pleased to tell you, if it lies
within my power."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Holymead.

She seemed to be slightly nervous in the presence of a member of the
Scotland Yard police, in spite of his obvious humility in the company of
a fashionable lady who belonged to a different social world from that in
which police inspectors moved. It took Inspector Chippenfield some
minutes to discover that the object of Mrs. Holymead's visit was to learn
some of the details of the tragedy. As one who had known the murdered man
for several years, and the wife of his intimate friend, she was
overwhelmed by the awful tragedy. She endeavoured to explain that the
crime was like a horrible dream which she could not get rid of. But in
spite of the repugnance with which she contemplated the fact that a
gentleman she had known so well had been shot down in his own house she
felt a natural curiosity to know how the dreadful crime had been
committed.

Inspector Chippenfield availed himself of the opportunity to do the
honours of the occasion. He went over the details of the tragedy and
pointed out where the body had been found. He showed her the bullet mark
on the wall and the flattened bullet which had been extracted. Although
from the mere habit of official caution he gave away no information which
was not of a superficial and obvious kind, it was apparent he liked
talking about the crime and his responsibilities as the officer who had
been placed in charge of the investigations. He noted the interest with
which Mrs. Holymead followed his words and he was satisfied that he had
created a favourable impression on her. It was his desire to do the
honours thoroughly which led him to remark after he had given her the
main facts of the tragedy:

"I'm sorry I cannot take you to view the body. It is downstairs, but the
fact is the Home Office doctors are in there making the post-mortem to
extract the bullet."

Mrs. Holymead shuddered at this information. The fact that such gruesome
work as a post-mortem examination was proceeding on the body of a man
whom she had known so well brought on a fit of nausea. Her head fell back
as if she was about to faint.

"Can I have a glass of water?" she whispered.

A fainting woman, if she is beautiful and fashionably dressed, will
unnerve even a resourceful police official. Had she been one of the
servants Inspector Chippenfield would have rung the bell for a glass of
water to throw over her face, and meantime