th a lot like
that."

Again came that expressive jerk of the head, and his small bright eyes
regarded me more shrewdly and observantly than ever.

"Let me give you a word of warning, Mr. Wynn; don't you follow his
example. Remember Russia's not England--"

"I know. I've been there before. Besides, my chief warned me last
night."

"Lord Southbourne? Just so; he knows a thing or two. Well, now about
Cassavetti--"

I was glad enough to get back to the point; it was he and not I who had
strayed from it, for I was anxious to get rid of him.

I gave him just the information I had decided upon, and flattered myself
that I did it with a candor that precluded even him from suspecting that
I was keeping anything back. To my immense relief he refrained from any
questioning, and at the end of my recital put up his pocket-book, and
rose, holding out his hand.

"Well, you've given me very valuable assistance, Mr. Wynn. Queer old
card, that Russian. We shouldn't have much difficulty in tracing him,
though you never can tell with these aliens. They've as many bolt holes
as a rat. You say he's the only suspicious looking visitor you've ever
seen here?"

"The only one of any kind I've encountered who wanted Cassavetti. After
all, I knew very little of him, and though we were such near neighbors,
I saw him far more often about town than here."

"You never by any chance saw a lady going up to his rooms, or on the
staircase as if she might be going up there? A red-haired woman,--or
fair-haired, anyhow--well-dressed?"

"Never!" I said emphatically, and with truth. "Why do you ask?"

"Because there was a red-haired woman in his flat last night. That's
all. Good day, Mr. Wynn."

CHAPTER VIII

A TIMELY WARNING

It was rather late that evening when I returned to the Cayleys; for I
had to go to the office, and write my report of the murder. It would be
a scoop for the "Courier;" for, though the other papers might get hold
of the bare facts, the details of the thrilling story I constructed were
naturally exclusive. I made it pretty lurid, and put in all I had told
Freeman, and that I intended to repeat at the inquest.

The news editor was exultant. He regarded a Sunday murder as nothing
short of a godsend to enliven the almost inevitable dulness of the
Monday morning's issue at this time of year.

"Lucky you weren't out of town, Wynn, or we should have missed this, and
had to run in with the rest," he remarked with a