ially
after a jury had seen you in the witness box."

It was a pretty compliment and a tribute to Field's sound judgment as to
human nature, but Beatrice did not appear to heed his words.

"I had better finish and tell you everything," she said. "I have said
everything I can, in common fairness to my husband. I feel convinced
that if there was foul play he had no hand in it, no actual hand, that
is. But there is another side to the question. I have already told you
all about the Countess and the General. I told you how my suspicions
were aroused, and when I came up to my room as quickly as possible--the
door was shut and two people were talking inside. You asked me just now,
Inspector Field, if I could recognize the man again--the man who was in
the room when the Countess was actually taking impressions of the seals
on the door, and I said I could. Can you guess who that man was?"

The inspector looked puzzled for a moment, then the light of
illumination came over his face. He glanced up eagerly; his dark eyes
were dancing.

"You don't mean to say that it was Mr. Richford?" he asked.

"Indeed I do," Beatrice said quietly, "I had intended to keep that piece
of information to myself, but you have forced my hand. Of actual crime,
of actual _murder_, I am quite sure that Stephen Richford is innocent.
But as to the rest I cannot say. At any rate I have concealed nothing
that is likely to injure the course of justice."

CHAPTER XIV

Inspector Field took up his hat and gloves from the chair where he had
deposited them. He was satisfied, and more than satisfied with the
interview. In a short time he had achieved excellent results.

"We will not trouble Mrs. Richford any more at present," he said. "It
may be some consolation to her to know that I agree with all her
reasonings. But there is plenty of work to do."

Field bowed himself out, followed by Berrington. The latter asked what
the inspector was going to do.

"In the first place I am going down to the Yard," Field explained. "I am
then going to get rid of my correspondence and have my dinner. After
that till it gets dark I propose to pursue what Lord Beaconsfield called
a policy of masterly inactivity for a time. Once it is really dark, I
intend to go as far as Wandsworth Common, and learn something of the
gentleman who is lame and has a private hansom painted black. You see,
sir, the scene of the story is changed. The next act must be played out
at Wand