n the
truth. There is a lot at the back of that murder, Mallow."

CHAPTER XI

ON THE TRACK

Professor Le Beau kept a school of dancing in Pimlico, and incessantly
trained pupils for the stage. Many of them had appeared with more or
less success in the ballets at the Empire and Alhambra, and he was
widely known amongst stage-struck aspirants as charging moderately and
teaching in a most painstaking manner. He thus made an income which,
if not large, was at least secure, and was assisted in the school by
his niece, Peggy Garthorne. She was the manager of his house and
looked after the money, otherwise the little professor would never have
been able to lay aside for the future. But when the brother of the
late Madame Le Beau--an Englishwoman--died, his sister took charge of
the orphan. Now that Madame herself was dead, Peggy looked after the
professor out of gratitude and love. She was fond of the excitable
little Frenchman, and knew how to manage him to a nicety.

It was to the Dancing Academy that Jennings turned his steps a few days
after the interview with Susan. He had been a constant visitor there
for eighteen months and was deeply in love with Peggy. On a Bank
Holiday he had been fortunate enough to rescue her from a noisy crowd,
half-drunk and indulging in horse-play, and had escorted her home to
receive the profuse thanks of the Professor. The detective was
attracted by the quaint little man, and he called again to inquire for
Peggy. A friendship thus inaugurated ripened into a deeper feeling,
and within nine months Jennings proposed for the hand of the humble
girl. She consented and so did Le Beau, although he was rather rueful
at the thought of losing his mainstay. But Peggy promised him that she
would still look after him until he retired, and with this promise Le
Beau was content. He was now close on seventy, and could not hope to
teach much longer. But, thanks to Peggy's clever head and saving
habits, he had--as the French say--"plenty of bread baked" to eat
during days of dearth.

The Academy was situated down a narrow street far removed from the main
thoroughfares. Quiet houses belonging to poor people stood on either
side of this lane--for that it was--and at the end appeared the
Academy, blocking the exit from that quarter. It stood right in the
middle of the street and turned the lane into a blind alley, but a
narrow right-of-way passed along the side and round to the back w