rom these blots on his character that he has murdered
her husband in the dead of the night.

Once more, then, when we were called upon to report ourselves, we had no
evidence to produce. The photographs failed to discover the owner of the
knife, and to explain its interrupted inscription. Poor Mrs. Zebedee was
allowed to go back to her friends, on entering into her own recognizance
to appear again if called upon. Articles in the newspapers began to
inquire how many more murderers would succeed in baffling the police.
The authorities at the Treasury offered a reward of a hundred pounds for
the necessary information. And the weeks passed and nobody claimed the
reward.

Our Inspector was not a man to be easily beaten. More inquiries and
examinations followed. It is needless to say anything about them. We
were defeated--and there, so far as the police and the public were
concerned, was an end of it.

The assassination of the poor young husband soon passed out of notice,
like other undiscovered murders. One obscure person only was foolish
enough, in his leisure hours, to persist in trying to solve the problem
of Who Killed Zebedee? He felt that he might rise to the highest
position in the police force if he succeeded where his elders and
betters had failed--and he held to his own little ambition, though
everybody laughed at him. In plain English, I was the man.

V.

WITHOUT meaning it, I have told my story ungratefully.

There were two persons who saw nothing ridiculous in my resolution to
continue the investigation, single-handed. One of them was Miss Mybus;
and the other was the cook, Priscilla Thurlby.

Mentioning the lady first, Miss Mybus was indignant at the resigned
manner in which the police accepted their defeat. She was a little
bright-eyed wiry woman; and she spoke her mind freely.

"This comes home to me," she said. "Just look back for a year or two. I
can call to mind two cases of persons found murdered in London--and the
assassins have never been traced. I am a person, too; and I ask myself
if my turn is not coming next. You're a nice-looking fellow and I like
your pluck and perseverance. Come here as often as you think right; and
say you are my visitor, if they make any difficulty about letting you
in. One thing more! I have nothing particular to do, and I am no fool.
Here, in the parlors, I see everybody who comes into the house or goes
out of the house. Leave me your address--I may get some informat