and fell. But enlighten me upon a puzzling point, Sir Henry:
What do you use coriander and oil of sassafras for in a stable?"

"Coriander? Oil of sassafras? I don't know what the dickens they are.
Have you found such things here?"

"No; simply smelt them. The combination is not usual--indeed, I know of
but one race in the world who make any use of it, and they merely for a
purpose which, of course, could not possibly exist here, unless----"

He allowed the rest of the sentence to go by default, and, turning,
looked all round the place. For the first time he seemed to notice
something unusual for the equipment of a stable, and regarded it with
silent interest. It was nothing more nor less than a box, covered with
sheets of virgin cork, and standing on the floor just under one of the
windows, where the light and air could get to a weird-looking,
rubbery-leaved, orchid-like plant, covered with ligulated scarlet
blossoms which grew within it.

"Sir Henry," he said, after a moment, "may I ask how long it is since
you were in South America?"

"I? Never was there in my life, Mr. Cleek--never."

"Ah! Then who connected with the hall has been?"

"Oh, I see what you are driving at," said Sir Henry, following the
direction of his gaze. "That Patagonian plant, eh? That belonged to poor
Tolliver. He had a strange fancy for ferns and rock plants and things of
that description, and as that particular specimen happens to be one that
does better in the atmosphere of a stable than elsewhere, he kept it in
here."

"Who told him that it does better in the atmosphere of a stable?"

"Lady Wilding's cousin, Mr. Sharpless. It was he who gave Tolliver the
plant."

"Oho! Then Mr. Sharpless has been to South America, has he?"

"Why, yes. As a matter of fact, he comes from there; so also does Lady
Wilding. I should have thought you would have remembered that, Mr.
Cleek, when---- But perhaps you have never heard? She--they--that is,"
stammering confusedly and colouring to the temples, "up to seven months
ago, Mr. Cleek, Lady Wilding was on the--er--music-hall stage. She and
Mr. Sharpless were known as 'Signor Morando and La Belle Creole' and
they did a living statue turn together. It was highly artistic; people
raved; I--er--fell in love with the lady and--that's all!"

But it wasn't; for Cleek, reading between the lines, saw that the mad
infatuation which had brought the lady a title and an over-generous
husband had simmered down as