a hushed voice. "For
the girl's sake I hate the idea, but we shall have to get an exhumation
order."

"It is impossible," returned Innes, shortly. "He was cremated."

"Good heavens," murmured Wessex, "I never knew."

"But after all," continued Inures, "it is just as well for everyone
concerned. The known facts are sufficient to establish the murder,
together with the report of Dr. Warwick Grey. But, meanwhile, are we any
nearer to learning the identity of the murderer?"

"We are not!" said Wessex, grimly. "And what's more, when I get to
Scotland Yard, I have got to face the music. First Mr. Harley goes, and
now Nicol Brinn has disappeared!"

"It's almost unbelievable!"

"I took him for a white man," said the detective, earnestly. "I accepted
his parole for twenty-four hours. The twenty-four hours expired about
noon to-day, but since he played that trick on Stokes last night and
went out of his chambers, he has vanished utterly."

Innes stood up excitedly.

"Your ideas may be all wrong, Wessex!" he cried. "Don't you see that he
may have gone the same way as the chief?"

"He was mightily anxious to get out, at any rate."

"And you have no idea where he went?"

"Not the slightest. Following his performance of last night, of course I
was compelled to instal a man in the chambers, and this morning someone
rang up from the house of Lord Wolverham; he is commanding officer of
one of the Guards battalions, I believe. It appears that Mr. Nicol
Brinn not only locked up a representative of the Criminal Investigation
Department, but also stole a Rolls Royce car from outside the Cavalry
Club!"

"What!" cried Innes. "Stole a car?"

"Stole Lord Wolverham's car and calmly drove away in it. We have failed
to trace both car and man!" The detective inspector sighed wearily.
"Well, I suppose I must get along to the Yard. Stokes has got the laugh
on me this time."

Wearing a very gloomy expression, the detective inspector proceeded on
foot to New Scotland Yard, and being informed on his arrival upstairs
that the Assistant Commissioner was expecting him, he entered the office
of that great man.

The Assistant Commissioner, who had palpably seen military service, was
a big man with very tired eyes, and a quiet, almost apologetic manner.

"Ah, Detective Inspector," he said, as Wessex entered. "I wanted to see
you about this business of Mr. Nicol Brinn."

"Yes, sir," replied Wessex; "naturally."

"Now," the Assistant Co