ry horrid affair," Mr. Brown repeated slowly.

"They haven't caught the man yet, I suppose?"

"They have not--yet."

Sir Allan shrugged his fine shoulders.

"I fancy their chance is a poor one now, then," he remarked, emitting a
little cloud of smoke from his lips, and watching it curl upward in a
faint blue wreath to the ceiling. "How differently they manage affairs
on the Continent! Such a crime would not go undetected a day there."

"It will not be undetected here many more days," Mr. Brown said. "My own
belief is that a warrant is already issued for the apprehension of the
supposed murderer, and I should not be surprised to hear that at this
very moment the police were watching this house."

Sir Allan looked hard at his guest, and elevated his eyebrows.

"This is a very serious matter, Mr. Brown," he said, looking at him
steadily in the face. "Do I understand----?"

"I will explain," Mr. Brown interrupted quietly. "On my return to
Falcon's Nest yesterday, I find that during my absence the cottage has
been entered, apparently by some one in authority, for keys have been
used. My cabinet has been forced open, and a number of my private
letters and papers have been taken away. Certain other investigations
have also been made, obviously with the same object."

Sir Allan maintained his attitude of polite attention, but he had
stopped smoking, and his cigarette was burning unnoticed between his
fingers.

"I scarcely see the connection yet," he said suavely. "No doubt I am a
little dense. You speak about a number of private papers having been
abstracted from your cabinet. Do I understand--is it possible that
anything in those papers could lead people to fix upon you as the
murderer of Sir Geoffrey Kynaston?"

The two men looked steadily into each other's faces. There was nothing
in Sir Allan's expression beyond a slightly shocked surprise; in Mr.
Brown's there was a very curious mixture indeed.

"Most certainly!" was the quiet reply. "Those letters plainly point out
a motive for my having committed the crime."

"They are from----"

"Stop!"

Sir Allan started. The word had burst from Mr. Brown's lips with a
passion which his former quietude rendered the more remarkable. There
was a dead silence between them for fully a minute. Then Mr. Brown,
having resumed his former manner, spoke again.

"Those letters," he said, "tell the story of a certain episode in the
life of Sir Geoffrey Kynaston. No other person