en discovered, eh?"

"Never. He certainly did not dine at the club."

"He may have dined with his lady visitor," Fetherston remarked, his eyes
fixed upon her.

She hesitated for a moment, as though unwilling to admit that Bellairs
should have entertained the unknown lady in secret.

"He may have done so, of course," she said with some reluctance.

"Was there any other fact beside the feather which would lead one to
suppose that a lady had visited him?"

"Only the perfume. Barker declared that it was a sweet scent, such as he
had never smelt before. The whole place 'reeked with it,' as he put it."

"No one saw the lady call at his chambers?"

"Nobody came forward with any statement," replied the girl. "I myself
made every inquiry possible, but, as you know, a woman is much
handicapped in such a matter. Barker, who was devoted to his master,
spared no effort, but he has discovered nothing."

"For aught we know to the contrary, Captain Bellairs' death may have been
due to perfectly natural causes," Fetherston remarked.

"It may have been, but the fact of his mysterious lady visitor, and that
he dined at some unknown place on that evening, aroused my suspicions.
Yet there was no evidence whatever either of poison or of foul play."

Fetherston raised his eyes and shot a covert glance at her--a glance of
distinct suspicion. His keen, calm gaze was upon her, noting the unusual
expression upon her countenance, and how her gloved fingers had clenched
themselves slightly as she had spoken. Was she telling him all that she
knew concerning the extraordinary affair? That was the question which had
arisen at that moment within his mind.

He had perused carefully the cold, formal reports which had appeared in
the newspapers concerning the "sudden death" of Captain Henry Bellairs,
and had read suspicion between the lines, as only one versed in mysteries
of crime could read. Were not such mysteries the basis of his profession?
He had been first attracted by it as a possible plot for a novel, but, on
investigation, had discovered, to his surprise, that Bellairs had been
Sir Hugh's trusted secretary and the friend of Enid Orlebar.

The poor fellow had died in a manner both sudden and mysterious, as a
good many persons die annually. To the outside world there was no
suspicion whatever of foul play.

Yet, being in possession of certain secret knowledge, Fetherston had
formed a theory--one that was amazing and startling--a the