a very jolly time, and I mean to go again if I can. Miss Bellingham is
the cleverest and most accomplished woman I have ever spoken to."

This was a poser for Miss Oman, whose admiration and loyalty, I knew,
were only equaled by my own. She would have liked to contradict me,
but the thing was impossible. To cover her defeat she snatched up the
bundle of newspapers and began to open them out.

"What sort of stuff is 'hibernation'?" she demanded suddenly.

"Hibernation!" I exclaimed.

"Yes. They found a patch of it on a bone that was discovered in a pond
at St. Mary Cray, and a similar patch on one that was found at some
other place in Essex. Now, I want to know what 'hibernation' is."

"You must mean 'eburnation,'" I said, after a moment's reflection.

"The newspapers say 'hibernation,' and I suppose they know what they
are talking about. If you don't know what it is, don't be ashamed to
say so."

"Well, then, I don't."

"In that case you had better read the papers and find out," she said, a
little illogically. And then: "Are you fond of murders? I am,
awfully."

"What a shocking little ghoul you must be!" I exclaimed.

She stuck out her chin at me. "I'll trouble you," she said, "to be a
little more respectful in your language. Do you realize that I am old
enough to be your mother?"

"Impossible!" I ejaculated.

"Fact," said Miss Oman.

"Well, anyhow," said I, "age is not the only qualification. And
besides, you are too late for the billet. The vacancy's filled."

Miss Oman slapped the papers down on the table and rose abruptly.

"You had better read the papers and see if you can learn a little
sense," she said severely as she turned to go. "Oh, and don't forget
the finger!" she added eagerly. "That is really thrilling."

"The finger?" I repeated.

"Yes. They found a hand with one missing. The police think it is an
important clue. I don't know what they mean; but you read the account
and tell me what you think."

With this parting injunction she bustled out through the surgery, and I
followed to bid her a ceremonious adieu on the doorstep. I watched her
little figure tripping with quick, bird-like steps down Fetter Lane,
and was about to turn back into the surgery when my attention was
attracted by the evolutions of an elderly gentleman on the opposite
side of the street. He was a somewhat peculiar-looking man, tall,
gaunt, and bony, and the way in which he carried his head sugge