ver would be secure in the structure of his
environment.

"Well, I'm hanged! Well, I'm hanged!" he kept saying to himself, and
indeed several times asserted that an even more serious fate had
befallen him.

"Here I am!" Mimi exclaimed brazenly, entering the room.

The statement was not exaggerated. She emphatically was there, aspiring
nose and all--in full evening dress, the costume of the night before.

"Have you slept in your clothes?" Mr. Prohack demanded.

Her manner altered at his formidable tone.

"No, sir," she replied meekly. "But I've nothing else here. I shall put
a cloak on and drive off in a taxi to change for the day. May I sit
down?"

Mr. Prohack nodded. Indubitably she made a wonderful sight in her daring
splendour.

"So you've found out all about it already!" said she, still meekly,
while Mr. Prohack was seeking the right gambit. "Please do tell me how,"
she added, disposing the folds of her short skirt about the chair.

"I'm not here to answer questions," said Mr. Prohack. "I'm here to ask
them. How did you do it? And was it you or Charlie or both of you? Whose
idea was it?"

"It was my idea," Mimi purred. "But Mr. Charles seemed to like it. It
was really very simple. We first of all found out about the sexton."

"And how did you do that?"

"Private enquiry agents, of course. Same people who were in charge here
last night. I knew of them when I was with Mr. Carrel Quire, and it was
I who introduced them to Mrs. Prohack."

"It would be!" Mr. Prohack commented. "And then?"

"And then when we'd discovered Mrs. Slipstone--or Miss Slipstone--"

"Who's she?"

"She's a rather stout charwoman who has a fascination for the sexton of
St. Nicodemus. When I'd got her it was all plain sailing. She lent me
the church keys and Mr. Charles and I went up the tower to reconnoitre."

"But that was more than twenty-four hours before the clock ceased to
strike, and you returned the keys to her."

"Oh! So you know that too, do you?" said Mimi blandly. "Mr. Prohack, I
hope you'll forgive me for saying that you're most frightfully clever. I
_did_ give the keys back to Mrs. Slipstone a long time before the clock
stopped striking, but you see, Mr. Charles had taken an impression of
the tower key in clay, so that last night we were able to go up with an
electric torch and our own key. The clock is a very old one, and Mr.
Charles removed a swivel or something--I forget what he called it, but
he seems to unde