he ladies. Where are they?"

I explained how Mrs. Courtenay had been absent, and how she had been
prostrated by the news of his death.

He stroked his moustache slowly, deeply reflecting.

"Then at present she doesn't know that he's been murdered? She thinks
that he was taken ill, and expired suddenly?"

"Exactly."

And I went on to describe the wild scene which followed my admission
that her husband was dead. I explained it to him in detail, for I saw
that his thoughts were following in the same channel as my own. We
both pitied the unfortunate woman. My friend knew her well, for he had
often accompanied me there and had spent the evening with us.
Ethelwynn liked him for his careless Bohemianism, and for the fund of
stories always at his command. Sometimes he used to entertain us for
hours together, relating details of mysteries upon which he had at one
time or another been engaged. Women are always fond of mysteries, and
he often held both of them breathless by his vivid narratives.

Thorpe, the detective from Scotland Yard, a big, sturdily-built,
middle-aged man, whose hair was tinged with grey, and whose round,
rosy face made him appear the picture of good health, joined us a
moment later. In a low, mysterious tone he explained to my friend the
circumstance of Short having admitted possession of the knife hanging
in the hall.

In it Ambler Jevons at once scented a clue.

"I never liked that fellow!" he exclaimed, turning to me. "My
impression has always been that he was a sneak, and told old Courtenay
everything that went on, either in drawing-room or kitchen."

Thorpe, continuing, explained how the back door had been found
unfastened, and how Short had admitted unfastening it in order to go
forth to seek the assassin.

"A ridiculous story--utterly absurd!" declared Jevons. "A man doesn't
rush out to shed blood for blood like that!"

"Of course not," agreed the detective. "To my mind appearances are
entirely against this fellow. Yet, we have one fact to bear in mind,
namely, that being sent to town twice he was afforded every
opportunity for escape."

"He was artful," I remarked. "He knew that his safest plan was to
remain and face it. If, as seems very probable, the crime was planned,
it was certainly carried out at a most propitious moment."

"It certainly was," observed my friend, carefully scrutinising the
knife, which Thorpe had brought to him. "This," he said, "must be
examined microscopically