ed. The pawnbroker is an old man, but he remembers the
customer quite well, and his description, allowing for the time that has
elapsed, answers to the man who tried to get the jewels from you."

Mr. Pash chewed meditatively, and then inflated his cheeks. "Pooh," he
said, "twenty years is a long time. A man then, and a man now, would be
quite different."

"Some people never change," said Hurd, quietly. "You have not changed
much, I suspect."

"No," cackled the lawyer, rather amused. "I grew old young, and have
never altered my looks."

"Well, this nautical gentleman may be the same. He pawned the article
under the name of David Green--a feigned one, I suspect."

"Then you think he is guilty?"

"I have to prove that the brooch came into his possession again before I
can do that," said Hurd, grimly. "And, as the brooch was lost in the
street by Mr. Beecot, I don't see what I can do. However, it is strange
that a man connected with the pawning of the brooch so many years ago
should suddenly start up again when the brooch is used in connection
with a terrible crime."

"It is strange. I congratulate you on having this case, Mr. Hurd. It is
an interesting one to look into."

"And a mighty difficult one," said Hurd, rather depressed. "I really
don't see my way. I have got together all the evidence I can, but I fear
the verdict at the inquest will be wilful murder against some person or
persons unknown."

Hurd, who was not blind to his own limitations like some detectives,
proved to be a true prophet. The inquest was attended by a crowd of
people, who might as well have stayed away for all they learned
concerning the identity of the assassin. It was proved by the evidence
of Sylvia and Deborah how the murder had taken place, but it was
impossible to show who had strangled the man. It was presumed that the
assassin or assassins had escaped when Deborah went upstairs to shout
murder out of the first-floor window. By that time the policeman on the
Gwynne Street beat was not in sight, and it would have been easy for
those concerned in the crime--if more than one--to escape by the cellar
door, through the passage and up the street to mingle with the people in
the Strand, which, even at that late hour, would not be deserted. Or
else the assassin or assassins might have got into Drury Lane and have
proceeded towards Oxford Street. But in whatever direction they went,
none of the numerous policemen around the neighborhood on