evil," he
said.

Another man spoke.

"He was pretty near canned up in the _Waggon and Horses_ that night,
weren't he, Jim?"

"Yes, 'e 'adn't 'alf copped it...."

"Not standing treat much, neither; he was in the bar, all on his own...."

"So 'e was; we talked about it...."

The fat, scared-eyed man made another attempt.

"She got the key off of me--she 'ad the number of it--she come into my
shop of a Tuesday evening...."

Nobody heeded him.

"Shut your heads," a heavy labourer commented gruffly, "she hasn't been
found yet. 'Ere's the inspectors; we shall know more in a bit."

Two inspectors had come up and were talking to the constables who guarded
the gate. The little fat man ran eagerly forward, saying that she had
bought the key of him. "I remember the number, because of it's being
three one's and three three's--111333!" he exclaimed excitedly.

An inspector put him aside.

"Nobody's been in?" he asked of one of the constables.

"No, sir."

"Then you, Brackley, come with us; you, Smith, keep the gate. There's a
squad on its way."

The two inspectors and the constable passed down the alley and entered
the house. They mounted the wide carved staircase.

"This don't look as if he'd been out much lately," one of the inspectors
muttered as he kicked aside a litter of dead leaves and paper that lay
outside Oleron's door. "I don't think we need knock--break a pane,
Brackley."

The door had two glazed panels; there was a sound of shattered glass; and
Brackley put his hand through the hole his elbow had made and drew back
the latch.

"Faugh!"... choked one of the inspectors as they entered. "Let some light
and air in, quick. It stinks like a hearse--"

The assembly out in the square saw the red blinds go up and the windows
of the old house flung open.

"That's better," said one of the inspectors, putting his head out of a
window and drawing a deep breath.... "That seems to be the bedroom in
there; will you go in, Simms, while I go over the rest?..."

They had drawn up the bedroom blind also, and the waxy-white, emaciated
man on the bed had made a blinker of his hand against the torturing
flood of brightness. Nor could he believe that his hearing was not
playing tricks with him, for there were two policemen in his room,
bending over him and asking where "she" was. He shook his head.

"This woman Bengough... goes by the name of Miss Elsie Bengough... d'ye
hear? Where is she?... No good, Brackley; g