n?" put in
Cleek at this juncture, with an arching of the brows and a keen look
into her upthrown face.

"Indeed I didn't. In fact, I threw them off the scent most successfully
by taking a pair of Ross's boots along with me and pretending I didn't
know whose they were. Batchett soon put me right. 'Them's Mr.
Ross's--Sair Ross, if ye please, m'm,' he said, using Ross's new title
(poor old boy! He won't like it a bit, either. He thinks titles are
anathema!). But Mr. Tavish, of course, didn't know whose they were, nor
did the old gardener, McGubbins, nor Jarvis, either. Only they said they
weren't _theirs_. And then, of course, told me the sizes they took. So,
you see, Mr. Deland, you can't blame Angus for _that_, can you?"

He smiled at her and shook his head.

"You've missed your vocation. You ought to have been a lady-detective,
using those methods," he replied lightly. "But it's odd--deuced odd!
I'll take a look at their feet whenever I get the chance. Don't bother
any more, Miss Duggan. I'll get to the bottom of this thing somehow or
other, before the next few days, and don't make any mistake about that.
That's all you can do for me. So go along, and lie down and have a
proper rest. I'm going to interview Mr. Narkom again. What time is tea,
by the way?"

"Half-past four. If you'd like it sent to your rooms with Mr.
Narkom----"

"No, thanks; we'd prefer to take it with _you_." ("And use our eyes for
ourselves," he supplemented silently.) Then, without more ado, bowed and
left her, and went off in pursuit of the Superintendent, who had been
spending a quiet hour investigating the scene of last night's tragedy,
and trying to solve the riddle of it.

Halfway there Cleek encountered young Cyril, wandering disconsolately
about, hands in pockets and head downthrown, and at sight of Cleek he
fairly ran up to him, his brows black as thunder, his young mouth set
into an ugly line.

"Look here," he demanded, in his shrill young voice, planting himself in
Cleek's way and looking up into his face, "they've been telling me you
suspect my stepbrother Ross of murdering my father last night, and I've
been waiting to catch you and to tell you it's a damned lie!"

"Easy, easy, my young enthusiast," returned Cleek, with a throb of
admiration for this fearless young person, nevertheless. "They'll never
make a detective of _you_ if your methods of attack don't improve
hastily. Let's hear what you're worrying over. Now, then, all