable action of Frayne in calling me in to look at a case of pneumonia. Sinister fears or purposes somewhere. You ignore the dying man's songs of young love and marriage. His mind was running on that."

 "I agree you have a basis of suspicion." Lomas lit another cigarette. "But look at the weak points. If Wolseley Coole wanted another wife, or children by another wife, to get his money, why didn't he make a will settling it?"

 "Yes. Intelligent question," Reggie murmured. "Very interesting problem. I should say he was a bit of a humorist, you know. If there was a wife previous to Lady Coole, she or her children would get everything without a will."

 "Of course they would," said Lomas impatiently. "But all the evidence we can find goes to show he never had another wife."

 "Yes. We haven't found much. However. It is baffling. Nevertheless the man who sent the gall is murdered and his house ransacked and his granddaughter vanished. Somebody had a motive for making away with things."

 "Another weak place, Reginald." Lomas smiled. "On the facts it's quite likely to be an ordinary thieves' crime. Old gentlemen with a name for owning things do get knocked on the head by burglars. The girl may have bolted as an accomplice."

 "You would say that," Reggie sighed. "It wasn't burglars. The place was turned upside down, but lots of things of value were left. The granddaughter may have gone off for purposes connected with the case. That is one of the possibilities. She wasn't an accomplice. Evidence was faked to suggest she did the murder."

 "Perhaps she did." Lomas smiled.

 "Oh, no. She didn't. That's one of the certainties. She's too small. Attempt to put the crime on her shows murderer's intention to get rid of her, too."

 "Good Gad!" Lomas threw away his second cigarette. "It is a queer case. I give you that."

 "Thanks very much. Yes. Clever fellow, the murderer. Doesn't think things out. Same like you. Underestimates the intelligence of others. Also like you."

 "It's all very well, Reginald," Lomas protested. "But look at the difficulties in your theory. This girl's disappearance - you don't account for that at all."

 "No. I wish I could. She's one of the factors still incalculable."

 "Do you assume she's Wolseley Coole's child?"

 "Not likely. No. Said to be twenty or so. The evidence is that when she was born he was living in India, married to Lady Coole. Arithmetically she might be his granddaughter. That's one of the possibilities."

 "Very well. Take it that was Weekes's secret - -"

 "And he was ragging Coole about it. Yes. You're getting acute, Lomas."

 "Well, then, if he had a chance to get Coole's estate for her, he would go to a lawyer. The claim, if there is one, must have proof not in his house, registers of marriage and birth, and so on. It's incredible an educated man should think he could make an end of it by murdering Weekes and stealing his private papers. That sort of thing belongs to melodrama. You can't imagine young Coole and Frayne trying it."

 "No. Not like that. It didn't happen like that. They have brains. Course of events still obscure. Circumstances bafflin'. However. The man was murdered. And the girl vanished. Case for inquiry."

 "Quite. But look at your theory. Young Coole might have a motive to drive him wild, but not Frayne. He has nothing to gain."

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured.

 "What earthly interest has he in the Coole estate?"

 "My dear fellow!" Reggie laughed wearily. "Oh, my dear fellow! Lots of money going. I didn't take to Dr. Frayne, you know."

 "There you are," Lomas flung back in his chair. "You don't like these fellows, that's what it all comes to. I can't arrest them on that."

 "You won't act?" Reggie said sharply.

 "Not without evidence," Lomas frowned. "We'll look for it."

 "Oh, yes. Resumin' the official process of waitin' for more horses to be stolen before shuttin' door. Well, well! Your responsibility. Whatever happens."

 "What do you expect to happen?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea. I wonder where the girl is to - night. However." He rose wearily. "Sleep sound, Lomas. Oh, by the way. In the matter of evidence. You were right, confound you. Once, my ducky, and only once. But very distressing. The late Weekes had a parrot, stuffed only, nevertheless a parrot, and a model of a ship. As you were saying."

 Lomas was not gratified. "What on earth is the good of that? " he cried.

 "Oh, my Lomas! Model ship named Araucaria, colours and house flag of H.E.I. Line. Any survivin' officer might know the late Weekes. Also his bank manager. See cheque book." He wandered out.

 In the morning long after breakfast he was quiescent with a pipe when the telephone demanded him. "Hallo, Reginald. Will you come round?" said the voice of Lomas. "Quick as you can."

 "My Lomas! What energy!" Reggie spoke reverently. "Zeal, all zeal, Mr. Easy." But he was quick.

 Bell sat with Lomas, turned as Reggie came in and nodded. His square face was drawn and pale but his eyes keen. "Had a night of it?" said Reggie with sympathy.

 "Half the night and early this morning, sir. But I've got on to 'em. You were quite right. Both in it."

 "Yes. I thought so. Where are they now?"

 "Just sent men out to bring 'em here," said Lomas.

 "Fancy that!" Reggie relapsed into a chair. "What zeal! Only a day after the fair. Very creditable and official."

 "If you think you've made your case now, you deceive yourself," said Lomas sharply. "All that Bell's got is that both these fellows have been seen in the neighbourhood."

 "I'd put it a bit higher than that myself, sir," Bell complained. "This Dr. Frayne, he's been down several times and people have noticed him with Nelly Weekes. She was seen the afternoon before the murder taking the 'bus to Chelmsford. Can't trace her beyond. But that looks like clearing her. Frayne's never been seen with Weekes and nobody saw him on the day of the murder. But young Coole was seen in the evening - left his car on the road. Before that he'd been into the village pub now and again. Been noticed having a glass with Weekes."

 "So it was Coole," Reggie murmured. "And Weekes said his father had some gall." He gazed at Bell with large plaintive eyes. "Well, well! Instructive case, isn't it?"

 "What do you think is behind it all, sir? " said Bell eagerly.

 Reggie smiled. "Very interesting question. You never asked that, Lomas."

 "I'll be content when I know what happened," said Lomas. "There's nothing like evidence to convict young Coole yet."

 Reggie looked at him dreamily. "I should say resentment's fundamental," he murmured. "Working out in a grim humour."

 "I daresay." Lomas drummed on the table. "We don't want psychology but facts." The telephone rang. "Yes. Speaking. . . . Good Gad!" He put it down with a clang. "Young Coole's not to be found. Mother says he's out of London, touring with his car. She don't know where. Servants say he left early this morning." He frowned at Reggie.

 "You wanted facts," Reggie murmured. "Facts rolling up."

 "His car will give us a clue, of course," said Lomas. "We'll get him in the end. But it is deuced awkward." And again the telephone called. "Yes. . . . Yes. . . . Very well." He glared at Reggie. "Frayne's on holiday. Locum tenens doing his practice. Doesn't know where he is. Been away a week. So it isn't my fault we missed him."

 "Oh, no. Not a bit," Reggie sighed. "However. We needn't miss more than we can help. Get on to the Post Office and ask if there's any number in the country that's often ringing up Frayne."

 "You mean he's got a country cottage somewhere? But the locum would know about that."

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! Not if he wasn't meant to. Frayne must have had a place to take the girl to."

 "Well, it's a chance," Lomas admitted. "Try it, Bell."

 "First choice, a trunk call from somewhere beyond Chelmsford," said Reggie. "Thus limitin' the inquiry."

 "Ah, I see," Bell said, and withdrew to wrestle with the telephone service.

 Lomas got out of his chair and walked to the window, and after a little while he said to it: "Well, I ought to have looked for 'em last night." He turned. "Sorry, Reginald. You told me so. No excuses. Bad judgment. Bad nerve."

 "My dear chap. Oh, my dear chap!" Reggie purred.

 "It looks like a nasty mess."

 "Yes. It always was. Well, well! Things must be as they may. That is the humour of it. We never have been in control. Always strugglin' after the event. Very human situation."

 Lomas came back to his table, and over the telephone assigned more men to inquire about Coole's car and the movements of Dr. Frayne.

 "What about the bank manager?" Reggie murmured. "And the good ship Araucaria?"

 "The bank's easy, of course: man down there now. We've been talking to the H.E.I. Line. The Araucaria was broken up years ago. They're looking up the officers who were in her. Not sure they can put their hands on any of 'em. Some probably dead. It doesn't look very promising."

 Bell strode in. "I don't know if I've got any good, sir. Frayne's number in London has been having a number of calls from Melcham 23. That's down in Suffolk, Ipswich way. Beyond Chelmsford, you see. That fits nice. But Melcham 23 in the Post Office books is Miss Edith Jones, Green End. I've rung up the Suffolk police. They know nothing about her. I asked 'em to send out there and, if Frayne or Coole or Nelly Weekes is found, detain 'em."

 "Splendid!" Reggie stood up. "You touch the spot. Bell. The sooner someone's there the better. But I'm going down, too. I feel a simple longing to meet Miss Jones. Come and chaperon me."

 Bell looked at Lomas. "It's a bare chance, isn't it?" Lomas said gloomily. "All right. Try it. We mustn't let anything go now. Take a good car, Bell."

 "Mine's here," said Reggie. "Come on."

 A smile was wrung from the gloom of Lomas. "Heaven help you, Bell!" he said. For the driving of Mr. Fortune is memorable.

 Still innocent of blood, the car shot out of the tangle of 'buses and trams and the miles of the open road sped by and Reggie lay back, and, it is related by Bell, seemed to close his eyes and direct their meteor course by the power of the unconscious mind. Bell is wont to recall as the most shattering moment of a life of many anxieties that when they went into a river valley and out of it by two curved hills at such speed he left his stomach behind on the top, and in the bottom he saw Mr. Fortune, as they whirled round a hay wagon, gazing with benign adoration at the sky and heard him murmur: "Jolly clouds: Constable clouds, best kind: Constable's country, of course," while Bell resigned himself to the hereafter.

 He discovered he was not in it when the speed relented for Reggie to call to a dozing carter for direction. They shot on across a tractor towing milk cans, turned to a by - road and down a green lane which ended abruptly at a white thatched cottage. Two small cars were there already. From the door a police sergeant advanced to meet them. Bell introduced himself. "My inspector's inside," said the Sergeant. "I'll ask him to come out to you."

 "Oh. Something has happened," Reggie murmured.

 The Sergeant vanished and an Inspector appeared. "Superintendent Bell? Glad you've come down, sir. This is a queer business. When I got here I found a man shot. Said to be name of Coole."

 "How was he shot?" said Reggie quickly.

 "Shot dead, sir. Absolutely. Shot in the head. The other gentleman, the one who has the cottage, Dr. Frayne, says he shot himself. Dr. Frayne was just ringing up the nearest police station when we got here."

 "Was he really?" Reggie murmured.

 "There's no doubt about that, sir. He'd actually got through before I came. He asked me to take the 'phone and explain. He was calling the police all right."

 "Quite correct of Dr. Frayne. He is correct. And has he mentioned why his friend Coole came all the way to Dr. Frayne's cottage to commit suicide?"

 "He said a lot. It seems to be a rare old mix - up. All about that Epping Forest murder and Coole not being the heir to his father's fortune because of some young woman. But you'd better hear him yourself."

 "Yes, I think so," Reggie murmured. "Is there anyone else in the place?"

 "There's the woman who runs it for him. Miss Jones. I was keeping 'em together under my eye till I could get some more men out and go into the case properly. My sergeant's with 'em now."

 "Well done! You haven't seen anything of another woman, a young one?"

 "That'll be the one you sent out the description of? No, she's not here. Nobody but Dr. Frayne and Miss Jones and the dead man."

 "Not here," Reggie murmured. "I wonder." He looked at Bell with fear in his eyes. "Oh, come on. Let's talk to Frayne."

 Dr. Frayne and Miss Edith Jones sat in the living room of the cottage, a comfortable, sombre place. He was at his ease, reading a medical journal. Except that he wore light flannel he was entirely the careful, confident doctor of Sir Wolseley Code's deathbed. The woman, through her ample good looks, showed nervousness.

 "Why, Mr. Fortune!" Frayne stood up, smiling untroubled surprise.

 "Yes. We meet again. The son this time. Another old acquaintance here, too." Reggie looked at the woman. "You were Sir Wolseley's nurse."

 She nodded. Dr. Frayne answered: "Yes, I have persuaded Miss Jones to keep house for me down here. But she is not content to leave her profession entirely, and I own I am glad to have her nursing in important cases."

 "Was that case important?" Reggie murmured.

 "I think you divined, Mr. Fortune, that there were grave family issues involved. You asked then whether Sir Wolseley had made his will. The fact that he did not, from the time you saw him he was never in a condition to do so, is the cause of this deplorable affair. Lady Coole and poor Herbert had reason to believe that there was an earlier marriage. I infer that Sir Wolseley actually told them his first wife was still living when he married Lady Coole. You will observe this would make Lady Code's marriage invalid and Herbert illegitimate. A terrible situation! Sir Wolseley had also informed them that he had a child by his first wife, and though both wife and daughter were dead he had a legitimate granddaughter living. Since he made no will his whole fortune would thus pass to this young woman. Such was the position in which Herbert Coole and his mother found themselves. You had an opportunity of observing them, Mr. Fortune: you will have formed your own opinion of their characters. Perhaps I need not tell you that they took the matter violently. Poor Herbert was a man of fierce passions. They declared to me they would use every means to obtain what they had always considered their rights. I found it very difficult to decide upon my duty. What I knew, I knew under the seal of professional confidence. On the other hand my first obligation was clearly to my patient, Sir Wolseley; my second was to ensure that Herbert's violence did not lead to any desperate action. I chose what seemed to me the right course, to ensure the safety of the young woman, Sir Wolseley's granddaughter. I venture to think all would now be well but for the incalculable ferocity of poor Herbert's passions. Sir Wolseley had not informed Lady Coole and Herbert where the woman was. I must not judge, but I conjecture he feared their intentions towards her. He had given them to understand that she was in the care of her other grandfather, an old sailor. I discovered in treating him that he had some private correspondence with an illiterate man called Weekes. I made some inquiries and found that Weekes was an old sailor living with a granddaughter. I got into touch with her and learnt that she was not happy; the old man used her as a maid - of - all - work and was something of a tyrant. Without revealing to her anything of her prospects, which indeed I had no right to do, I was easily able to persuade her to take a situation here to assist Miss Jones. I brought her here the day before yesterday. This morning I read in the papers with horror that Weekes had been murdered in his cottage. Just after breakfast Herbert arrived in a condition of violent nervous agitation. He was hardly coherent, but I gathered that he had discovered the existence of Weekes and the granddaughter and gone to the old man's cottage to make terms with him. The unfortunate Weekes told him the girl had gone away and jeered at him, told him his father had meant to leave him a beggar - I'll not repeat the sailor's language. Then in a frenzy Herbert killed him with some weapon from the wall."

 "Oh, yes. Why did he come to tell you about it?" said Reggie.

 "He was in such a condition, it is impossible to say why he did anything," said Dr. Frayne. "He asked me if I believed this young woman was the granddaughter of whom his father spoke. I told him that I thought it possible. He asked me where she was. I told him he might be sure she was in safe hands. He accused me in the wildest way of plotting against him and his mother. I told him that I had no interest in his affairs but to do my duty as a professional man and a citizen. I pointed out that there was nothing left for him to do but confess to the police he had killed Weekes and explain what had driven him to do it. Then he shot himself."

 "Yes. Very careful and clear," Reggie murmured. "And where is Miss Weekes?"

 "What, do I understand you have been unable to find her?" Dr. Frayne turned to the Inspector.

 "There's not another soul about the place," said the Inspector stolidly.

 "My God," Miss Jones gasped. "Oh, my God!"

 "This is extraordinary," said Frayne. "I assure you we had her here quite safe. She was certainly here just before Coole arrived, wasn't she, Miss Jones?" Miss Jones nodded, speechless. "I can't account for her disappearance at all. It is possible she was alarmed by the noise of Coole's violence and the shot and has run away."

 "You think so?" Reggie looked at him curiously. "Well, well! We shall find her, you know. Now I'll have a look at the dead man."

 "By all means. He is in my study." Dr. Frayne rose.

 "No, thanks. I don't want you," said Reggie.

 The study was a little room which had been the cottage parlour. There was not much more than space in it for a writing table and a good easy chair. Through its two open casements came sunshine and the scent of hay. Across the easy chair the body of Herbert Coole had fallen and hung.

 "Not been touched, Dr. Frayne said," the Inspector explained. "Looks natural enough. Horrid natural, you might say."

 There was a dark wound in one temple; he had a revolver in his right hand. Reggie stood contemplating him for some time, then he beckoned to Bell, and having laid the dead man on the floor knelt beside him. . . .

 He rose and his round face still had the childlike earnestness which it brings to an investigation. "What about it, sir?" Bell said.

 "Yes. It could be. Provisionally. Some suggestion of a struggle. Clothes seem pulled about. I'll have to find the bullet. You'll have to trace the revolver. But Frayne's very careful. He may have told the truth. Or a lie we can't check. The urgent problem is, what's become of the girl?"

 "You're right," Bell agreed heartily. "His tale was very thin about her."

 "I wonder," Reggie sighed. "When those reinforcements come we - -"

 A car stopped; two policemen got out of it and supported between them a woman. The Inspector made haste to meet them. "Hallo! Who sent you along?" he cried. "What's this?"

 "It's this young woman, sir," one of them explained. And she stood dishevelled and shaking, looking wildly all ways except at any one of them. "She ran into the village asking for the police. Just about all in, she was.

 Said there was murder being done out here. I couldn't rightly understand her tale, she was that confused, but I thought best to come and look into it."

 "Quite right," the Inspector approved. "Now, my girl, what do you know about this? You have nothing to be afraid of if you just tell the truth."

 "Oh, no. It's all over now," said Reggie gently. "You're Nelly Weekes, aren't you?" She turned to him with a start of fear, stared at him and seemed to find some comfort in the sight, gulped and nodded. "I'm glad we've found you," Reggie said. "Now you're quite safe at last."

 "Is he dead?" she whispered.

 "Mr. Coole is dead. He's been shot."

 She gave a shuddering sigh. "Not the doctor?"

 "Oh, no. Dr. Frayne isn't hurt."

 The news did not seem to affect her. "Mr. Coole - that is the man who came - the man who killed my grandfather?"

 "You know he did?"

 "He said he did," she cried. "They both said so. Then they fought. Oh, it was awful!" She fell to sobbing.

 "Yes. I know. It's over now. Tell me how you came to be here?"

 "I came here to be lady help. The doctor said I should live like a lady. Oh, I wish I'd never seen him - I didn't ought to have left Grandfather, I didn't, but he was so hard. And that Miss Jones, she was sweet with me. And then this morning the other man came in his car and ran into Dr. Frayne and I heard them saying Grandfather was murdered. I came over all cold and dizzy. Then they were quarrelling about it, and the doctor said this man did it, and the man said so he did, and it was the doctor's fault, and if he thought he was going to get away with it he was wrong, and they were fighting and cursing, and there was shooting, too, and I ran away to get the police. I didn't know where to go. Oh, it was so dreadful!"

 "Yes. It's no blame of yours," said Reggie gently. "We'll look after you now." He drew her away to the waiting cars.

 Bell and the Inspector were in muttered frowning conference. When he came back to them: "Now we know," he smiled. "The careful Frayne told some of the truth. And the same with intent to deceive. You'd better hold him on that, Inspector."

 "Can't make it murder on her evidence, sir," said Bell.

 "No. Not legally. Only morally. Either manslaughter or self - defence, according to the taste and fancy of the jury. However. Quite nasty for Dr. Frayne to have a trial. And we'll do what we can."

 The next morning he appeared again in Lomas's room. "Congratulations, Reginald," Lomas smiled. "Your game. Quite in your best style."

 "I wouldn't say that," Reggie sank into a chair.

 "My dear fellow! You have been absolutely prophetic."

 "And ineffectual. No. If it's anybody's game I should say it's the late Wolseley Coole's."

 "He has made a nice mess," Lomas agreed.

 "Yes. I wonder what he meant. However. Any more news? How is the higher intelligence operating?"

 "We're charging Frayne with manslaughter," said Lomas. "Can't go beyond that. The revolver has an Indian army mark on it. Old Coole's valet says he had one just like it and it seems to be missing. No doubt young Coole took it."

 "His father's revolver. Yes. Father has been very effectual, hasn't he?"

 "He left his son a devil of an inheritance. He could never have thought the fellow would take it like this."

 "He knew his interesting family," Reggie murmured. "I wonder."

 "Have you got anything out of the girl?"

 "No. Nothing to get. Her father and mother died when she was a baby. She believes they were lost in some ship. Old Weekes was the only relation she ever heard of. He didn't talk. She has no notion what it's all about. She hardly knows whether she's alive or dead, poor thing. However. Resources of the department ought to be able to trace her origins. What - - " He was interrupted. A secretary came in and said that Lady Coole and her solicitor were asking to see Lomas. They were brought. Lady Coole had put on black, but her face was made up as richly as when Reggie had seen her first. She recognized him, made a sound of angry surprise, and stared with bold eyes.

 "Lady Coole has consulted me," said the solicitor hastily - "consulted me on an urgent matter. It consists in substance of this letter from Dr. Frayne. You will observe this was posted on the morning after the death of the man Weekes. Lady Coole received it the same evening and showed it. to her son. I conceive there can be no doubt that Mr. Herbert Coole went to Dr. Frayne to demand an explanation, and this was the real cause of the tragedy of his death. I venture to call it an abominable letter. I put it before you."

 Lomas read this: MY DEAR LADY COOLE: I am sure you will be glad to hear that I have found the granddaughter of Sir Wolseley. She has left Thomas Weekes and is now in safe keeping. It appears to me therefore that this is a matter which may now be arranged to general satisfaction. Any reasonable proposals from you I shall be happy to discuss.

 Yours faithfully, HORACE FRAYNE.

 "In my opinion that is clearly a threat of blackmail," said the solicitor.

 "It might be," Lomas agreed. "If Lady Coole has any motive for concealing the existence of the granddaughter." He looked at the lady. "Is that so?"

 "Her existence!" Lady Coole cried. "The creature doesn't exist. She isn't his granddaughter."

 "We must certainly not be taken as admitting it," said the solicitor quickly. "Our case is that Dr. Frayne put the girl forward to extort money for a false claim."

 "I see. Are you in a position to prove that the girl is not Sir Wolseley's heiress in law?"

 "I beg your pardon. It is for her to prove that she is," said the solicitor.

 "Quite." Lomas was bland but curt.

 Lady Coole made an impatient noise. The solicitor cleared his throat. "I may take it, Mr. Lomas, you have found no evidence of her identity?"

 Lomas smiled. "It's you who are here to give information," he said. "The murder of Weekes and the quarrel with Frayne compel suspicion that Herbert Coole believed in her claim." He looked at Lady Coole. "I suppose he had some reason, madam?"

 "It's all a lie. It's a trick of that scoundrel Frayne," she cried. "He's been trying to blackmail me ever since my husband's illness. There's an end of that, thank God. I'll see this wretched girl never gets a penny. If my husband hadn't been a spiteful fool - -" The alarmed solicitor succeeded in stopping her, reduced the conference to terms of decency, found Lomas civilly impenetrable, and took her away.

 "So that's what she came for," Lomas shrugged. "Affectionate mother. Her son is shot - and what troubles her is whether her money is in danger."

 "Yes, yes. See where Herbert got his temper from. Also throws light on the state of mind of poor old Wolseley Coole. What a life! With those two kind souls. However. Reverting to the girl. Frenzy of the family isn't legal evidence. Any results from the bank manager or the good ship Arancaria?"

 "I have the bank's evidence - very odd but not informing. A few months ago Weekes paid in a cheque for five thousand pounds from Wolseley Coole. The money is still untouched. Bank manager discreetly hinted to Weekes that he seemed to have come into a fortune. Weekes only winked and chuckled. He never did talk."

 "No. That's what the girl said. Tiresome failing." Reggie sighed. "Large donation to Weekes, either for unknown services or to make sure the girl had some provision, however the family wangled it. Queer case. Everything explained, violence of Herbert, manoeuvres of Frayne, except the fundamental thing, what was it all about? We return to the starting point: why did Weekes send the oak gall, why did he say Coole had 'got some'?"

 "No answer," said Lomas wearily.

 But that evening a little, brisk old man was brought to them, Captain Hulme of the Afaucaria. "Mr. Lomas, sir?" he beamed. "Mr. Fortune? Proud to be of any service to you, sir. And I think I may be. I was saying to myself I must come up to Scotland Yard when your men found me. Reading about Tom Weekes's murder, I didn't know it was any business of mine, but when I saw young Coole had shot himself or whatever it is, seemed to me I'd have to say my say. It's like this. Tom Weekes was my boatswain in the Araucaria, surly old dog but a rare good 'un. I've looked him up now and again when I had the car out his way. He'd known Wolseley Coole from a boy, sailed with his father. Coole never forgot an old friend. Last time I saw Weekes, he told me Coole had got up a rare game, giving out that Weekes's granddaughter was his, too, and going to come into his fortune."

 "But she wasn't?" said Reggie quickly.

 "Lord bless you, no," Captain Hulme chuckled. "I knew her mother and father. Drowned in the London. No sort of relation of Code's really. But Coole had a down on his lady wife. Don't blame him, neither. She's a hard case." (Captain Hulme used another word.) "Led poor old Coole a hell of a life, her and her precious son. So Coole took it into his head he'd give 'em a fright, told 'em the tale he was married before, my lady wasn't his rightful wife, and he had a granddaughter being brought up private by an old pal to get all his fortune. Weekes was to stand in with him if they came smelling round. Weekes thought it was a great joke. I daresay Wolseley Coole would have had some fun out of it if he'd lived. Now it's worked out to be the death of poor old Weekes."

 "Yes. That is so," Reggie murmured. "Explosive joke. It killed Weekes. It killed young Coole, too. I wonder if his father's still amused."

 "Ah!" Captain Hulme was grave. "There's many a worse man than Wolseley Coole. If you ask me, I'd put it all on the woman. She'd make a man want to hurt her where she could feel it, that one."

 "Yes. Fundamental factor, resentment. He died cherishing the thought he had gall. But a sense of humour is confusin' to the mind. He hasn't really hurt the lady. She's keeping all the money." Reggie sighed. "No use being humorous if you want revenge."

 SEVENTH CASE THE LITTLE DOG IT was late in July. Kept in London by his wife's duties to society, Mr. Fortune was evading his share of them. With nothing on him but drill trousers and a silk shirt he sat in the library and gave a performance of his marionette theatre. The play was Tannhauser, a new and original comedy by Reginald Fortune, music, when he remembered to whistle it, by Wagner. There were no spectators: a condition which he finds necessary to the finest dramatic art.

 But the parlourmaid came in and stood in dumb rapture. He was not pleased. "Go away, Edith. I am out. You know that. Nobody can say when I'll ever be in again."

 "Mr. Lomas, sir," said Edith.

 "Oh, very well, then," Reggie groaned, and the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department was brought up.

 He smiled. "My dear Reginald! Birthday present? Did you get a teddy bear, too?"

 Reggie caused the marionette Elizabeth to be rude. "And I quite agree with her," he said bitterly, and emerged from behind the theatre. "Don't sit down like that. You're not wanted."

 Lomas settled into his chair. "Did you get my message?"

 "No. Somebody had some sense."

 "I thought there was a muddle. They were going to tell you when you came in."

 "I'm not in," Reggie moaned. "Can't you see that?"

 "It's the affair at Fingbourne," said Lomas cheerfully. "They've asked for you." He lit a cigarette. "You must have seen it in the papers this morning. Son of a local bigwig. Admiral Basset, found drowned in a locked boathouse and strange circumstances, which means his legs were tied together."

 "I didn't read the papers," Reggie protested. "I am busy. Is that all?"

 "The Chief Constable simply asked if you could go down and advise him of the cause of death."

 "Well, well!" Reggie murmured. "Very flatterin'. But odd. Cause of death wouldn't seem to be the problem. The local practitioner can tell whether the fellow was drowned or not. If there's anything fishy about how he was drowned the Chief Constable ought to want some of your men on it."

 "Quite." Lomas smiled. "I told him you were not a detective, Reginald. He said that was quite understood. He didn't want a detective, only expert advice."

 "Man of tact, what?" Reggie smiled. "Oh, he's a silly ass. But you can see his trouble. Son of county family dies mysteriously, there'll be all sorts of blether down there and pressure on him to do this, that, and the other with the case. He wants to protect himself by taking Mr. Fortune's opinion."

 "Yes. You said he was a silly ass," Reggie murmured. "Lots of tact about to - day. However, I'd better go down. There are points. I should have been taken to a party to - night." He smiled. "Two parties."

 Fingbourne is in the midlands, in Daneshire, a county of rich pasture and orchards and sleepy rivers. Late that night Reggie's car brought him to Daneford, the ancient county town, and in the morning he introduced himself to the Chief Constable.

 Colonel Chute was a little person with a manner of military precision and a mind less definite. From a long bombardment of his talk the only clear idea to be obtained was that Colonel Chute was shocked such a thing should have happened to Admiral Basset. "Oh, yes. Yes. But it's his son who's dead, isn't it?" said Reggie, plaintively.

 "His son Arthur, sir, his first wife's son," Colonel Chute corrected, and rapped out the history of the Basset family from early times. Bassets had been at Fingbourne before the Conqueror - or Adam. They had always been of the utmost importance in Daneshire. Admiral Basset was a younger son - it was a strange thing, younger sons had often reigned at Fingbourne - people were quite superstitious about it - the Chief Constable wasn't made that way himself - but no shirking it, here was a younger son coming into the estate again. Call it fate if you like.

 "No; thanks. I'd rather not," Reggie murmured. "What happened to the Admiral's elder brother?"

 But the Chief Constable was not made to give direct answers. He had to explain that as the younger son the Admiral had naturally gone into the navy - elder brother always a bold horseman - broke his spine hunting - the Admiral would not leave the navy - till he had his flag. Then he settled down at Fingbourne - no better - managed estate in the country - active in county affairs, too - man of the right spirit - pity not more of 'em - - "Yes. Yes. Revertin' to this boy that's died," Reggie murmured. "Did you happen to know him?"

 The Chief Constable shied from that question, too. The Admiral married first while a young officer - wife wasn't a Daneshire girl - died, leaving him a boy - the young fellow who got himself drowned. The Admiral married again after - he settled down - one of the Lakenhams - charming woman - make a fine pair - not a pleasanter house in the county.

 "And there's another son?" said Reggie.

 "Shocking affair this is," said the Chief Constable. "Damme, sir, they're the last people in the world who ought to have such a thing in the family. The Admiral and Mrs. Basset and their jolly little boy! Everybody wants to make things easy for them, of course, but do your best with it, it's cruel."

 "Yes. I think so. What did you want me to do with it?" said Reggie.

 "Just giving you the facts," said the Chief Constable. "This young fellow, Arthur - father was at sea - rather brought himself up, know what I mean? Not much of a Basset - took after his mother, perhaps - dreamy lad - what I call windy - and then this mess."

 "Quite a mess. Yes," Reggie murmured. "And you want me to tell you if he was drowned?"

 "I wanted the best opinion, sir. You see how important it is to have the thing quite clear - now if you're prepared to see the body . . ." He bustled, he telephoned, he barked for his car.

 And Reggie wondered whether to classify him as less a fool than he seemed or even more.

 There were two doctors at the mortuary, aged men, the family doctor of the Bassets, the surgeon of the county police. They mingled disapproval of Reggie, nervousness, and a desire to lecture. Nobody likes lectures less. They discovered that.

 He stood over the dead body. It had been a slight lad whose brow was large for the frail face below: a face which must have looked pleasant in life despite its weakness: in death it was drawn and strained as by painful effort.

 Reggie made an end of his examination and turned to the two doctors and contemplated them. "You have formed your opinion, Mr. Fortune?" the family doctor said anxiously.

 "Yes. He was drowned," Reggie murmured. "He went into the water alive and without serious injury."

 "Quite so," the police surgeon approved. "I'm glad to be confirmed by your judgment, of course. But I found it a perfectly clear case myself."

 "Yes. Yes. Omitting the fundamental question: how was he drowned?"

 "My dear sir! You saw the mark of the cord on his legs. He was found with his ankles tied tight together. It's quite obvious he committed suicide."

 "I saw the mark. Yes. It could be. Also marks on his hands. Skin off the knuckles. However. Where is the cord?" The police surgeon produced a piece of stout blind cord. It had been cut, and a knot was still in it. "This is the original? Ordinary reef knot. Yes. Who found him?"

 "He was actually found by Bowes, Admiral Basset's man," said the family doctor. "A most trustworthy man, Mr. Fortune. They sent for me at once. When I arrived the poor boy was half in, half out of the water on the landing stage, as if he had struggled to get out and failed."

 "Oh." Reggie gazed at him with large eyes. "I wasn't told that."

 "Well, there's no mystery about it," said the police surgeon. "You could have had the facts if you chose. Everyone knows them. But you don't need them for your opinion. He was drowned. That he actually died while struggling to get out doesn't alter that. I suppose you know it's not uncommon?"

 "It is uncommon. It can happen. Very uncommon in a case of suicide."

 "There are reported cases, Mr. Fortune."

 "Oh, yes," Reggie smiled. "You've looked it up? Very proper. You felt a little uncomfortable?"

 "Not at all." The police surgeon frowned. "I verify my conclusions, Mr. Fortune. What happened is quite clear. The poor boy decided to commit suicide, tied his legs and flung himself into the river. When he felt himself drowning he repented and tried to get out. Not to speak ill of the dead, it's just what I should have expected from Arthur Basset. Weak, unstable creature he always was."

 "Dear me, you shouldn't say that," the family doctor lamented. "You shouldn't speak so, really you shouldn't."

 Reggie contemplated the police surgeon with dislike. "That's the theory. I see. Well, well He turned to the family doctor. "I shall have to see this boathouse, you know."

 "Well, you won't want me," said the police surgeon. "I'll see the Coroner, Grove." He made off.

 "Swift, isn't he?" Reggie smiled. "What have you been thinkin' about it. Doctor?"

 "Really, I'm afraid I can only come to his conclusion, Mr. Fortune." Grove looked at him nervously.

 As they came into the courtyard of the mortuary, a man of police pattern in plain clothes joined them. "Mr. Fortune?" he said with a stare. "I'm Inspector Home, in charge of this Basset case."

 "How do you do?" Reggie smiled and held out his hand, and Dr. Grove said in a hurry that he was just taking Mr. Fortune out to Fingbourne. Inspector Home scowled. "Going to see the Admiral, eh?"

 "No. The boathouse," Reggie murmured.

 "Are you?" Home directed his scowl at Dr. Grove. "How are you going to get in? It's locked."

 "Dear me, I hadn't thought of that," Grove cried. "I'm sure the Admiral - -"

 "Don't you worry. I've got a key. Run you out in my car, Mr. Fortune," said Home with a jerk of his thumb at a two - seater.

 "Thanks very much. But I want Dr. Grove, too."

 "Oh, all right," Home grunted. "After you, Doctor."

 Fingbourne House, the home of the Bassets, stands in a park of ancient trees and modern coverts of rhododendron. From the house the ground slopes down to a winding river. Dr. Grove explained that they could take the car across the park; the Admiral would not mind. "Good of him," Reggie mumbled. The car was turned on to the turf and they stopped above a boathouse of Victorian rusticity, stone - built and thatched, covered in ivy. An upper room had a balcony over the river.

 Inspector Home arrived and without a word strode to the door and opened it. Reggie stopped on the threshold and looked at the door and the lock and at the door again.

 The boathouse was of naval neatness within. On the stone floor was a sculling boat; on racks above, two canoes and sculls. Another sculling boat and a punt floated in a little dock. A spotless stair led to the upper room. "Very nice and tidy," Reggie murmured. "Just like this when you were called in. Doctor?"

 "Really, I should think just the same," said Grove uneasily.

 "No sign of a struggle, eh?" Home growled. "Not the least. Everything was quite in order." Grove moved slowly on. "Of course there was a good deal of water splashed on to the landing place by the poor boy's body."

 "Oh, yes. A lot of water?" said Reggie.

 "Well, really, Mr. Fortune, there was water, that's all I could say."

 The landing place was a wooden staging built out over the water, bound with rope along the edge. "Where was he when you found him?"

 "Just there - lying half upon it or rather less." Reggie frowned. He stroked and felt the wood and the rope - bound edge. He lay down and pulled up a sleeve and felt along underneath the planks. When he stood up again he looked with plaintive eyes at Dr. Grove. "I wonder," he murmured.

 "I don't understand, Mr. Fortune?"

 "His hands. How did he scratch his hands?"

 "Oh, you mean those marks on the back. Why, really, such a slight abrasion, it couldn't be significant."

 "On the back of his hands?" Reggie moaned. "Well, the skin was hardly broken, was it? So slight a thing might have been done in his struggles to get out, striking out blindly, poor lad; it may have been done before he fell in. So easy to skin one's knuckles, isn't it?"

 "Yes. Many ways. Yes," Reggie murmured. "Well, well!" He looked about him with troubled, melancholy eyes; he gazed at the landing stage and he shivered.

 "It is a terrible affair," said Grove.

 "Yes. See him there dying, can't you?" Reggie drew deep breath. "Trying to live. My God, if we could see his mind!"

 "God forgive him!" said Grove.

 Slowly Reggie turned away from the landing stage to contemplate Dr. Grove. "I suppose we can do no more, Mr. Fortune?" Grove said.

 "This place," Reggie glanced round - "it's absolutely as you found it? Nothing was lying about?"

 "I saw nothing at all."

 "Well, well! That's all, then," Reggie sighed. "I mustn't keep you. The Inspector will give me a lift."

 "Er - good - bye, then - good - bye." Grove was disturbed but anxious to go.

 Inspector Home frowned at Reggie. "Not satisfied, eh? Well, I don't blame you."

 Reggie did not answer. He examined the sculls, the paddles of the canoes, the punt poles. Again he looked about the place with sad, bewildered eyes.

 He went upstairs. There was sunshine there. A pleasant room, with deck chairs and cane chairs and cushions, and immaculately clean. He wandered about, looking in every corner and under cushions. He found nothing but a pocket volume of Shelley. "Ah, that's his, no doubt," said Home with contempt. "He was that sort of chap." Reggie turned the pages. The book had been much read.

 "Well, well!" he sighed, and put it down and gazed at the inspector. "Anything occur to you?"

 "There isn't anything, is there? And what's that prove? Time enough to clear up thorough before I came along."

 "Yes. There would be. Yes. What about the key? The boy was locked in the place when they found him. Where was the key he got in with?"

 "Ah!" Home grinned. "Now you're asking. They say it wasn't in the door. It wasn't in his pockets, either. Of course he could have chucked it in the river. I don't call that likely myself. If he meant suicide he might lock himself in. But why should he throw the key away?"

 "No answer indicated. Quite queer. Another little point: no remains of cord anywhere. Yet he only used as much as was necessary. No long ends. He might have measured his ankles beforehand and brought just the right amount. But that also is queer."

 "Yes, you've got something there," Home said with respect. "That's the stuff to give a jury. Hallo! What's this?" Voices came from below.

 Two men had come to the boathouse, a square man of middle age in the kind of blue serge clothes which look like a uniform but are not, a large and handsome youth in plus - fours and a school tie.

 "Upstairs there!" the elder man called in a naval voice.

 As Home appeared, the younger one said: "Oh, it's you, Inspector. All right. Only wanted to know who had got the place open. I thought you'd finished here."

 "You can take it I'm a long way off finished," Home growled.

 "What, found something new?"

 "It's not my duty to tell you what I've found."

 "Right you are. Carry on." The two walked away. Home looked at Reggie. "Now what are they browsing round here for? That's Lieutenant Crendon, Admiral Basset's nephew, and Bowes, the Admiral's man."

 "Oh. The investigator who discovered the body." Reggie looked after the two with pensive curiosity. "You know all about him?"

 "I've put him through it, give you my word," Home said. "Told his tale straight enough, but he's close. A sailor, you know. He was the Admiral's coxswain or something in the navy. Now they've got so folks say you can't tell which is the Admiral and which is his man."

 "And the nephew? Does he live with 'em?"

 "Not permanent. He's in the army. Just got his commission. Stays here on and off."

 "Well, well! Anything else you'd like to show me?" Home frowned and pondered and shook his head. "Go back, then, what?" Home nodded, put his key in the door, waited for Reggie to go out, locked it, and went on to his car. But Reggie stayed by the door staring at it, stooped to look closer, turned with a sudden start and scanned the ground. Slowly, looking down, he walked to the car and they drove away.

 After some time Home spoke. "Looks ugly to me. How about you?"

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured.

 "I'm going to have it out with 'em," Home snorted. "Basset and all."

 "Oh, yes. Yes. No choice," Reggie murmured, and when they came to his hotel Inspector Home shook hands fiercely.

 Reggie lay on the hard couch of his sitting room, smoking with closed eyes - his uncanny habit in meditation - when the Chief Constable was announced.

 "Got back, then? Thought you'd have come round to me. Our doctor tells me you quite agree the boy was simply drowned - nothing else possible, of course - didn't find anything fresh out at Fingbourne?"

 "No, I didn't find anything."

 "Well, you've been very kind, Mr. Fortune - wanted to ask you - could you stay over till to - morrow - like to get your evidence in at the inquest - out at Fingbourne, of course - won't keep you long - I'll warn the Coroner - send a car round for you in the morning."

 The village hall at Fingbourne was already full when Reggie came to the seats kept for witnesses.

 He was slow, he was dreamy, but his round pink face had the wistful curiosity of a child as he looked at the mixture of village folk and opulent folk in the crowd, at the Chief Constable and Inspector Home sitting uncomfortably together, at a solitary solicitor, at Crendon in quiet talk with an elder man who must be the Admiral, at the wooden face of Bowes beside him.

 The Coroner, a solemn ancient, made a fuss of the formalities and a speech about realizing the sad tragedy, and the Admiral was called into the box. He had no likeness to the dead boy: not much brow to his heavy face, ample jaw: the lines of it stood out hard and dark.

 The Coroner purred over him. He jerked an impatient bow and answered the smooth questions sharply. Arthur had gone out after breakfast alone; in his usual spirits; he did not come back to lunch; later on Bowes went down to see if he was in the boat - house, as he often took a book there and forgot the time reading; Bowes came back and reported the boy was dead. There had been no trouble of any kind to account for it.

 The Coroner was bound to ask - in a voice of sympathetic apology - if the young man had ever given reason to fear he might commit suicide. "I don't know how to answer that, sir," the Admiral said. "I had never thought of such a thing. But the boy was always emotional. He had moods and fancies. I believe he meant to do his duty. But he couldn't control his mind. He lost himself in books."

 "Ah! I understand he was something of a poet?" the Coroner said, and looked at the jury.

 "He was always reading poetry. I have found a book in his room with a lot of poetry in his writing. Some seems to be his own. Some is copied out from books. I'm told one piece is by Chatterton - -"

 "A poet who committed suicide, gentlemen," the Coroner informed the jury.

 "And there is some Greek: about death, I'm informed."

 Bowes handed up the book: the Coroner turned the pages and passed it down to the Vicar of Fingbourne, who was foreman of the jury. "Perhaps you can help us, sir?"

 The Vicar put on his glasses. "Dear me, dear me," he sighed, and shook his head. "This passage is from a tragedy. I may translate it thus: 'Not to be born is the happiest lot of all. And the next by far is to go most quickly to that bourne whence no traveller returns.'" He dropped his voice.

 "I need not ask you anything more. Admiral," said the Coroner.

 But Inspector Home started up. "By your leave, sir. We want to know if the Admiral was on good terms with the boy. As an elder son, was he giving satisfaction?"

 The Admiral's face darkened and he glared at the inspector. "I have no complaint of him, sir," he growled. "Question's an impertinence." His solicitor half rose and thought better of it.

 "I know my duty, sir." Home was pleased. "Who told Bowes to look for the boy in the boathouse?"

 The solicitor boomed out an objection. "Quite so, quite so," the Coroner said quickly. "This is most irregular. Inspector. Bowes will be called. Thank you, Admiral."

 Bowes took his place. It had been his own idea, going to look for Mr. Arthur, being as he was often dreaming down there over the river. The finding of the boy was told. And again, in spite of muttered orders from the Chief Constable, Home got on his feet. "You found the door locked. Any key in it?" Bowes shook his head. "You say the boy was locked in but the key had been taken away?" Bowes knew nothing about the key. Mr. Arthur might have thrown it in the river himself. "You found him half out of the water, as if he'd been trying to get out, not as if he wanted to drown himself."

 "Half out he was," said Bowes.

 "Ah! Any sign of someone else being there?" Bowes saw naught. "Did you find the rest of the cord? Any ends about?" No, Bowes saw naught.

 Then came the family doctor. While he made out his nervous evidence, the Chief Constable was whispering fast and furiously to Inspector Home.

 The Coroner called Mr. Fortune. Reggie was deliberate, minute, and long. As his level voice described the state of the dead boy's body, he watched the father. At first the Admiral sat with bent head; before the end he was staring at Reggie and his eyes glared a fierce anxiety. Reggie stopped and there was a moment's silence. "Thank you, Mr. Fortune," the Coroner spoke. "That is very full and clear. The conclusion from your evidence is the boy was drowned and by his own act?"

 "I have found no evidence to justify any other conclusion," said Reggie slowly.

 The solicitor stood up. "Your opinion is that he tied his legs and threw himself into the river?"

 "I have no evidence for any other explanation."

 "As to the position in which he was found - does it prove he was trying to save himself?"

 "That is indicated."

 "But such an effort is quite compatible with an original intention to commit suicide?"

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Obviously. There are recorded cases, too."

 Home started up. "What, sir, of a man dying by drowning when he had got himself half out of the water?"

 "Yes. There are cases," Reggie murmured.

 "You don't see anything queer about this case?"

 Reggie waited a minute before he answered.

 "Speakin' medically," - he paused again - "I should say there was nothing."

 "What about the missing key and the cord?" Home cried.

 "Mr. Fortune is a medical expert. Inspector," said the Coroner severely. "We shall have more medical evidence, gentlemen. Thank you, Mr. Fortune." He called the police surgeon.

 But Reggie did not wait to hear that important man. Unostentatious but swift, he slipped through the crowded court to find his chauffeur Sam smoking a cigarette with other chauffeurs. "All over a'ready, sir? "Sam asked by way of apology.

 "Oh, no. No. Now we're going to begin. Same like Mr. Snodgrass." Reggie got into the car and drove himself. By the gate through which Dr. Grove had brought him he turned into the park. "The Admiral don't mind me going across the turf," he muttered, and he laughed. But the sound of that laugh made Sam look at him curiously. He stopped rather farther from the boathouse than Dr. Grove had stopped. He walked on, stooping, looking at the ground.

 The path which came across the park to the boat - house was only a band of shorter, paler grass, but as it came down to the river some damp places were set with stones. Reggie went to the boathouse and studied the shut door; some small scratches on the grey oak interested him; most of them were near the ground and close to the door post, one or two, separate and faint, higher up about the middle. He measured the distance roughly and turned back to the patch of stones close by. Among them was a patch of yellow earth. "One big one or several little ones," he mumbled, considered a moment, and walked back along the path, counting his paces, then turned off on to the longer grass. He was some time moving methodically to and fro before he came upon a stone. It had a yellow stain of earth on it, no other mark, but farther on some flatness showed on the long grass. There lay another stone. On that was a clot of dried blood. Some of the grass tufts beyond were dark and stuck together. He followed a trail of blood: not much had fallen in any place, but the line could be made out.

 It led him to one of the coverts of rhododendron. He stopped and held up a finger to the attentive Sam, and Sam arrived at the double. "Got something, sir?"

 "Just stand by." Reggie lay down and looked under the rhododendron boughs, half rose and worked his way into the thicket.

 Something growled faintly. In the half dark he saw a glimmer of white, a small dog who had dragged himself into hiding to die and found it a long business. A wire - haired terrier: no collar on him. Reggie knelt down. "Poor little dog, good little dog!" he murmured, and delicately handled the dirty blood - stained body. There was a snarl, a dry mouth tried to bite. "All right, old man." Reggie gathered him up carefully and, going backwards, forced his way out through the bushes.

 "My gum!" Sam came to look. "'E ain't been 'alf done in. There's a dirty swine's trick."

 "Get him some water. Down to the river. Fill your cap." Reggie walked away to the car.

 When Sam came back the dog was laid on a folded rug on Reggie's knee. Seeing the water, he whimpered and tried to struggle to it, lapped greedily and dropped his head with a sigh. "Pore little beggar," Sam gazed at him. "Nice little dawg, too. Blinking shame."

 "Oh, get on, get on!" Reggie cried.

 "Right back, sir?"

 "Straight on to the first chemist's. And you're not driving a hearse."

 "Very good, sir." Sam was affronted. The car surged over Admiral Basset's turf. "You have a private lock - up for the car, haven't you?"

 "That's right." Sam was haughty but curious. He had to ask, "What for exactly?"

 "To nurse the dog," Reggie murmured.

 The car stopped at the chemist's and Reggie put the dog down in his seat as he got out. An unhappy head lifted, looked after the vanishing friend, and whined. When Reggie came back and took him up again he licked hands, and the stump of a tail made a show of wagging. . . .

 They were a long time in the garage. " 'E takes it good, don't 'e?" Sam said at the door. "Kind o' grateful. That gets you in a dawg. I'll stay with 'im a bit."

 Reggie strolled away to the Post Office and put through a trunk call. The Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department was at a Buckingham Palace garden party. "All right. Don't alarm the King," said Reggie, and dictated a message.

 That night, having seen the patient take nourishment with feeble eagerness, he was in his room smoking a large and thoughtful pipe when Inspector Home broke upon him. "I didn't hardly expect to find you here still, Mr. Fortune."

 "Pleasant surprise, what?" Reggie gazed at him dreamily. "Pleasure seems to be mine."

 Home sat down and scowled at him. "You let me down proper, didn't you? Leading me on with that talk about the cord and a queer case. As good as told me to work on it as a murder. Of course I thought you'd back me up. Fair made a fool of me. Look what they've done with it." He thrust the Daneford evening paper on Reggie. "You didn't bother to stay for the end."

 "Suicide - temporary insanity - deep sympathy with the family." Reggie looked down the report. "Yes. They were obviously going to say that."

 "That's all very fine. It's going to play the devil with me. The Chief Constable's given me a rare old dressing down already. I'll have all the bigwigs here with their knives into me. You put me on to it and then let it flop and left me to stand the racket. Oh, it's a great game! I wish you luck, Mr. Fortune." Home started up.

 Reggie waggled a hand at him. "Sit down again. I'm not going." He rang the bell and ordered whisky and soda while Inspector Home glowered at him.

 "Do you mean you're still on the case?"

 "Speakin' officially, I've done with it. Speakin' unofficially, I don't leave a case like this. I'm staying in Daneford." The fluids were brought and Home sullenly consented to drink.

 The next morning he accompanied Reggie to Arthur Basset's funeral. It was a ceremony of pomp and much attended. When the family mourners were gone, while the county people were going, Reggie lingered by the churchyard gate. Bowes made his way out and they jostled. Reggie turned and stared.

 "Beg pardon, sir." Bowes drew back. His face was stolid, as it had been in the witness box. He stood waiting for Reggie and Home to go ahead of him and sucked his teeth.

 They passed on. "That bein' thus, my inspector," Reggie smiled, "you'd better lunch in the local pub. There ought to be talk."

 "They won't talk to me," said Home.

 Reggie moaned gently. "Then you talk to them. Good - bye."

 When he came into his hotel, a gentleman at ease in the lounge was much impressed. "Reginald!" he said in a soft and penetrating voice. "Topper and tails!" He rose and contemplated them with reverence. "How beautiful!"

 "What have you come for?" said Reggie bitterly. "I didn't ask for you. Come to my room."

 "I am not worthy," Lomas chuckled.

 "I know you're not. Not alive. I'll wear 'em at your funeral." He reached his room, put the hat on the table and stared at it malignantly. "Yes. I'll wear that hat. And with pleasure." He glowered at Lomas.

 "My dear fellow! Why this malice? And why the splendour?"

 "It's my own coat," said Reggie plaintively. "I 'phoned for it yesterday. But the hat's a local product." He felt his head with tender sympathy. "Very brachycephalic, the Daneshire population. Curious phenomenon. However." Again he glowered at Lomas. "How I hate you!"

 "Quite," Lomas chuckled. "But otherwise you are obscure, Reginald. Why the splendour?"

 "It's a mad case," Reggie moaned. "I told you, I've been to a funeral." He dropped into the biggest chair.

 "What, young Basset's funeral?"

 "Yes. I haven't killed anybody else. Not yet, Lomas."

 "I am relieved to hear it." Lomas lit a cigarette. "You were getting quite incalculable. Resuming the inquiry, Reginald - why the funeral?"

 "To take Inspector Home. A demonstration. To parade myself with Inspector Home: showin' him and me still in action."

 "Home: that's the fellow who was told off by the Coroner?"

 "Yes. Almost wholly without brain. But with something not himself that makes for righteousness. A dolt of sound instincts and the awful obstinacy thereof. These are the men that try the soul, Lomas."

 "Then why Home?" said Lomas.

 "Oh, my hat! I don't know why he is. Part of the grim mystery of existence. But as he is, we have to make do with him. Hence me still here: hence my appeal for a man of modest intelligence. And then you come down yourself. Life is very hard."

 "You remain obscure, Reginald. Why are you still here? Why do you want one of my men on the case? By your own evidence it was suicide and you got the verdict you asked for."

 "Oh, my hat!" Reggie moaned. "And that's what you made of it! Didn't anything else occur to the professional mind?"

 Lomas smiled. "Well, yes, several things. That fellow Home had some queer points which were hustled out of the way. Obviously there is a desire that something or other shouldn't come out. The lad seems to have been a queer fish, and the father is an old naval man and county squire. Might drive each other wild. Of course the county would sympathize with papa and help him keep things out of the papers."

 "Yes. That is indicated. I'd rather sympathize with the boy. It's he who's gone down, Lomas."

 "Poor devil!" Lomas nodded. "He may have been whipped into it. But after all, you made it suicide yourself, Reginald."

 "I said I had no evidence for any other explanation. I was bound to say so. I hadn't. But I have now, Lomas. The boy was murdered."

 "Good Gad!" Lomas stared at him.

 "Come and have a look." Reggie took him to the garage. Therein Sam sat on the footboard of the car, smoking and rubbing the head of a small dog who had a leg in splints and a bandage about his body. The dog saw Reggie and whimpered and wriggled and wagged his tail. He was given a hand, licked it, nibbled it. "Doing fine, ain't 'e, sir?" said Sam.

 "Splendid dog," Reggie lingered over him. "Come and be kissed, Lomas." Lomas said it was a good fellow and gave a hand, but the dog turned his head away and looked anxious worship at Reggie. "All friends, old man," said Reggie. Lomas was accepted with one small, swift lick.

 Reggie took leave of the dog, and they went back to the room in the hotel. "And that's your evidence?" said Lomas.

 "Yes. Absolutely conclusive," Reggie murmured, and dropped into a chair.

 Lomas lit another cigarette. "You mean the dog was there?"

 "Not at the murder. No. He was tryin' to be. He did his best."

 "I suppose he has told you so?" said Lomas patiently.

 "Him and things. Yes."

 "What the dog said: it isn't evidence, Reginald." Lomas smiled.

 Reggie's eyes darkened. "If he could speak! We should know the inside of these people then." He sat up with a jerk. "No, Lomas, dear. Dogs can't talk - as your intelligence has perceived. But what they do, what's done to 'em - that talks. There was no evidence of anything but suicide. But suicide requires that the boy was alone and unassisted when he killed himself. The professional mind accepts that?"

 "Not quite," Lomas objected. "Not absolutely. He might have killed himself in spite of efforts to stop him. Or another person present might not have known what he was up to till it was all over."

 "He tied his legs in spite of efforts to stop him? He did it and jumped into the water without the other fellow noticing? And the other fellow couldn't save him though there were boats there afloat? Yes. It could be. But you wouldn't call it likely."

 "I agree. The other person would have a lot to explain."

 "Yes, I think so. The other person thought so, too. He has eliminated himself with ease. And you remember, on the evidence at the inquest, the boy was actually trying to get out when he died. Makin' the failure of the other person to save him still more awkward."

 Lomas nodded. "I noticed he was found half out. That impressed me."

 "Everybody had to notice it," Reggie moaned. "That's why they brought me down. They wanted a good opinion it might be suicide all the same. And I had to say so. However. Even at the inquest there were those other queer points. Disappearance of the key; absence of any remains of cord. I put Home up to all that, but the fool didn't know how to use it."

 "A suicide will do very odd things," Lomas objected. "The cord and the key are no evidence anyone else was in it."

 "Not proof. No. That's why I couldn't do anything. But suggestive. That's why I went to the boathouse again. I thought there were marks on the door. I found scratches such as a dog would make trying to get in." And he told of the tracking of the dog. "Hind leg broken, two ribs, flesh wounds. Been lying there some days. Now you see what happened."

 "Good Gad!" Lomas gasped. "I do not."

 "My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow! While Arthur Basset was being drowned, the dog came to the door and made a row. The other person couldn't have attention drawn to the boathouse at this delicate moment, tried to drive the dog off and, failing, stoned him. Awkward situation. He had Arthur on his hands, and the dog. That's why he couldn't make sure of the dog. When he was sure of Arthur the dog had vanished. Very awkward. He daren't stay to look. Hence the evidence of the dog survives. See?"

 "It's very ingenious," said Lomas.

 "Yes, I think so," Reggie murmured.

 Lomas meditated. "You've made out a strong presumption somebody else was there. But it's not a proof, Reginald. What do you mean to do?"

 "I mean to find the somebody else."

 And again Lomas thought about it. "Where's the motive for murder? Unsympathetic father might drive a poetic son to suicide. He wouldn't murder the boy for being incompatible."

 "Not by itself, no. Lots of motives about. Father might resent this unsatisfactory youth being the heir of the Bassets. There's a tradition that the estates go to the younger son. These little things take hold of people's minds. Somebody else might want the elder son out of the way. The younger son is by a second wife, you know. Various possible jealousies, affections, ambitions. There may be other forces. And we're not bound to find a motive because we find a murderer. He might have had a rational motive; might have had all sorts mixed up. It happens."

 "Quite," Lomas nodded, frowning. "You're infernally rational, Reginald. It's an awkward business. Strictly speaking, I have no right to act. The local police haven't called me in."

 "My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow! You have, they did, they asked for me. Here I am and I want assistants."

 "There ought to be further investigation," Lomas pronounced officially. "I agree. Well, I brought down Underwood and Foster. I thought you were probably right, confound you. But for heaven's sake don't put the local backs up."

 When Lomas had departed Reggie gave a lecture to Sergeant Underwood and Sergeant Foster on a large - scale map of Fingbourne. "Now what you have to do is to find me somebody who was about in the park near the boathouse on Monday morning. There's a local man on it, too. Inspector Home. If you bump into him, give him butter, lots of butter. He's sore. You might also find out if Arthur Basset had a dog - and if any dog has been lost from Fingbourne House - and its name. That's all. Quite simple."

 Underwood looked glum. "It's a simple inquiry, sir. If you don't mind my saying so, what bothers me is how the job was done if it was murder."

 "I wonder." Reggie looked at him with dreamy eyes. "Secondary problem. When I know who did it, I'll tell you how. Good - bye."

 Going out afterwards to visit the patient in the garage, he saw a wooden face among the loungers about the door of the tap: the face of Bowes. It was not anxious to be observed. When he came back again he heard a voice which seemed familiar talking to the landlord in the office and sat down to wait till it should come out. The owner of it was Crendon. He gave Reggie a look of grave and friendly recognition.

 "Well, well! Now they know," Reggie murmured to himself. "However." He went for his tea to the confectioner's used by the ladies of rank and fashion in Daneford.

 Rather late that night Underwood came to report progress. They had been to Fingbourne and drunk beer at the inn with the village elders. "I'd say a lot of 'em think it was a fishy business, but nothing you could get on to. The lad was driven to suicide to clear the way for this second wife's son - that's their idea. And it does look like that to me, sir - really murder but not a thing you can prove."

 "You think not?" Reggie murmured.

 "Well, it's up to you, sir," Underwood said without confidence.

 "Yes. That is so. Yes. You two had better go and put up at the Fingbourne inn."

 "Very good, sir," Underwood said. "You see that's going to give everybody warning."

 "Yes. I think so." Reggie smiled. "Work at it. Good - night."

 In the morning came to him a melancholy man. Inspector Home's natural surliness was smarting with a sense of wrong. He had not been able to do anything at Fingbourne. He would not be able to do anything. The Chief Constable had had him on the carpet for trying, suspended him, threatened dismissal. "That's what you've let me in for, Mr. Fortune. Turned out of the force after twenty - five years' service. Good finish for me, ain't it, thank you kindly."

 "My dear chap! Not the finish, no. Far otherwise. When you see the Chief Constable you can tell him Mr. Fortune said you were on the track."

 "Can I?" Home growled. "Lot of good that'll do."

 "Quite a lot. Yes." Reggie smiled.

 "You're still at it, are you?"

 "Oh, yes. You can tell him that, too," said Reggie. "I'm just going out to Fingbourne. Good - bye."

 He did not on this expedition take the car into the park. Trudging the main avenue, he stopped to consider the nearness of several points to the boat - house, repeated the process on the road which led to the stables, then took the track which led from the house to the river.

 As he came near the boathouse he saw a solid shape of a man who rolled in his walk. "The naval Bowes," he murmured, and he smiled. "Oh, yes. We're thinking it out, are we?" Bowes seemed to be making a search. He became aware of Reggie and stopped, but there was only a puckering of the eyes in his wooden face. He touched his hat with a gruff, " 'Morning, sir."

 Reggie gave him a cheerful answer, glanced back at the house, and then said, "You should keep your eyes open, Bowes."

 "Ay ay, sir," Bowes growled, and while Reggie wandered on stood sucking his teeth, then rolled off at a brisk rate to the house.

 Reggie came to his car again and sank down and mopped his face. "Life is exhaustin', Sam," he complained. "But not without interest. Slow through the village. Same like the sign says. Lookin' for our active and intelligent police force. I want to give them a prod, too."

 Underwood was seen talking to what seemed to be the village ne'er - do - well outside the humbler village inn. He came to the car as it stopped. "Anything new, sir?"

 "The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker," Reggie murmured. "Try the tradesmen. Somebody took the Monday bread and the Monday fish and what not."

 "I'll get Foster on it, sir," said Underwood curtly, and went back to his goggling wastrel.

 "Well, well!" Reggie sighed. "Why are policemen so harsh to me, Sam?"

 "'E was up to something on 'is own, sir."

 "Yes, that was indicated. He has intelligence. But so stern withal. Nobody loves me. brutal mais fa marche. Like gears However. C'esi and the human leg."

 He had not long been back in the hotel, he was sprawling and drinking soda water when the Chief Constable was brought up to him, and the Chief Constable, it became swiftly clear, was far from loving him. "Rang you up this morning, Mr. Fortune."

 "Good. I was out. Over at Fingbourne."

 "Were you? Have a word with you about that, if you please."

 "Have a drink, too," Reggie murmured. "No? You look so hot. Have a chair."

 "Not here to sit down and gossip, sir," Colonel Chute barked. "Sent me a message - like to know what you mean by it. Home says you asked him to tell me he was on the right track."

 "Oh, yes. He was, you know. That's what it means."

 "Let me tell you, sir, I want no interference from you - won't have it, what's more. Home is suspended for disobedience to orders."

 "Is he really? "Reggie sat up. "You ordered him not to investigate the case any further? Write me a letter saying so, will you?"

 Colonel Chute gobbled. "I'll be damned - most impudent thing I ever heard in my life - you have no authority here, sir, none at all - I'm in charge of all criminal investigation here - -"

 "Yes. You are. And you're usin' your position to impede the course of justice. You'd better not."

 Colonel Chute was for a moment inarticulate. "Verdict of suicide, sir - on your own evidence - case is closed."

 "I said there was no medical evidence of anything but suicide. There wasn't. And your inspector's inquiries were squashed and the inquest was huddled over. Your inspector wasn't satisfied. I'm not satisfied."

 "Why - why not?" Colonel Chute stammered. "What other evidence is there? What could there be?"

 Reggie smiled. "Well, well! Didn't you feel any suspicion, Colonel?"

 "Do I understand you" - Colonel Chute was in a difficulty - "some fresh facts you've discovered?"

 "I thought Home told you he was on the track," Reggie murmured.

 Colonel Chute breathed hard. "Very difficult position - most irregular - " he said thickly - "don't want any public altercation - take advice." He got himself out of the room.

 After dinner Underwood arrived with a conviction of his importance manifest. "Well, Mr. Fortune, there was somebody else in the boathouse that morning," he announced.

 "Oh, yes. Who was it?" Reggie murmured.

 "Foster's got the fishmonger's boy, sir. He was cycling up to the house. He says he heard a dog barking down by the river as he came along, then it shut up, and he saw a man go into the boathouse. Afterwards when he was going back, there was someone coming across from the boathouse - the same chap, he's pretty sure."

 "Who was it?" said Reggie sharply.

 "Ah, he couldn't say. He wasn't ever near enough to see the face. He don't know the Fingbourne House people by sight - he's a lad from the town here."

 Reggie sighed. "We don't have much luck, do we?"

 "Not too much, sir. He thinks he might recognize the look of the man again if he saw him walking."

 "Yes. If he had a hint he was to," Reggie murmured. "Not good enough. We want that hint ourselves first. He mustn't recognize a fellow who was somewhere else. We don't exactly command public confidence as it is."

 "That's right, sir," Underwood said grimly. "We do not. But I've got something more. A Fingbourne lout put me on to an old poacher fellow from another village who was down by the river on the other side setting lines for eels. He heard talk in the boathouse, and quit. Two men talking and laughing, he says, and then a hell of a splash."

 Reggie moved in his chair. "Laughing," he murmured, and gazed at Underwood with melancholy eyes.

 "Ah!" Underwood nodded. "Seems mighty queer, doesn't it? But it's not the sort of thing a fellow would make up. And he sticks to it. Swears he'd know the voices again, too. I daresay he would, sir. These poacher chaps are sharp on sounds."

 "There's one voice he won't know again," said Reggie. Then the pity died from his sombre eyes. "The other - I wonder if that'll be laughing when he hears it next. Then and after. Yes. Oh, yes. What's that about the devils laughing in hell?"

 "Devilish business, all right," Underwood said. "But I don't know. He says both the men he heard were laughing. Arthur Basset wouldn't laugh if he was being murdered. Looks like more than one in it."

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured. "You'd better keep an eye on Fingbourne House tomorrow. Browse in the park. In case anybody does anything unusual. Foster can go worryin' on. Good - night."

 Among Reggie's letters in the morning was one which bore the Basset crest. It was from the Admiral: 'SIR: I had hoped to take an occasion of thanking you for your services at the inquest upon my unfortunate son. It has, however, been brought to my knowledge that you are not disposed to be content with the evidence which you gave. I fail to understand this and must require an immediate explanation. I am informed that my people are being disturbed by secret inquiries made without any legal authority and wish to know if this is upon your instructions.

 Yours faithfully, J. BASSET.

 It would be best that you should meet me.

 J.B.'

 "You think so?" Reggie smiled at the epistle. "Interestin' state of mind. Several states of mind. Different one in each sentence. Yes, my Lomas, we've got 'em takin' notice now."

 That afternoon he drove out to Fingbourne House. The footman who opened the door was told that Admiral Basset had asked him to come round and with some nervous hesitation took him into the garden.

 The family were at tea there between two great syringas - the Admiral, Mrs. Basset, their boy, and Crendon. If there had been any conversation among them it was silenced by the approaching footsteps. The Admiral sprang up; his face was red, and his black eyebrows met in a frown. "Sorry to bring you out here," he growled.

 "Quite the best way," Reggie murmured, "as you said," and he was gruffly introduced to Mrs. Basset, who stared at him with cold hostility, to the dumb, awed child, to Crendon.

 "Sort of met before, haven't we, sir?" Crendon said. "With old Bowes, you know."

 A small dog, a wirehaired terrier, came slowly round the chairs, with twitching nose, and sniffed at Reggie and whimpered. The teacup in Mrs. Basset's hand shook. "Be quiet, Mick," she said fiercely, and he lay where he stood, and Reggie talked about syringas. But only Crendon helped him.

 "Won't you have any more tea?" The Admiral seized the first chance. "Come along, then."

 The dog slunk after them close on Reggie's legs. "Go lie down," the Admiral roared at him, and he scuttled away, tail down, back curved.

 "Oh, nice dog!" Reggie protested, looking after him. "Something worrying him?"

 The Admiral strode on into the house and upstairs to a panelled room which had some pictures of ships and a cabinet of sailors' curiosities. He sat down at a writing table and pointed to a chair. "Now, Mr. Fortune." His black brows came down.

 "Have you lost a dog lately?" said Reggie.

 The Admiral was taken aback. "What? Dog? Yes. We have. That rascal's brother. Don't know what's become of him."

 "Don't you really? Told the police?"

 "No, I haven't. I've had something else to do than bother about a dog."

 "Was it Arthur's dog?"

 "Damn it, sir, I didn't bring you here to talk about dogs," the Admiral exploded.

 "Oh, yes. You wanted me to explain why I don't believe Arthur committed suicide. First point: the vanished dog."

 "Do you mean you knew the dog had gone?"

 "Yes. Though you didn't tell anybody. And I know what happened to it. Could Arthur swim?"

 Again the Admiral had a difficulty in adjusting himself to the conversation. "Swim? Swim like a fish. One of the few things he could do, poor fellow. That's why he had to tie his legs to kill himself, of course. But - -"

 "But not a reason why he should kill himself by drowning," Reggie murmured. "Second point."

 "Let's keep to one thing at a time, for God's sake," the Admiral gasped. "What's this about the dog?"

 "I'll take things my own way," said Reggie sharply. "Have you kept that book Arthur wrote in? I want to see it?"

 "It was shown at the inquest, sir." The Admiral produced it.

 "Not to me." Reggie turned the pages. "Oh, yes. The Greek that never being born is the best way and the second best to die quick, that's the only thing about death. And it's the last written."

 "Of course it is. He wrote it when he was making up his mind to kill himself."

 "Or it was written to suggest that he did. The ink's not as dark as the rest. And bein' Greek, there's no proof the writing is his. Third point."

 "What the devil are you suggesting, sir?" the Admiral roared.

 "Oh, isn't it clear yet? Your son Arthur was murdered, and there has been an elaborate and determined attempt to pretend that he killed himself."

 The Admiral started up. "I murdered my own son, did I? That's what your tricks are going to prove. Do your worst, then, and be damned to you. I'll fight you, by God, I'll break you."

 "Oh, no. No." Reggie smiled. "There won't be any fight. I have my case. When Arthur was in the boat - house that morning somebody else was there, too. I have witnesses who saw him and heard him. The dog that's vanished followed Arthur down to the boathouse and scratched at the locked door and barked to be let in while the murder was being done. The murderer came out and stoned him with stones from the path, and he was smashed and hid in the bushes to die. I've found him and saved him. I couldn't save Arthur. But I can punish his murderer. He was seen twice. His voice is remembered. He was talking to Arthur and laughing. That's the evidence, sir. You'd better think it over. Good - bye."

 He waited a moment, but the Admiral would not look at him, sat staring at hands which clenched and unclenched, had nothing to say. He went out, and as he opened the door heard footsteps. In the hall he saw the wooden face of Bowes.

 His car was driven slowly across the park, and Underwood rose up from the turf. Reggie stopped. "Close up on the house. You might be wanted," he said. "I'm going back to the hotel." The car shot away.

 It was less than an hour afterwards, he was sitting in the lounge of the hotel, smoking fast, when the telephone rang. He started up and made for the office. "Mr. Fortune? " the landlord was saying. "Right. I'll see if he is in."

 And Reggie took the receiver out of his hand. "Fortune speaking."

 "This is Underwood, sir. Come along quick. Regular mess here. Three of 'em laid out. All hurt bad. Haven't got the hang of it yet. Plenty of doctor's work."

 "Coming," Reggie said and rang off.

 His car was turning out of the courtyard when the landlord called: "Chief Constable on the 'phone, Mr. Fortune," and he returned to it.

 "That Mr. Fortune? - Colonel Chute speaking - something queer at Fingbourne House - Admiral's been shot - can you come out?"

 "I'm coming," said Reggie. "Bring another doctor."

 When his car slid up to the door of Fingbourne House, Underwood ran out. "Who has it worst?" said Reggie.

 "I couldn't rightly say that, sir. None of 'em dead yet. Mr. Crendon's smashed up and got his leg broke. The Admiral's shot in the head. His man Bowes is laid out bleeding like a pig. By what I can make out, Bowes ran amuck at 'em. I was waiting, like you told me, round there by the garden hedge, when I heard shots and the devil of a row. Then I rang up, and as I came I found Mr. Crendon lying out here with his face bloody and groaning. 'What's up, sir?' I said. 'God, I'm done,' he said, 'my damned leg's broke," he said, 'go and stop that devil, for God's sake, he's killing the Admiral up there.' See, sir, where the window's all smashed."

 Reggie looked: it was the window of the room in which he had explained things to the Admiral. "Yes, I see," he said.

 "Well, I went up, sir. There was the Admiral and Bowes both lying dead to the world and Bowes with a service revolver in his hand. The Admiral had a mess of blood all over his head, and Bowes was bleeding out of the body. Servants coming in screeching like hens. Mrs. Basset, she's took charge, she kept her head fine, got 'em took off to bed and - oh, here she is."

 She was white and at strain but in full command of herself. "Mr. Fortune, I have sent for our own doctor, but will you see my husband? Perhaps something ought to be done."

 "Yes. I'd better see him."

 "Your man has told you what happened?" She led the way in. "Mr. Crendon heard a noise in the study and found Bowes there with my husband. Bowes had a revolver and was trying to shoot him. There was a struggle, and Bowes shot my husband in the head and flung Mr. Crendon out of the window, and when we found him he had shot himself, wretched man."

 "Yes. Yes. A bad business." Reggie looked at the white, hard face. "Has Bowes ever done anything strange before?"

 "He has been very strange since Arthur's death. I had warned my husband about him."

 "I see. Yes," Reggie murmured, and was brought to the Admiral. He worked some time over the wound. . ..

 He stood up and turned to the wife. "That's going to be all right, Mrs. Basset," he said.

 "Oh, my God," she gasped and tottered.

 "Yes. No serious injury. Slight concussion. Bullet slid along the skull. Shot was probably knocked up. He'll come round soon. Then we shall know."

 "You can't be sure!" she cried.

 "You think not?" Reggie looked at her.

 She turned away from his eyes, trembling, then made for the door to the sound of voices and footsteps. "Ah, here is the doctor," she said.

 Dr. Grove came, and with him the police surgeon. Reggie nodded at them. "That's a simple case. I'm going to see Bowes."

 Upstairs in a little room the unconscious Bowes lay on his bed, still dressed, with a mature and buxom maid servant watching over him in helpless tears. "Now you're going to be useful," Reggie said. . . . There were wounds in chest and shoulder. . . . Dr. Grove came to help. ... A long task. . . .

 They left Bowes still unconscious with the woman at his side.

 "Well? What's the opinion. Doctor?" Reggie said.

 "Really, I have so little experience of this sort of thing. I expect him to pull through."

 "Oh, yes. Yes. That is indicated."

 "One hardly knows whether to wish it or not," Dr. Grove sighed.

 "You think not?" Reggie murmured. "One moment." He ran downstairs to the hall where Underwood waited and spoke softly. ." Take my car. Find the poacher. Bring him along quick." He turned back and saw Dr. Grove with the Chief Constable.

 "Glad I managed to get hold of you, Mr. Fortune," Colonel Chute began. "Terrible business, this is - come in here, will you?" - he led the way into a morning room. "Mrs. Basset tells me you were with the Admiral this afternoon - -"

 "Yes. He asked for it," Reggie said.

 "Quite - I understand that - did he - er - was he disturbed in his mind?"

 "Much disturbed, yes. He wanted to know why I was fussin' about Arthur's death. And I told him I had evidence Arthur was murdered."

 "You told him that - and then this happened - -"

 "Yes. Interestin' sequence."

 "Pretty clear, I should say - damned clear - he guessed who it was - had Bowes in and accused him, and Bowes shot him."

 "Yes. It could be." Reggie said slowly. "Whose revolver was it?"

 Colonel Chute cleared his throat. "Seems to be the Admiral's own."

 "Oh, yes. I thought it would be," Reggie murmured.

 "Good God! You mean he was trying to shoot himself?"

 "One of the possibilities. Yes."

 "That's as good as to say he killed Arthur and was afraid you were going to prove it - is that what you meant - did he do it?"

 "I don't know. I don't know who the murderer was yet."

 "Well, but then," Colonel Chute stammered eagerly, "What about old Bowes - if it was him and he was being found out - there's your motive."

 "Not so damned clear, is it?" Reggie smiled. "Well, well! I haven't seen Crendon yet. I'd better have a look at his damages."

 "Not too bad - having his leg set now - - " Colonel Chute bustled - "you've heard how he found them ..."

 They went up to Crendon's room. He was still under the hands of the police surgeon, but the work on the leg was done, his cut face patched with plaster, his left hand was being dressed. "Hallo, everybody. Cheerio," he smiled. "All stuck together again. How's the others?"

 "Bad enough - bad enough - Admiral's still unconscious," Colonel Chute said.

 "Hard luck. Did my best." Crendon settled down into his pillows. "Got it in the head, didn't he?"

 "Yes. Shot in the head," said Colonel Chute. "Now, now, don't excite yourself. Just tell us how it happened."

 "How's old Bowes?"

 "Rather bad - nothing to be done with him - now tell us in your own way."

 "Poor old beggar!" Crendon said. "He must have gone clean off his head. It was like this - - " and he told again the story Reggie had heard from Underwood.

 Reggie left Colonel Chute asking him questions and went back to the Admiral's room. He was at the bed side before Mrs. Basset heard him. She was bent over the Admiral, pale lips parted, her face fierce and eager.

 "What has he said?" Reggie murmured.

 She gasped and started and her hand went to her throat, then she waved him away. Reggie sat down by the bed. She said something sharp and stifled it. The Admiral stirred, made a noise in his throat, opened dim eyes and muttered, "Bowes - Bowes."

 "Yes, dear, yes. I know it was Bowes," his wife said quickly.

 He stared at her as though he did not see her. "Bowes," he said thickly. "Where's Bowes?"

 "I know all about it, Gerald."

 "Did Bowes get him?" the Admiral muttered.

 "Yes, sir, Bowes got him," Reggie said. "What happened before?" he held up his hand against Mrs. Basset, and bent over the bed.

 The Admiral turned to the new voice. "Who are you? I know you. You came about Arthur. Damn all."

 "What happened, sir?"

 "After you'd gone. Devil came in. Young devil came in. Took a pistol to me. Too quick for me. Like mad. Bowes came in, got at him. How is Bowes?"

 "Doing well enough, sir. We've got Crendon. Don't worry any more. All clear now."

 "Efficient, ain't you?" the Admiral mumbled. "Dam' 'ficient. Look after old Bowes."

 "Right," Reggie said, and slid out of the room.

 Mrs. Basset had gone before him. He heard her voice and followed it. "Colonel! Colonel, come here a minute. I want to speak to you. This room will do. Oh, my God!" Reggie came after them into a bedroom in which the curtains were drawn. She had her hand at her throat; she stumbled.

 "Steady now steady - there, there," Colonel Chute exhorted her. "What's wrong now?"

 "It's Arthur's room," she gasped. "No, it doesn't matter."

 Reggie went to the window and let in sunlight.

 "Colonel, my husband's spoken," she said. "It was Herbert shot them, shot them both."

 "Herbert?" Colonel Chute barked. "You mean Crendon? God bless my soul! Crendon!" He turned to - Reggie. "Hear that, Mr. Fortune?"

 "Yes, I heard it," Reggie murmured. "I was waitin' for it." He turned to the window. A car had just driven up, his car, and Underwood was in it with a little man, rough and brown as a beechnut.

 "What an awful thing!" Colonel Chute lamented. "My dear lady, what a dreadful thing!"

 But she laughed. "Dreadful? My God, if you knew what it was like before! Take him away. Oh, take him away."

 Colonel Chute was bewildered. "Er, quite, yes, quite - really most distressing - - "He looked for help to Reggie.

 "Go back to the Admiral, Mrs. Basset," Reggie said gently. "We'll do the rest." And she was quick to go.

 "What do you think, Mr. Fortune?" Colonel Chute appealed. "What are we to do?"

 "My only aunt!" Reggie moaned. "Do your job, man. Tell Crendon he's for it. Charge him with attempt to murder the Admiral and Bowes."

 "Got to be done, of course - is he fit though? Poor devil's all smashed."

 "Feelin' merciful? "Reggie snapped. "I'm not. This is the dead boy's room. Oh, get on!" While Colonel Chute went reluctantly, he ran down to the car where Underwood waited with the poacher. "You're my man. I want you to listen outside a room, in case you remember any of the voices. Come on. Underwood."

 They went up to Crendon's room, and Reggie passed inside and left the door ajar.

 "Hallo! You've blown in again, have you?" Crendon raised himself. "Let 'em all come."

 "All?" said Reggie. "We can't arrange that, Mr. Crendon. There's one you won't see here again."

 "Oh, God, don't be clever," Crendon cried.

 "Now, now, my man!" Colonel Chute barked. "This won't do you any good - I warn you - careful what you say - told you the Admiral had come to himself - -"

 "Has he! What a change!" Crendon laughed.

 "Hold your tongue, sir - Admiral's statement is, you shot him and Bowes - I shall charge you with attempt to murder - warn you - anything you say - evidence against you - understand?"

 "Attempt?" Crendon said. "Attempt to murder? That's a good one!" and again he laughed.

 "Thanks very much, Mr. Crendon," Reggie murmured and he called out: "Have you heard any voice you remember?"

 "Ay," the answer came loud through the open door. "Him as laughed. Him's one o' they was laughing down to the boathouse."

 Crendon tried to rise, staring at the door, and fell back with a scream of an oath and lay swearing.

 "In the boathouse you laughed," Reggie said. "Come in, Underwood. Watch him. He may want to kill himself now." He wandered out.

 The little poacher met him with twinkling eyes. "Good fellow!" Reggie said. "That was splendid."

 "Ay, you did get him proper, master," the little man chuckled.

 "Now my car'll take you wherever you want. But you'll be wanted again some day."

 "Surely. I be ready. I han't no kindness to a man as hurts a dawg."

 "Yes, that was his error," Reggie murmured. "Goodbye."

 "What's all this, Mr. Fortune - what is all this?" Colonel Chute complained.

 "Let's go into Arthur's room," said Reggie. He sat down on the dead boy's bed and sighed. "It's the end - for us. You can make another charge against Mr. Crendon - murder of Arthur Basset."

 "I saw you were working to that -" the Colonel announced - "this fellow is evidence he was there - but how the devil could it be murder - how was it done?"

 "My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow! That was always obvious - if there was another man there. Arthur was tempted to try if he could get out of the water with his legs tied. Possibly Crendon dared him. Possibly a bet. Hence some of the laughing. Crendon tied him up and pocketed the rest of the cord. Arthur jumped in. When he tried to get out, Crendon stamped on his hands. That's how the knuckles were skinned. Hence more laughing - by Crendon. In the midst of this amusement the dog came barking to be let into the boat - house. That row had to be stopped. Crendon ran out and drove the dog off - nearly killed him. Arthur made a last effort to get out and died. Crendon locked up the place and went off with the key. He couldn't leave it inside. Inevitable defect. Quite clever work. But not sound."

 "Devilish clever - what's the motive, though?"

 "Motive? Arthur was the heir. When he was gone, only the small boy between Crendon and the Fingbourne estate. I should say the small boy wouldn't have lived long if this had come off. Plenty of motives. Jealousy. Hate. Desire to show Mr. Crendon's power. Desire to kill. All quite common. Plenty of cases. You'll never hang him. The experts will swear he's mad. He isn't, of course. However."

 "Criminal lunatic asylum is the place for him," the Colonel pronounced.

 "Well, well!" Reggie stood up. "You're a merciful man. Phone for Home and get him taken to the prison infirmary. He isn't safe here. You owe Home a good turn. 'Phone for nurses for old Bowes, too. I'm going back to my patient."

 "Your patient, sir?"

 "Yes. Little dog. Nice little dog."

 EIGHTH CASE THE WALRUS IVORY ON the wall of the chapel of a convent of the Little Sisters of the Poor there is a carving in ivory. It is only of a few inches, but it shows in relief several people seeming to worship one whose face is ageless and benign. About them is a pattern of flowers and animals. A Little Sister brought Mr. Fortune to see. "Yes. Gracious, isn't it?" he said at last. "It's right with you."

 "We love it, sir," said the Little Sister. "You are kind."

 "Oh, no. No. Only accurate," Reggie murmured.

 That was not the first time he saw it. A dank day in March brought him limp to the room of the Hon. Sidney Lomas, the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department, who was in conference with Superintendent Bell.

 He sank into the easiest chair. "It wasn't human tissue," he complained: which started the hunt for the absconding professor.

 "Good Gad," said Lomas, and Bell and he fluently reorganized their ideas on that case: which has nothing to do with this.

 Reggie made small plaintive noises, writhed out of his chair, and prowled. A basket of strange objects took his attention. "Well, well! What are these exhibits?" He recovered a little interest in life.

 But Lomas still talked to Bell and Bell talked to the telephone. Reggie sat down with his basket. There were three things in it, two of what looked like gold and enamel, the third appeared to be ivory. He examined them carefully, with satisfaction, with curiosity.

 "That'll cover it," Lomas concluded. "Now order tea for three. And toast." He turned. "Well, Reginald, found something to amuse you?" He lit a cigarette. "And what do you make of that little lot?"

 Reggie put the ivory down and took up the gold things. They were flat, one heart - shaped, the other round with a curved projection. On both the enamel was gay. "Asiatic flavour," he murmured. "Quite good," Lomas smiled, "but cautious."

 "Oh, my dear chap! These are Indian. Turban ornaments."

 "Full marks," Lomas nodded, and the tea came. "But why are they?" Reggie was plaintive. Bell comforted him with buttered toast.

 "Queer little case," said Lomas. "Nothing to it, but tricky."

 "Comes from a Bloomsbury apartment house, Mr. Fortune," Bell explained. "Cheap bedrooms for cheap people and no meals served, that kind. The landlady says she had complaints the lodgers were losing things, so she went and looked in her servant's box and she found this batch. Then there was a row. The landlady's story is, she was willing to say no more about it and give the girl another chance if she'd own up and promise to behave herself. The girl lost her hair and ran out and found a constable and told him the landlady had stolen things out of her box. The constable went along. He says the landlady was quite decent and the girl raving. She wouldn't hardly talk about the gold things, only to swear she'd never seen them. She kept on saying the landlady wanted to steal the ivory; she owned up she had that in her box; it was hers, it had been given her. By a lodger who's left, if you please. Name of Smith. Mr. John Smith," Bell snorted.

 "Convincin' name, yes," Reggie mumbled. "But there had been a Mr. Smith?"

 "Well, of course. And just gone away, leaving no address. The landlady thought he came from Manchester. Mr. John Smith of Manchester. Likely sort of fellow to own this truck. The landlady said all the stuff belonged to an Indian student fellow. He'd told her things like these had been taken from his room. As the girl wouldn't own up, she gave her in charge. And afterwards Mr. G. Das came round to the police station and identified all the truck as his. So the silly girl's done herself in properly."

 Reggie took up the ivory again, stroked it, and a small pensive voice purred, "There are points."

 "The development is queer," Lomas agreed. "That's why the case came up to me. Strictly speaking, it's not our business. We're not responsible for the charge or the evidence."

 "Oh, my hat!" Reggie moaned. "Morals, by a policeman."

 "You might assume we don't want the police to assist in a dubious prosecution," said Lomas with some heat. "That's why I've been over the evidence myself. Take it the landlady's a decent, kindly woman and the servant lost her head, which is in the evidence, and you have an adequate explanation."

 "It could be," Reggie said slowly.

 "It is: as we find strong corroboration of the landlady's story."

 "Oh! Who found that?"

 "Well, you did, my dear fellow." Lomas smiled. "Look at the articles stolen. You said yourself they were Indian, Reginald. Many thanks. But we had gone into it before. They were submitted to old McArdle. He told us they were certainly Indian. So this Indian chap who says they were stolen from him is confirmed and the servant's story, that she had 'em from Mr. John Smith of Manchester, doesn't look likely."

 "Oh, my Lomas!" Reggie groaned. "She didn't say so. She said J. Smith gave her the ivory. She said she'd never seen the others. Did our McArdle happen to look at the ivory?"

 "He did. He said it was Buddha being adored, or some such thing."

 "Did he? Is that all he said?"

 "Lord, no." Lomas made a grimace. "A lot of talk - probably done under Christian influence, and so on."

 "Yes, I think so." Reggie smiled at the ivory with grave respect.

 "What is it, then, Mr. Fortune?" Bell cried.

 "Well, it's primitive work. I should say it was meant for the Virgin Mary. Receivin' the Three Kings. And I know it wasn't made in India."

 "You know?" Lomas stared.

 "Oh, yes. Yes. It's walrus ivory. They don't keep walruses much in India, Lomas. European work. Northern Europe. Time of William the Conqueror or so. There's your little case. The one thing which the servant admitted she had is not Indian. The things which she said she'd never seen are Indian. And your Indian friend says they all belong to him. And the landlady was ready to hush it all up if the servant had given up the thing which wasn't Indian. Quite an interestin' case."

 "Good Gad!" Lomas dropped his eyeglass. "You suggest the whole affair was a ramp to get hold of this carving of the Virgin. What for?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea," Reggie smiled. "You should ask Mr. Smith of Manchester. Pendin' which, let this case go slow."

 "My dear fellow, the case is out of our hands," said Lomas. "The girl must go before the magistrate tomorrow. If he's satisfied with the evidence of the landlady and this Babu, he'll either send her for trial or give her a light sentence as a first offender. We can't drag it out. It's not a police prosecution."

 "No. As you were sayin'." Reggie contemplated him with closing eyes. "That is the humour of it. Well, well! Where is the young person's box now?"

 "At the station, sir," said Bell quickly. "They took care of that. But there's nothing else fishy in it. Only ordinary servant's stuff. She had nothing on her out of the way when they searched her. Bag o' sweets and a purse, some money in it, and two or three beads in a twist of paper."

 "Beads?" Reggie opened his eyes.

 "I'll get 'em for you, Mr. Fortune," Bell went out.

 "Making a lot of work, aren't you?" Lomas protested.

 "Yes, I hope so," said Reggie cheerfully. "I think so. Quite a lot, Lomas, old thing."

 "You're a public nuisance."

 "Oh, yes. That's what I'm for," Reggie beamed.

 Bell came back. He spread out a small sheet of paper, the flyleaf of a book, on which lay three rough brown beads. Reggie took them one by one and set them down again and picked up the paper.

 "Well, what do you make of them?" Lomas was impatient.

 "The beads? Oh, amber. Old amber. Primitive carving. Probably part of a rosary. Thus suggestin' some connection with the carving of the Virgin. Also with Mr. J. Smith of Manchester. Very interestin'." But he continued to look at the paper.

 "And what's that?" Lomas snapped. "Mr. Smith's autograph?"

 Reggie gave it to him. On it was printed the short title of a book, Carmina Vag - the other letters had been torn away. Written at one corner in pencil in an odd pointed hand was the word Chalk.

 "Good Gad! Latin," said Lomas with disgust.

 "Oh, yes. Latin all right. Further complication. Indian ornaments. Walrus ivory. Amber beads. A modern Hindu and ancient Christian art and a Bloomsbury landlady. Now mixed up with a bit of a Latin book."

 "Carmina - that means odes, doesn't it? Vag - Vag would be part of the author's name."

 "Odes of Vag. Discovered by the Hon. Sidney Lomas. In the library of Mr. Chalk. I presume. Splendid. And very helpful, too."

 "Confound you!" Lomas was annoyed. "I'm not an expert in Latin poetry. Do you pretend to know what it is?"

 "Yes, I think so. You're so magnificent. Carmina doesn't have to mean odes. Say songs. And Vag needn't be a gentleman's name. Try Carmina Vagorum: songs of the vagabonds. It's the title of a collection of mediaeval ditties. Which is suggestive."

 Lomas pondered. "You mean it fits in with your notion; the ivory and the beads are early Christian stuff?"

 "My only aunt!" Reggie murmured. "A carving of the Virgin, beads from a rosary and the songs of the vagabonds! It don't fit at all. The songs of the vagabonds aren't what you'd call pious. Far otherwise. Women and wine. Which suggests we've bumped up against a highly complex affair - and a very ingenious person."

 "The servant girl!"

 "No. I wasn't thinking of the girl. I should say she's an accident. Same like us. Inconvenient accidents."

 "You mean this fellow John Smith, sir," said Bell eagerly. "I suppose this paper was his. And his real name's Chalk."

 "It could be." Reggie looked at him with vague eyes.

 "It's all in the air." Lomas frowned. "You have a lot of queer little points. You can't bring them together. There's none of them will touch what these people are going to swear to, that the Indian had missed things which the landlady found in the servant's box. We can't do anything."

 "And how comfortin' that is," Reggie murmured. "How gratifyin', Lomas." He wandered out.

 "Too deuced fond of thinking he can see through a stone wall," Lomas grumbled.

 "Wonderful what he does see, sir," said Bell uneasily. Then Lomas swore.

 But Mr. Fortune does not agree with either of them. At this stage, he will point out, all the necessary material for a true theory of the case was in his hands. But he had no notion how to use it. His careful unimaginative mind could only work from one obvious necessity to another. He was on the defensive to the end. The course of the case is offered by him as a brilliant example of his limitations: also of the tactics of defence. When he came into the police court in the morning and saw Lomas he showed a mild surprise. The surprise of Lomas was less amiable.

 "Well, well! Who'd have thought of seeing you?"

 Reggie sank smiling into a seat beside him.

 "I want to see how it works out."

 "And that's very flattering. I was afraid I hadn't impressed the higher intelligence." 

Reggie looked round the court. "Anybody else seeing how? Anyone with a large criminal acquaintance? No. Where's Bell?"

"Gone off on a drowning case. What do you want him for?"

 "I don't." Reggie beamed and hummed a line from a song, "'I'm here and you're here, so what do we care?' . . . Two minds with but a single thought, Lomas. Two hearts that beat as one, old thing."

 Lomas made plain that he was misbehaving: and the servant girl was put in the dock.

 Bella Jackson - a small person in tawdry, shabby clothes - a pale face and a snub nose. She stared at the magistrate, sullen, suspicious, impudent, and licked her lips.

 A young and spruce Jew rose from the solicitor's table. He was for the defence. He had only just been instructed.

 Lomas glanced at Reggie with rising eyebrows. But Reggie was not interested: he sat half turned, watching the people in court.

 The constable of the case gave his evidence in slow time, very careful and fair. "Just one or two questions" - the solicitor was affable with him, and made him emphasize that it was the servant who called him in and the landlady had asked her to give up the things and not make a fuss. With a gleaming smile, a purring confidential voice, the solicitor turned to the magistrate. He did not know whether it was proposed to take further evidence. He had no objection, of course. But the magistrate would have seen that it was not a simple case. He was not prepared to go further that day, but they believed they had a complete answer. With submission, it would be more convenient. . . .

 The magistrate thought it would be much more convenient. Remanded for a week. And Reggie slid away.

 Outside the court he stood still, watching two people hurry off together; an Indian and a fat woman whose face was red. They kept very close to each other but they did not speak. Two men came out of two side streets and separately followed.

 Reggie turned to see Lomas emerging. "And that's that," he smiled. "Can I take you anywhere? My car's here."

 "You can," said Lomas grimly. "Back to office." And they settled down in the car. "Do you presume to know what this means, Reginald?"

 "Oh, no. No. It isn't meaning anything yet."

 "How did the servant girl get hold of that solicitor? He's one of Donald Gordon's young men."

 "Yes. Quite good, wasn't he? I told Donald to take it up."

 Lomas gasped. Lomas effervesced. "Confound your impudence! I wish you wouldn't do these unofficial things, Fortune."

 "Why, did you want the girl convicted?" Reggie drawled. "She's not guilty, you know."

 "I want things done decently and in order." Lomas was loud.

 "Oh, my hat!" Reggie moaned. "You don't, you know. You don't want things done at all. But cheer up, Lomas. Nothing unseemly has occurred. A poor prisoner has had her defence arranged for by an unknown philanthropist. Quite virtuous. Even respectable."

 "What do you think you can do by these tricks?"

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! Have you a grateful mind? No. You're not even having a mind at all. The affair was started so that the landlady should get hold of the ivory carving. She hoped to get it without any noise. She was forced to prosecute. She still hoped the case would go quick and quiet. This morning she had notice it wouldn't. Very painful to her and her Indian. Did you see 'em? She was red and he was green. And they went off not loving one another at all. They find there's going to be trouble and they don't know what, they don't know why, they don't know what's been found out. They have the wind up. The consequences are going to be instructive."

 "Has the girl told you anything?" said Lomas.

 "She told Donald Mrs. Webster was a fair swine. Luminous description. The landlady is like a Large White. But not helpful. She also said the vanished Smith was a gent. She did get the beads from him - with the ivory. He didn't exactly give her the things; asked her to keep them for him, he hadn't any safe place. She thought him a bit potty about the ivory, as if it were a keepsake or something. She didn't know he was going away. He'd been in the house a week or so. Doesn't know where he came from or what he was. He spoke careful and funny. That's all."

 They had come to Scotland Yard. "Queer story," said Lomas.

 "Yes. Enigmatic character, the departed Smith. Let's talk to Bell," said Reggie, and followed him in.

 But Superintendent Bell was still in Deptford. He had been telephoning to ask that Mr. Fortune should come to its mortuary. He wanted Mr. Fortune to see the body.

 "Oh, Peter!" Reggie moaned. "I hate seeing bodies. Deptford! and a corpse! When I consider life 'tis all a cheat. When will I get my lunch? And where, Lomas, where? Nobody loves me." He drifted slowly away: to put his head into the room again. "Preserve absolute calm. Be discreet. Don't hustle the Large White."

 Plaintive, reproachful, he arrived in the gaunt and dingy room where Superintendent Bell was smoking his pipe over a map and some sheets of typescript. "What is this?" he asked. "Why divert my attention? I was being happy, Bell."

 "Sorry, sir. I wanted to know why they bothered me. But they were quite right. It's like this. A man's body was fished out of the river early this morning. Been dead some time. What struck the local men was, he had nothing at all in his pockets. Looks like somebody had gone over him carefully before or after death. He seems to be a fellow from a ship's engine room. Nothing unusual in a sailor having blued all his money. Nothing very unusual in a sailor getting drunk and falling into the river. But any kind of sailor generally has some papers. That's what made 'em think there might be foul play. I'd like you to examine him. The divisional surgeon's just come round again to meet you."

 Reggie was introduced to the divisional surgeon and the body. It belonged to a slim man of middle height whose face was lean and broad across the cheekbones. On the face were smears of mud and dirty oil. The dark clothes also were oily, the hands grimed black.

 "There you are, Mr. Fortune," the divisional surgeon demonstrated. "Has his trade marks, you see. I don't think he'll give you much trouble. Clear evidence of drowning. He went into the water alive. Probably drunk. He's been in the water some time. I don't know if you recognize his clothes. Out of a riverside slop shop, the sort they sell to men in the engine room. Taking that with the oil he's got on them and himself, no doubt he was a greaser, or might be an under engineer - came off work, got tight, and went into the ditch."

 "Now suppose I have a look at him," said Reggie mildly.

 That examination lasted long, and the divisional surgeon watched with growing impatience which ended with a triumphant, "Well, Mr. Fortune? What's your opinion?"

 "Oh, yes. He was drowned. He'd had a good deal of alcohol previously. Yes, he'd been in the water some hours when found. Not twelve hours. When was he found?"

 "About six this morning. That puts the drowning during the night. Just what you'd expect."

 "Yes, I did expect that." Reggie looked at him with solemn eyes. "Anything else occur to you?"

 "No, I can't say it does. Clear case, to my mind."

 "Bit his lip, hasn't he?"

 The divisional surgeon looked again. "There is a little injury," he agreed. "Might have been done falling into the river, or he might have bitten his lip struggling to get out."

 "You think so?" Reggie murmured. "Rather odd."

 "Well, then, I don't think we need bother about it," said the divisional surgeon with condescension. "Is that all that was troubling you?"

 "No. No," said Reggie. "I want to wash his hands." The divisional surgeon withdrew from that operation with the manner of a wise man suffering a fool, not gladly.

 The oily grime was removed delicately from hands and wrists. Reggie stood up. His round face had become pale and drawn. "Look," he said.

 The surgeon raised the dead hands. "Bless my soul!" he muttered. On the backs and sides of the middle fingers the skin was gone, the flesh showed raw. "He's burnt himself. That must have hurt, too. And then he messed up his hands again with oil!" The surgeon pondered laboriously and puffed relief. "Well, after all, it just fits, doesn't it? Going about an engine room in liquor he could burn himself easily enough, and mucking with oil would dull the pain."

 "Yes, that's what we're meant to think," said Reggie. "Look again. Look at his wrists."

 Above each wristbone was the mark of a bruise, in a line which came half round the arm or less, and against the bone of the arm the flesh was raw.

 The surgeon turned to Reggie a puzzled and disturbed face. "I don't know what to make of it, Mr. Fortune."

 "You don't have to," Reggie mumbled, and made preparations to depart.

 "Did you expect to find these injuries?"

 "No. No." Reggie put on his coat. "I thought I should find something."

 "I can't imagine what you were working on."

 "Too much dirt," said Reggie. "Clever fellows often overdo things. Haven't you noticed that? Well, well! Good - bye."

 He found Bell bent over pages of typing. "Still at it? What are these documents?"

 "List of ships in and out of the Surrey docks lately. None of 'em we can get at knows of a man missing. But of course the fellow may have come off one that's sailed."

 "It could be. Yes. Any suspicions?"

 "I thought the man didn't look English myself," Bell suggested diffidently. "Sort of Russian face, Mr. Fortune?"

 "Say Slav. Slavonic characteristics, yes."

 "There was a tramp left yesterday, Casimir, of Riga, came in last week with a cargo of timber. Sailed last night for Dantzig. I'm trying to get into touch with her, but she has no wireless. It's an off chance, anyway. What do you make of it, Mr. Fortune?"

 "Oh, I should. Yes. Interestin' possibilities. Quite worth while. She came in last week. Rather brilliant, Bell."

 "Chasing shadows, sir." Bell shook his head. "Have you got to something?"

 "I have. Yes. Not about the Casimir of Riga. But instructive. Before our friend was drowned his wrists had been tied and his hands were burnt. Badly. He struggled, poor chap. He'd bitten his lip through. Not a nice case. Bell."

 "You mean he'd been tied up and - -"

 "And tortured. Yes. Something's got to be done about that." Reggie's round face hardened.

 "I haven't had that often in thirty years," Bell growled. "Makes you hot, doesn't it? I've met it for revenge in a gang of crooks - one they thought had split, you know."

 "It could be. Yes. Or to make him speak."

 "That'd mean he wasn't a crook himself."

 "I wonder," Reggie murmured.

 "You couldn't get to anything else about him?"

 "Well, he wasn't out of an engine room, you know. His hands had done no rough work. The dirty oil was put on to hide the injuries. Very ingenious: fortunately excessive. He was dressed in engineer's clothes to account for the oil: which also provided the maritime touch for an explanation of him being in the water. Uncommon neat. One of the neatest games I ever took a hand in. Quite a pleasure to meet this unknown master."

 "Somebody else has put in a neat bit of play." Bell gazed at his Mr. Fortune with devotion. "Let me get things straight, sir. They tortured him - poured brandy into him - dressed him up and messed his hands - dropped him into the river drunk."

 '"That's the sequence, yes. Some interval between torture and murder."

 "Devilish clever," Bell grunted. "And where would we be if you hadn't examined him?"

 "Oh, not without a chance. Looking for the Casimir of Riga."

 "But look here, sir, you say he wasn't a sailor. Then the ship is washed out."

 "I wouldn't say that. No. The poor beggar was a Slav. The Casimir is the only ship from a Slavonic country moving about at the relevant time. I should inquire after the Casimir. Go and tell Mr. Lomas all about it. Break things gently. He was bein' rather cross with me. I'll come and see him this afternoon. Give him my love."

 It was the middle of the afternoon before he arrived in Lomas's room, to be received facetiously. "This luncheon habit is the bane of our civilization, Reginald."

 "One small trout," Reggie murmured. "Just au beurre. That's all. And a peach or so. You have a carnal mind, Lomas. A heavy carnal mind. I've been runnin' all round the town. However. One of your larger cigars would now soothe." He took it and settled deep in his chair.

 "Well, you did yourself proud at Deptford. One of your best things, my dear fellow."

 "Yes, I think so." Reggie looked at him dreamily. "Are you satisfied?"

 "Absolutely."

 "What a comfort!" Reggie sighed.

 "My dear fellow, why the sarcasm?"

 "You have been a little difficult, you know. A certain lack of confidence. It hurts my gentle nature. However. Kiss and be friends. I haven't got us anywhere, you know. This is only takin' up the challenge of the unknown genius." He blew smoke rings. "It is a challenge, Lomas. I don't want to be beat."

 "A devilish case," Lomas nodded. "This scoundrel mustn't get away with it. We'll fight it through. Have you anything more?"

 "Yes. There's this." Reggie produced a book with a paper cover. "That's what kept me. Seems to be rather rare in London."

 "Good Gad!" Lomas gazed at it. "What on earth - -?"

 "Carmina Vag - same which you didn't believe in. Carmina Vagorum Selecta. Anthology of songs of the vagabonds. And very good, too, some of 'em" - he smiled and murmured Latin verse: "'O, ototusfloreo, Jam amore virginali Totus ardeo.' Now I'm all aflower, with the love of a maid I'm all afire."

 "What in the world has that to do with the poor wretch who's been tortured and murdered?" Lomas cried.

 "Connection not obvious, no." Reggie smiled sadly. "But those songs had something to do with our vanished Mr. Smith."

 "My dear fellow!" Lomas gasped. "Let me follow this. You're suggesting a link between the murder and that queer ivory case. But what could there be? Your own theory is that was a trumped - up charge to get possession of the ivory. Whoever wanted the ivory knew yesterday it was in the hands of the police. This poor fellow was murdered - it's your own evidence - during last night. By that time it was clear that torturing him wouldn't produce the ivory."

 "I didn't say he was tortured last night," said Reggie. "He wasn't. Some interval. Various possibilities."

 "There are indeed. Including the possibility this poor fellow had nothing at all to do with the other case."

 "Oh, yes. We have to test that. But when several highly abnormal things happen in close sequence the first hypothesis is, they're connected."

"Quite. But, my dear fellow, you wouldn't call that servant case abnormal. Take it the girl is innocent, a spiteful mistress is common enough."

 "Twelfth - century ivory carving isn't. I should call it highly abnormal: in the box of a lodging - house servant: given her to keep safe for him by Mr. Smith of Manchester: who proceeds to vanish."

 "Good Gad!" said Lomas. "You mean he's the murdered man?"

 "We'll test for that, please. You might have some quiet men look after the landlady and her Indian. I got old Mordan to put his fellows on them this morning. Quite instructive. She went into a telephone box, but they couldn't get the call, of course. Then she had a talk with the Indian, who was nasty peevish, and she left him and went off at high speed to Greenwich. Not very far from Deptford, Lomas - 17, Elsinore Street, Greenwich. After which she returned home in the manner of a lady who has had a little drop. You might see who's who at 17, Elsinore Street, Greenwich."

 Lomas frowned. "Damme, you'd better take over the department. Sorry we're not adequate, Reginald. I didn't know you were setting up Mr. Fortune's private police force."

 "Oh, my Lomas!" Reggie smiled. "Don't be cross. Mordan's all right."

 "I know he's all right, confound you. But you're bringing private detectives to interfere with a police case."

 "Interfere? Oh, Peter! Interfere?" Reggie moaned. "Wasn't any police to interfere with: wasn't a case: wasn't anybody doing anything. That's why I had to. You wouldn't be interested. Now you go and do it nice and official. Mordan's men are standing by for you to take over."

 "Confound you!" Lomas grunted and Reggie laughed. "Yes, I shall have to, of course. You know that. Now, my dear Reginald, before we go any further with it, what else have you been up to?"

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! These suspicions are very painful to my simple heart. Nothing. Absolutely."

 "I hope not," said Lomas. "Then you'll kindly tell me what is your theory of the two cases."

 "The provisional hypothesis? Oh, yes. Mr. J. Smith of Manchester, whose name wasn't Smith and who didn't come from Manchester, arrived a week ago at the lodging house. At the same time as the Casimir of Riga entered the Surrey docks. He had in his possession an ivory carving, made in northern Europe about the twelfth century, a fine thing of artistic merit and religious feeling: also amber beads from a rosary of the same period: also a page of a mediaeval Latin songbook inscribed Chalk. He had reason to fear that somebody else wanted the ivory and the amber. He gave them to the servant and vanished. The hypothesis is that he fell into the hands of the people who wanted the articles. They tortured him, made him confess what he'd done with 'em, got into touch with the landlady, and arranged for them to be recovered. Then that was mucked because the servant was a plucky girl. They made an end of Mr. Smith and hoped for the best."

 "Torture and murder and this doubtful prosecution all for a bit of old ivory," Lomas objected.

 "It wouldn't have been doubtful, you know, if I hadn't blown in. They'd have got the girl convicted and recovered the ivory. If I hadn't seen the man, you'd never have thought of murder or torture."

 "Yes, you are an infernal nuisance, Reginald. I feel that. Still, allowing that the murderers couldn't expect your disgusting ability, they were taking a big risk for these old relics."

 "Yes. You haven't much soul, you know. Rather a wonderful ivory. But there might be more in it than that." Reggie looked into his smoke with pensive eyes.

 "Well, what do you want to do?"

 "I want to be very careful. We mustn't miss anything. And the other fellow must make the mistakes. First thing, you take over observation of landlady and Indian and 17, Elsinore Street. It's quite time that was done official. You can get at their letters: and their telephone calls. We'd better have all their communications before us: Can do, what?"

 "I have known it done," said Lomas slowly. "In a big affair."

 "This is big. Remember that poor wretch with his burnt hands and his bitten lip. If we can't come down good and hard on the clever devil who arranged that, what are we for? We've got to win, Lomas. It's an affair of honour."

 "It is a most impudent crime," said Lomas. "I'm with you." He took up his telephone and gave instructions. He rang for his secretary. "Now, my dear fellow, you go and arrange with Underwood how to take over from Mordan's men. I have to be departmental with the Post Office."

 From that conference with Inspector Underwood Reggie came back in good cheer. He met Lomas in the corridor taking leave of two men, one a young fellow of the most correct insignificance, the other more impressive - he was tall and well made, but even for a big man had a big head that looked as if there were a mind in its heaviness. He wore iron grey hair and moustache long; his clothes also were of an amplitude. He had the manner of assured and careless importance.

 "Who's that? The Lord High Everything at the Post Office?" Reggie looked after his departing back.

 Lomas was amused. "Oh, Lord, no. Even in the Post Office they don't wear such coats. Urgent private affairs."

 "Sorry," Reggie murmured. 

"Not a bit." Lomas turned into his room. "Rather quaint. Might have a bearing. Don't you know the young one? Archie Berrish in the Foreign Office. He came round to introduce the other fellow. It's Cornelius Jacobi. You must have heard of him. Quite wealthy, some sort of financier, bit of an art expert - that kind of thing." Reggie shook his head. "Oh, yes: well known. German origin, I believe, but he's been in London half a lifetime. Well, this is what brought him here. A pal of his called Bucheler was travelling from Berlin to Hamburg with a case of old jewellery, antiquarian stuff, and had it stolen. He was told London was the great clearing house for that sort of thing, so Jacobi wanted to know if we'd noticed any crooks coming over lately from those parts. Pretty vague. But it might connect with Mr. Smith."

 "Yes. That is indicated. Yes," Reggie murmured. "What did you tell him?"

 "My dear fellow!" Lomas laughed. "I told him I was very much obliged to him, I'd make inquiries."

 "Beautifully official. However. What exactly was stolen from Herr Bucheler?"

 "Jacobi's written for a full list. I suppose he wouldn't call our ivory and beads jewellery. Still we might get a line on the dead man."

 "Points of coincidence, yes," Reggie agreed. "Our Mr. Smith was probably foreign: possibly a crook: certainly interested in antiquities. I was wonderin' myself, previous to Mr. Jacobi. Our Underwood was helpful. A professional police force has its uses, Lomas." He smiled. "The inhabitant of 17, Elsinore Street, one Barnett, has had some local attention as a dealer in smuggled goods. His premises are handy for the river and have back and side doors. However. They've never made a case of it."

 "The thing seems to be taking shape." Lomas nodded. "I've arranged to tap all communications. How do you want to handle the inquest? It should open tomorrow morning."

 "Let it. Simple, strenuous, and passionate. No guile. We have nothing to hide - now we've got 'em tied up. Give the coroner the tip it's a horrid murder. Let your divisional surgeon say his piece. He's so rattled, he'll be devilish mysterious. Then Bell can ask for an adjournment, with something about expert evidence of great importance. That pushes the button, and the papers will do the rest. By evening our friends should be well and truly scared. Then things ought to happen."

 "Very good. We'll try it that way. You notice you're only guessing, Reginald. There's nothing but a theory to connect the dead man with the landlady and her friend at Greenwich."

 "Rather a good theory, what? "Reggie smiled. "Mr. Barnett of Greenwich has a house handy for the river. Mr. Barnett is suspect of dealing with foreign ships."

 "Quite. It's plausible. But you're shy of an attempt at identification. What about that?"

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap. Shy? Not me, no. I'm leading up to it. When they've had time to get in a funk, we'll spring the poor devil on 'em."

 Lomas dropped his eyeglass. "You rather force it, Reginald," he objected. "This is a grim trick."

 "I'm fighting," said Reggie quietly. "I saw that man's hands, Lomas."

 "Very well. Take it your way."

 On the next day, when the early editions of the evening papers had blared through the town RIVER MURDER MYSTERY: INQUEST REVELATIONS, Superintendent .Bell called at the Bloomsbury lodging house, and introducing himself asked for Mr. Das. The landlady made difficulties - did not know if Mr. Das was in - being assured that he was, would find out if he would see anyone. She was ordered to go to Mr. Das's room, and Bell followed on her dragging heels.

 Mr. Das started up from the bed on which he lay clothed, stammered alternately at Bell and the landlady. "That'll do. You go and wait downstairs." Bell put her out and stood while she removed herself. "Now, Mr. Das. I'm a police officer. Superintendent Bell. I want some information from you. When did you see Mr. John Smith last?"

 "But I could not say, possibly, sir." The Indian was quick.

 "You know who I mean."

 "Mr. Smith who lodged here, yess. I know of course that. I do not know him at all. We are always strangers, him and me. He wass a bird of passage - you say that. We are sheeps as pass in the nights. That wass all, Mr. Superintendent, sir."

 "You have seen him, then - in the nights," Bell growled, and the Indian shook and babbled explanations how little he had ever seen Mr. Smith. "Is that him?" Bell held out a photograph of the dead man's face.

 Fear and curiosity fought in Mr. Das. He did not want to look at the photograph, he wanted to see it. "I think not, not at all, sir. But I could not say possibly. We only pass and I am short - sight. My eyes - very poor eyes."

 "Get your hat. There's a gentleman I want you to see. Don't argue. That won't do you any good."

 Bell marched him downstairs and put him out into the hands of Inspector Underwood and turned back upon the landlady.

"Where are you taking him?" She had the thin voice which often comes out of fat.

 "Don't you worry about him. You have your own troubles."

 "Have I? Not as I knows of."

 "What have you done with your lodger, Smith?"

 "Smith? Oh, the fellow that slut Bella told the tale about. I haven't done nothing with him. He went off a week ago, never set eyes on him since."

 "Well, what do you know about him?"

 "He paid his way, that's all I know. Perfect stranger to me."

 "What did he look like?"

 The landlady hesitated a moment and then was voluble. "I wouldn't half have enough to do if I bothered about the gents' looks. I give you my word. It's the look of their money I care about."

 "Now, then. Pull yourself together. You know your lodgers, all right. Is that Smith?" Bell showed her a photograph which was not of the dead man.

 She was startled. "I wouldn't say but it might be. Yes, it has a look of him. Pretty much like."

 "Oh? Is it? Now what were you lying for? You come along with me." He drew her out, protesting, into a car.

 "Here, what's all this? Where are you taking me? You got no right to handle a honest woman like this."

 "Honest, eh?" said Bell.

 "I don't know what you mean," the thin voice squeaked.

 Bell laughed, and the bulk at his side fell silent, breathing noisily.

 When they came to the Deptford mortuary he left them to meditations in a grim antechamber and went in alone.

 Reggie was waiting for him. "Well? How did it go?"

 "Got 'em both, sir. Very sticky, they were. Showed 'em a photograph. He swore he didn't know it. She said she didn't remember but it might be."

 "Oh, yes. Now we'll try further reactions. Lo, the poor Indian. Bring him along."

 Mr. Das was marched up to the slab on which the dead man lay. The only light in the room fell upon that shrouded shape. Mr. Das was nervously aware of other men, very much alive, in the shadow about him, and tried to see them.

 "Look at that man," said Bell, and from the pallid, discoloured face the sheet was drawn back. "Who is it?"

 "I do not know him at all. He iss a stranger to me, perfectly, sir."

 "Better tell the truth now," Bell growled.

 "Show Mr. Das the hands," said Reggie.

 The Indian turned this way and that to look at the shadowed men who spoke. He was jerked back, the injured hands were held up to his eyes. He screamed and shrank away. "Why do you do that? It iss a fearful thing to do to a gentleman."

 "He's suffered, hasn't he, Mr. Das?" said Reggie. "How was it?"

 "But I tell you I do not know him at all. I do not know. How can I know?"

 "Very well. You've had your chance," said Reggie, and Mr. Das was put out.

 Then Bell brought the landlady. The dead face lay exposed for her to see. "What do you know about that?" Bell grunted.

 "What do you mean?"

 "Look at him. Look at him."

 "So I am looking."

 "How did he get like that?"

"And how do you think I'd know?" the thin voice cracked. "I don't know the man."

 In the shadow behind her Reggie laughed.

 "Here! What do you mean?" She turned, puffing and blowing.

 Reggie pointed a finger, and Bell's men took her away.

 "Got a nerve, haven't they?" Bell grunted, "I reckon he is Smith - but we haven't proved it."

 "Oh, yes. That's all right. I had the servant down from prison. She recognized him at once. Rather upset, poor girl."

 "Did she know anything about him, sir?"

 "No. Nothing to signify. Said he was always the gentleman. She'd never seen him before he took his lodgings last week. They have a lot of strange gentlemen. The landlady seemed to know all about him."

 "I bet she does. Look here, sir. You've got your identification and yet these two swear they don't know him. That's enough to justify detaining them. Shall we hold 'em?"

 "Oh, my Bell! Not the idea at all. Let 'em rip. They've got to give someone else away. That's what they're for. Turn 'em loose and have 'em followed."

 Late that night Lomas presided over a conference on the results. Mr. Das, being told he could go, had departed in much agitation. But not to Bloomsbury. He was followed to a hostel for foreign students, a place of certified respectability, and there remained. The landlady had demanded to be taken home in a car and had been told it was their busy day. She went by 'bus and, changing on the way, rang up Elsinore Street from a call office. The conversation reported was: "Abe - is that Abe? - Liz speaking - look here, Abe, the cops have got in on it - made me go to the dead house and look at him - the nigger, too - wanted to make us know him - we gave 'em nothing - the nigger - no, not the nigger neither - but I don't trust him. Abe - he's bunked now - don't know where he's got to - here, give me a ring in - oh, hell." Abe of Elsinore Street had cut her off. Subsequently Elsinore Street had rung up a number in Westminster and conversed in a foreign tongue. The listening detective, who did not know it, thought it was Yiddish. The number being visited was found to be the empty flat of a civil servant on holiday.

 "Very neat, yes," Reggie murmured. "Neat mind in charge, isn't there? Well, well! My error. I ought to have warned you to put a linguist on the job. My first slip, I think, Lomas. But we can't afford many. Sorry."

 "All in the game." Lomas shrugged. "No use hoping to foresee everything. The luck will beat you."

 "Oh, no. No. This is mind against mind. If we muck it, our blame. No excuses. Simple folly." He looked at Lomas with the plaintive anxiety of a troubled child. "But I'm still backin' my mind, Lomas."

 "My dear fellow!" Lomas laughed. "You've done uncommon well. But I'm afraid we're not much forrarder by this scaring the landlady. We could hold her, of course, we could rope in Mr. Barnett of Elsinore Street - but there's nothing like evidence. She seems to be hard - boiled, and I don't suppose he's any softer. They need only hold their tongues and they have us beat. There's only the Indian - he might open out if he knows anything."

 "Not enough." Reggie shook his head. "Don't arrest anybody. Leave 'em all loose. Only, have a polyglot listenin' in on Mr. Barnett. That's all. Goodnight." He rose wearily. "Are we downhearted? Yes. But not without hope."

 "I can't say I've got much." Lomas shook his head.

"That's because you don't think, dear," Reggie purred. "We have our troubles. But he's got his - hard and harassin'."

 "He?"

 "The unknown master. The gentleman who began the game. He can't be sure how much we know - how near we are - he's only certain time is working for us."

 "The devil he is!" Lomas was startled. "I wish I were."

 "My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! That's the governin' factor of the problem. He has to get clear before we find out what was the secret of the Casimir of Riga."

 "Only another guess, isn't it?" said Lomas gloomily.

 "Oh, no. No. Reliable inference. I continue to rely on the human reason myself. In spite of all temptations. Good - night. Don't mind waking me up if you want me."

 They did not wake him. He was in his bath next morning when the telephone asked for him. Bell was speaking. Someone had just been talking over the 'phone to Elsinore Street: couldn't make head or tail of it: perhaps Mr. Fortune would come round.

 "I will - as soon as I'm inside my trousers, and outside a little breakfast. Fol de rol, Bell. I told you he was pressed for time."

 When he arrived in Lomas's room, he found faces of reproachful gloom. "Oh, my hat!" he contemplated them. "Is there no voice to cheer or bless? No hope of comfort or redress - behind the veil, behind the veil?"

 "No, I should say there's not," said Lomas severely. "We are not amused, Reginald. Here you are. We had a first - class linguist listening in, and this is the best he could do. Call came 9.35. Subsequently found to proceed from one of the Piccadilly Circus call boxes. Look at it."

 Reggie took the written report. It read thus: Caller: "Sex, sex, sex." Elsinore Street: "Dine, dine." Caller: "Dry, dry." Elsinore Street: "Dry, dry." Caller: "Eh, bay, ee, ha, ha, gay." Elsinore Street: "Eh, bay, ee, ha, ha, gay." Caller: Es, bay, koo, em, gay." Elsinore Street: "Es, bay, koo, em, gay." Caller: "Oh, en, day, ha." Elsinore Street: "Oh, en, day, ha." Caller: "So." Elsinore Street: "Also."

 A slow and dreamy smile came over Reggie's round face. He sat down with the paper and made himself comfortable. "Any suggestions by your linguist, Lomas? " he murmured.

 "He said a lot of it seemed like letters of the alphabet in a Continental pronunciation, possibly German."

 "Yes, I think so. Provisionally German. Thus 'sex, sex, sex,' becomes 'sechs, sechs, sechs,' otherwise 666."

 "A code number for identification, you mean?"

 "Yes: also number of the Beast in the Book of Revelation. The master mind uses that as his official title. A man of humour. 'Dine, dine' will be 'dein, dein - thine, your man': code reply. We now proceed to the message. 'Dry, dry' is 'drei, drei' - 33. Followed by groups of letters repeated for verification. E B I H H G - S B Q M G - O N D H. With a conclusion: 'So,' 'Also' - natural German end of a conversation. The instructions of his chief to Mr. Abe Barnett in this painful situation are therefore 33, E B I H H G - S B Q M G - O N D H. Now we know, Lomas."

 "And it's going to do us a lot of good, isn't it? We're where we were. We can either arrest the fellow - and he'll refuse to say anything. We can go on watching him and see what he does, if he does anything."

 "Oh, my hat, yes," said Reggie quickly. "Watch him like fun. He mustn't get away."

"Thank you, I had thought of that," Lomas snapped. "Meanwhile - does it occur to your bright mind these may be instructions to lie low and do nothing?"

 "No, it doesn't," said Reggie with some acidity. "Because I retain faith in the human reason."

 "Faith in your own theories," Lomas sneered. "Not working out well, are they?"

 "Oh, my Lomas!" Reggie moaned. "The little temper is above itself. Any news of the Casimir of Riga?"

 "No, none," Lomas snapped.

 "Can't get in touch with her, sir," Bell explained. "Dantzig police wire they're making inquiries."

 Lomas made an impatient gesture. "It's all in the air. I suppose you don't pretend to be able to guess this cipher?"

 "Oh, no. No. Steady brainwork is required."

 "A message as short as this doesn't give you much to work on, does it? Frequency of letters means nothing: you don't know the subject or any word likely to occur. I've had the cryptograph pundits take weeks over such scraps."

 "Quite difficult, these short ones, yes. Mathematically speaking, may be insoluble by lack of material."

 "Two figures and fifteen letters!" Lomas shrugged. "And considering anybody can make a code out of any book in any language in the world - -"

 "Oh, yes. Or without a book." Reggie smiled. "Possibilities practically infinite, Lomas."

 "Very well, then!" Lomas cried. "We're thrown back on watching this house in Elsinore Street. There's nothing else."

 "It's the best bet." Reggie looked at him dreamily. "Watch good and hard. It should suffice."

 "It will," said Lomas angrily. "If the fellow does anything to give us a clue. Which there's not the slightest reason to expect."

 "Oh, my Lomas!" Reggie moaned. "My dear old Lomas! Not the bright self. This lack of confidence is distressin'. Good - bye."

 "Where are you going?"

 "Into the garden to eat worms. To the Elect." He referred to the most sepulchral of his clubs. "Come and have lunch - on worms - if you're feeling stronger." He drifted out.

 Lomas did not come to lunch. It was the afternoon before Reggie was sought out in a melancholy deserted room on the top floor and told that Mr. Lomas had rung up to ask if he was in the club, "Tell him Mr. Fortune is waiting for his tea," said Reggie. "Russian for him. China for me. Ask 'em to toast the muffins this time."

 In five minutes Lomas came. He found Reggie at a table on which were some books and the sheet of an ordnance map. Reggie was drawing upon that a circle in red ink. He looked up with the slow beginning of a smile.

 "The whole thing's blown up, Reginald. That fellow's got clean away."

 "Oh, my aunt!" Reggie sat back. "Another little error. The first was mine. We're being too extravagant."

 "This is a bad break. Very thoughtless work. The fellow came out of his back door with a motorbike and went off. Our men had a car handy, all right, but he turned up a foot passage between posts where the car couldn't go and when they got round he'd vanished."

 "Very neat." Reggie sighed. "It is all neat work, isn't it? Do they suppose he knew he was watched?"

 "No reason to think so. They hadn't started to follow him before he was gone."

 "Well, well!" Reggie stood up and stretched himself and looked at his watch. "Time is the governin' factor - as ever. Now - - "A waiter came in with the tea. "One swift cup and a muffin or so - if edible. Oh, Peter!" he moaned as he tasted.

 "I'm afraid we've made a cursed mess of it, Reginald."

 "Let us curse. Yes. Here you are. Your old friend Carmina Vag - addressin' fiends at large."

 He intoned Latin verses: "' Omne genus demoniorum Cecorum claudorum sive confusorum Attendite jussum meorum Et vocationem verborum: Omnis creatura phantasmatumque - - '"

 "What the deuce is that?" Lomas grumbled.

 "An exhortation to demons in general - telling 'em to go back to hell." Reggie offered him the book. "Page 33, see."

 "What!" Lomas cried. "Thirty - three? Why, you mean you have a clue to that cipher?"

 "Yes, I think so," Reggie smiled. "Come here." He bent over the ordnance map. "Look. Inside that red circle by the village of Chalk are three things called dene holes - -"

 "What on earth are they?"

 "A dene hole is a pit sunk by your remote ancestors: frequently with a chamber at the bottom and passages. Purpose unknown. In one of those at eight o'clock we ought to find our friend - and we shall see what we shall see."

 "You mean the cipher was instructions to Barnett to go down one of these holes at eight?"

 "To be at the third hole at eight. That's all. We'd better get him this time, Lomas. There may not be another."

 "What do you suppose he's going to do there?"

 "I haven't the slightest idea," Reggie smiled. 

"How the devil do you get it at all? Only three words, weren't there?"

 "Only three. Yes."

 "And you think you have the exact place in this out - of - the - world corner - -"

 "Yes, I think so," Reggie murmured. He turned on Lomas. "But we shan't have anything if the unknown master slips through our fingers to - night. It's half - past five now. I want a cordon round the holes: on the red circle: see? And then - -"

 "My dear fellow, let me have a little intelligence," Lomas snapped.

 "Do," said Reggie sweetly.

 Lomas snatched up the map and went down the club stairs, as Reggie has reported, like a falling angel.

 As the mist of dusk gathered they sat uncomfortably together in a hazel copse. A motorbicycle with a quiet engine purred by. The darkness deepened; they saw only the glimmer of one another's faces. A motorbicycle was heard farther away but louder. Then there was silence but for the rustle of the wind in the copse.

 The bushes parted. "Two motorbikes: one had two men up," said the voice of Bell. "Left the bikes by the bit of hill. Turned off the road."

 Reggie slid silently to his side. "Show me," he whispered and they stole up the lane together.

 "Up this way, sir." Bell led on over a rough slope. "About here I lost 'em." Suddenly his grip checked Reggie and held him. "My oath!" Muffled sounds came out of the hillside. "Easy, sir. That's shots."

 "Oh, yes." Reggie flashed a torch upon the gorse in front of them. "Here we are." Under the clump of gorse was the mouth of a hole. He turned the beam of the torch into it: it was a cave or tunnel into the chalk hill, about half a man's height. It sloped down.

 "Stand fast, Bell," he said, and went on up the hill.

 On the top he searched the ground with his torch till another opening loomed out of the scrub. Then he lay flat and flashed the torch down into it. He saw a pit like a narrow well which opened at the bottom into a wide space. As the beam discovered it, the light of another torch was flashed up on his face, and a shot was fired at him with a yell, "Gruss Gott!" which means "God greet you!"

 "Grilsse!" Reggie cried, the answering greeting. But he did not fire, having indeed no pistol. He kept his torch shining into the hole. Another shot was fired up through the light at his tormenting invisibility, another, and he laughed.

 Bell whistled, other whistles answered, heavy hurrying feet came up the hill.

 The man in the pit shot again, but the whistle of that bullet Reggie never heard.

 Bell stumbled, on top of him. "My God, sir, are you all right?"

 "Ouch!" Reggie groaned. "I was. Yes. I think he's finished. Turned peevish, you know." He peered with caution down the hole. "Yes. Look. Quite all right. He's killed himself. Well, well! Very annoying to be down a pit with your iniquities, fixed in a light on you that you can't get away from. Kind of Judgment Day sensation. Very helpless he must have felt, our master mind. How good for him! Well, well! Now we'd better go and collect him, and his ox and his ass and all that is his."

 They made their way along the tunnel into the central chamber of the dene hole, warily but without danger. All who were there were dead, three men shot by the one pistol with which the fourth had killed himself.

 "Good Gad! The rascal did himself proud," said Lomas. "Do you pretend to understand it, Reginald?"

 Reggie was wandering about the chamber. "What? Oh, my dear chap! Quite simple, isn't it? The unknown master felt it was necessary to eliminate his assistants: the case was turning awkward and they knew too much. So he brought 'em here to kill 'em quiet and safe. And they'd have lain here a long time if we hadn't read his cipher. Very near he was."

 "But, damme, I know the fellow!" Lomas cried. "He's Cornelius Jacobi."

 "Is that so?" Reggie murmured. "The amiable art expert who wanted to know whether we'd noticed any crooks coming over from the Baltic lately. Yes. Reason for his curiosity now obvious."

 "Beg pardon, sir," a local Inspector spoke. "What name was it you said?"

 "Cornelius Jacobi. Know him?"

 "Well, I'd say I do. It's Mr. Carter from the house down yonder."

 "The devil it is!" Lomas cried.

 "Don't quarrel," said Reggie genially. "I daresay he was lots of other people, too. By many names men called him, in many lands he dwelt - same like the devil. Go through the little homes of Jacobi - Carter with a small tooth comb. Don't ignore this one. Ground looks a bit disturbed." He yawned. "Speakin' for myself, I will call it a day. I haven't had my dinner. Good - night, Lomas, old thing. Have a jolly time."

It was late the next morning before he drifted into Lomas's room, pink and affable. "And how are things? All gas and gaiters? Sayin' it with flowers?"

 "Confound your cherubic face," Lomas scowled.

 "Oh, my Lomas! Not quite the happy old self yet? A little yellow, eyes rather too much boiled. The liver not in form."

 "I was up all night," said Lomas with emphasis.

 "Zeal, Mr. Easy, all zeal," Reggie purred. "Thus England is what she is." He sat down and made himself comfortable. "Well, any further light on the workings of the master mind?"

 "Quite a lot. The fellow must have been an international fence: his places are a sort of clearing house of foreign stolen goods."

 "Yes, I thought he would be. Any news from Dantzig?"

 "Confound you!" Lomas laughed. "You've had the whole infernal business clear in your head from the start."

 "My only aunt!" Reggie moaned. "Not me. No. Just working humble from one little thing to another till he made a mistake. The pure defensive."

 "Well, there you are. You told us so!" Lomas handed him a long typescript.

 It was made up of decoded telegrams from Dantzig and from Riga which had brought in Warsaw. And Warsaw summed up the case: London inquiries S.S. Casimir. Reason believe when Casimir sailed Riga 23rd among crew man concerned burglary Abbey St. Adalbert Wloclawek. Stolen articles: Gold chalice signed Nicholas me fecit, paten engraved manus Dei 13th Century. Gold crucifix set diamonds emeralds rubies 13th Century. Relief walrus ivory Virgin Kings llth Century. Rosary . . .  and many more things.

 "Some haul, wasn't it?" Lomas chuckled. "Worth anything you like, I suppose, if Jacobi could have got their price. Well, we've bagged the lot - in a sailor's kitbag under the seat of Jacobi's car at Chalk. I suppose he'd just taken 'em out of that ghastly dene hole."

 "Oh, yes. Yes. Wasn't he neat!" Reggie murmured. " Country cottage convenient to the river, with a first - class hiding place for goods in the dene holes. Called his fellows there so they'd think they were to dispose of the stuff, removed it, and shot 'em to leave them hid there instead."

 "Queer thing this fellow Smith chose the ivory to pinch, with gold plate and jewels in his hands."

 "You think so? No. I should say our friend Smith had the soul of an artist. Rather gracious carving. Queer sequence, though. If the late Smith hadn't had an artistic soul St. Adalbert would never have got his things back. Smith pinches the ivory. Jacobi, checking the goods, found it missing and set his fellows after Smith. Partly business, partly temper, partly fear. Dishonest assistant very dangerous to a gentleman in Jacobi's profession. He might give anything away. Imperative to recover the ivory. Hence the torture. Which led to the trick on the servant girl. Which brought us in. The ivory was in the hands of the police. That scared 'em into killing the poor devil. I'm afraid Jacobi's nerves were bad. Like Napoleon's. I thought that last night. Very complex sequence."

 "If you ask me, it's a miracle." Lomas lit a cigarette. "How in the world did you get to the dene hole?"

 "Oh, my dear chap I Quite simple. Carmina Vag was an unlikely book for Smith to carry. When we got a message in a book cipher, obvious inference that Carmina Vag was the code book of the Jacobi firm. Exhortation to demons to go back to hell. Touch of humour of Jacobi's for the dissolution of the firm. Letters of the cipher, EBIHHG - SBQMG - ONDH. Lines of verse: "' Omne genus demoniorum Cecorum claudorum sire confusorum Attendite jussum meorum Et vocationem verborum Omnis creatwa phantasmatumque - - '

 Take the letters of that, avoiding repetition, as equivalent to the letters of the alphabet. See? 'Omne' is A B C D and so on. Then E B I H H G - S B Q M G - ONDH works out 'Dritte Grube acht.' German for 'Third pit eight.' Not many pits about London. But Smith had written 'Chalk' on his Carmina Vag. Why? Probably some memorandum of importance. In fact, it was his note of Jacobi's English address, where he had to dump the swag. 'Chalk' didn't look like a person. As a place it only suggested to my simple mind the village where Dickens went for his honeymoon. But that looked hopeful. It's near the river, it's not so far from Greenwich. Bein' turned up in the books, it was seen to have dene holes about. So we went there. Quite simple."

 "Good Gad!" said Lomas. "Simple! St. Adalbert ought to give you a bonus, Reginald."

What he was given was the walrus ivory.