faint pink to the beautiful face.

"Well, my dear," Mr. Briggerland looked up and beamed through his
glasses, "so poor Meredith has committed suicide?"

She did not speak, keeping her eyes fixed on him.

"Very sad, very sad," Mr. Briggerland shook his head.

"How did it happen?" she asked quietly.

Mr. Briggerland shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose at the sight of you he bolted back to his hiding place
where--er--had been located by--er--interested persons during the night,
then seeing me by the shed--he committed the rash and fatal act. Somehow
I thought he would run back to his dug-out."

"And you were prepared for him?" she said.

He smiled.

"A clear case of suicide, my dear," he said.

"Shot through the left temple, and the pistol was found in his right
hand," said the girl.

Mr. Briggerland started.

"Damn it," he said. "Who noticed that?"

"That good-looking young lawyer, Glover."

"Did the police notice?"

"I suppose they did when Glover called their attention to the fact,"
said the girl.

Mr. Briggerland took off his glasses and wiped them.

"It was done in such a hurry--I had to get back through the garden gate
to join the police. When I got there, I found they'd been attracted by
the shot and had entered the house. Still, nobody would know I was in
the garden, and anyway my association with the capture of an escaped
convict would not get into the newspapers."

"But a case of suicide would," said the girl. "Though I don't suppose
the police will give away the person who informed them that James
Meredith would be at Dulwich Grange."

Mr. Briggerland sat back in his chair, his thick lips pursed, and he was
not a beautiful sight.

"One can't remember everything," he grumbled.

He rose from his chair, went to the door, and locked it. Then he crossed
to a bureau, pulled open a drawer and took out a small revolver. He
threw out the cylinder, glanced along the barrel and the chambers to
make sure it was not loaded, then clicked it back in position, and
standing before a glass, he endeavoured, the pistol in his right hand,
to bring the muzzle to bear on his left temple. He found this
impossible, and signified his annoyance with a grunt. Then he tried the
pistol with his thumb on the trigger and his hand clasping the back of
the butt. Here he was more successful.

"That's it," he said with satisfaction. "It could have been done that
way."

She did not shudder at the dreadful sight, but