t making any charge against him as yet," answered the
detective, picking up his hat, "but it would interest me very
much, very much indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes'
chat with this gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookout
for a man answering to his description, and if you come across
him, freeze on to him hard, and give me a ring on the telephone."

"Right you are," said the officer, "I'll hold him for you, Mr.
Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not well-founded."

For a brief moment the detective became a human being.

"And so do I, if you want to know," he said. "One can forgive
those lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I've got a
boy in France myself!"

A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered "The
Yard."

"I'll bid you good-day!" he added in his most official voice and
took his leave.

He walked down the steps by the Duke of York's column and through
the Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his own
thoughts. A sprucely dressed gentleman who was engaged in the
exciting and lucrative sport of war profiteering turned color and
hastily swerved out towards the Park as he saw the detective
crossing the Horse Guards' Parade. He was unpleasantly reminded
of making the acquaintance of Mr. Marigold over a bucketshop a
few years ago with the result that he had vanished from the eye
of his friends for eighteen months. He congratulated himself on
thinking that Mr. Marigold had not seen him, but he would have
recognized his mistake could he but have caught sight of the
detective's face. A little smile flitted across Mr. Marigold's
lips and he murmured to himself:

"Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonder
what he's up to?"

Mr. Marigold didn't miss much.

The detective made his way to the Chief's office. Barbara
Mackwayte, in a simple black frock with white linen collar and
cuffs, was at her old place in the ante-room. A week had elapsed
since the murder, and the day before, Mr. Marigold knew, the
mortal remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest. He
was rather surprised to see the girl back at work so soon.

She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but
there was a question lurking in her gray eyes.

Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head.

"Nothing fresh," he said.

The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found him
surrounded, as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome