were all over the
place. Martingale--that's the man I've just been talking to--rushed a
strong party of the Millsborough force out to 'The Myrtles' in cars.
House deserted, except a fellow lying in bed, groaning. In the back
kitchen a woman's frock had been burned. Unconsumed fragments were
found--green silk shot with red. Upstairs, in a bedroom, pair of lady's
shoes--shiny green leather."

Caldegard rose from his seat, opened his mouth to speak, and sat down
again.

In relation to merely normal death the abandoned garment carries an
intimate cruelty which will unexpectedly break down control proof
against direct attack.

But to hear, in these surroundings, of his daughter's little green
shoes, and to remember how, the first time she had worn them, she had
flourished at him from her low chair that pretty foot and reckless green
stocking, and to catch himself now foolishly wondering where the green
stockings themselves would be found, brought poor Caldegard to an
embittered weakness which he fought only in vague desire neither to
break into cursing nor decline upon weak tears.

The great man of science had not attracted the superintendent of the
Criminal Investigation Department; but the father grunting savagely:
"Oh, damn the drug!" was another man. And Finucane, by no means himself
convinced that the worst must be argued from these fragments of
evidence, yet found himself at a loss for encouraging words. Pity,
however, forced him to the effort, and he would have spoken, had not
Randal Bellamy touched him on the arm.

"Not now," he said. "You can't wash that picture from his mind. There'll
be more news coming."

With a tap on the door, it came.

To the superintendent's consent there entered a police sergeant.

"There's a gentleman wishes to see you, sir. Says he can't keep awake
another ten minutes. Has important evidence, and a person he wishes to
introduce to you. Name o' Bellamy."

"Oh, hell!" said Randal, in a voice like his brother's, "fetch him up."

The sergeant took no notice, but kept his gaze on the superintendent.
Finucane's eyes twinkled. "Fetch him up," he said.

"To save time, sir, he's standing outside."

"Fetch him in," said Finucane.

The sergeant moved himself three inches.

"Superintendent Finucane will see you, sir," he said; and made room for
the entrance of Dick Bellamy, holding by the arm, and both supporting
and guiding the wavering steps of Alban Melchard.

CHAPTER XXVI