the account he gave at the inquest," remarked Fetherston.

"Yes; but it was not the truth. On testing the man's story I discovered
that at three-eighteen he was in the Leicester Lounge, in Leicester
Square, with an ill-dressed old man, who was described as being short and
wearing a rusty, old silk hat. They sat at a table near the window
drinking ginger-ale, so that the barmaid could not overhear, and held a
long and confidential chat."

"He may afterwards have gone down to Richmond," his friend suggested.

"No; he remained there until past four, and then went round to the Cafe
Royal, where he met another man, a foreigner, of about his own age,
believed to have been a Swiss, with whom he took a cup of coffee. The man
was a stranger at the cafe, probably a stranger in London. Barker was in
the habit of doing a little betting, and I believe the men he met were
some of his betting friends."

"Then you disbelieve the Richmond story?"

"Entirely. What seems more than probable is that Harry gave his man the
afternoon off because he wished to entertain somebody clandestinely at
his rooms--a woman, perhaps. Yet, as far as I've been able to discover,
no one in Half Moon Street saw any stranger of either sex go to his
chambers that afternoon."

"You said that you believed the motive of the crime--if crime it really
was--was jealousy," remarked Fetherston, thoughtfully rubbing his shaven
chin.

"And I certainly do. Harry was essentially a lady's man. He was tall, and
an extremely handsome fellow, a thorough-going sportsman, an excellent
polo player, a perfect dancer, and a splendid rider to hounds. Little
wonder was it that he was about to make a very fine match, for only a
month before his death he confided to me in secret the fact--a fact known
to me alone--that he was engaged to pretty little Lady Blanche Herbert,
eldest daughter of the Earl of Warsborough."

"Engaged to Lady Blanche!" echoed the novelist in surprise, for the girl
in question was the prettiest of that year's debutantes as well as a
great heiress in her own right.

"Yes. Harry was a lucky dog, poor fellow. The engagement, known only to
the Warsboroughs and myself, was to have been kept secret for a year.
Now, it is my firm opinion, Fetherston, that some other woman, one of
Harry's many female friends, had got wind of it, and very cleverly had
her revenge."

"Upon what grounds do you suspect that?" asked the other eagerly--for
surely the problem was