he heard all there was to be heard about
local opinion.

The landlord, a rubicund old fellow whose baldness extended to his
eyelids, was bursting with information. By nature capable of making
a mystery out of a sunbeam, he revelled in the scandal that hummed
around him.

After a quarter of an hour's conversation, the landlord's
conversation, Malcolm Sage found himself possessed of a bewildering
amount of new material.

"A young gal don't have them highsterics for nothin'," my host
remarked darkly. "Has fits of 'em every now and then ever since she
was a flapper, sobbin' and cryin' fit to break 'er heart, and the
vicar that cross with her."

"That is considered the best way to treat hysterical people,"
remarked Malcolm Sage.

"Maybe," was the reply, "but she's only a gal, and a pretty one
too," he added inconsequently.

"Then there's the schoolmaster," he continued, "'ates the curate
like poison, he does. Shouldn't be surprised if it was him that done
it. 'E's always been a bit sweet in that quarter himself, has Mr.
Gray. Got talked about a good deal one time, 'angin' about arter
Miss Muriel," added the loquacious publican.

By the time Malcolm Sage had finished his meal, the landlord was
well in his stride of scandalous reminiscence. It was with obvious
reluctance that he allowed so admirable a listener to depart, and it
was with manifest regret that he watched Malcolm Sage's car
disappear round the curve in the road.

A little way beyond the vicarage, an admonitory triangle caused Tims
to slow up. Just by the bend Malcolm Sage observed a youth and a
girl standing in the recess of a gate giving access to a meadow.
Although they were in the shadow cast by the hedge, Malcolm Sage's
quick eyes recognised in the girl the vicar's daughter. The youth
looked as if he might be one of the lads of the village.

In the short space of two or three seconds Malcolm Sage noticed the
change in the girl. Although he could not see her face very clearly,
the vivacity of her bearing and the ready laugh were suggestive of a
gaiety contrasting strangely with the tragic figure he had seen in
the afternoon.

Muriel Crayne was obviously of a very mercurial temperament, he
decided, as the car swung round the bend.

The next morning, in response to a telephone message, Inspector
Murdy called on Malcolm Sage.

"Well, Mr. Sage," he cried, as he shook hands, "going to have
another try to teach us our job," and his blue eyes twinkle