om a
shelf in her room while she dozed. The question is, then: Why was the
knife taken? Who took it? And why? Has this man made away with his
wife, or has he not?"

Mr. Howell looked at me and smiled. "Mr. Holcombe and I are old
enemies," he said. "Mr. Holcombe believes that circumstantial evidence
may probably hang a man; I do not." And to Mr. Holcombe: "So, having
found a wet slipper and a broken knife, you are prepared for murder
and sudden death!"

"I have more evidence," Mr. Holcombe said eagerly, and proceeded to
tell what we had found in the room. Mr. Howell listened, smiling to
himself, but at the mention of the onyx clock he got up and went to
the mantel.

"By Jove!" he said, and stood looking at the mark in the dust. "Are
you sure the clock was here yesterday?"

"I wound it night before last, and put the key underneath. Yesterday,
before they moved up, I wound it again."

"The key is gone also. Well, what of it, Holcombe? Did he brain her
with the clock? Or choke her with the key?"

Mr. Holcombe was looking at his note-book. "To summarize," he said,
"we have here as clues indicating a crime, the rope, the broken knife,
the slipper, the towel, and the clock. Besides, this scrap of paper
may contain some information." He opened it and sat gazing at it in
his palm. Then, "Is this Ladley's writing?" he asked me in a curious
voice.

"Yes."

I glanced at the slip. Mr. Holcombe had just read from his note-book:
"Rope, knife, slipper, towel, clock."

The slip I had found behind the wash-stand said "Rope, knife, shoe,
towel. Horn--" The rest of the last word was torn off.

Mr. Howell was staring at the mantel. "Clock!" he repeated.

CHAPTER IV

It was after four when Mr. Holcombe had finished going over the room.
I offered to make both the gentlemen some tea, for Mr. Pitman had been
an Englishman, and I had got into the habit of having a cup in the
afternoon, with a cracker or a bit of bread. But they refused. Mr.
Howell said he had promised to meet a lady, and to bring her through
the flooded district in a boat. He shook hands with me, and smiled at
Mr. Holcombe.

"You will have to restrain his enthusiasm, Mrs. Pitman," he said. "He
is a bloodhound on the scent. If his baying gets on your nerves, just
send for me." He went down the stairs and stepped into the boat.
"Remember, Holcombe," he called, "every well-constituted murder has
two things: a motive and a corpse. You haven't either, only a