e, Hampstead.

Cecil Barker's tall, loose-jointed figure was a familiar one in the main
street of Birlstone village; for he was a frequent and welcome visitor
at the Manor House. He was the more noticed as being the only friend
of the past unknown life of Mr. Douglas who was ever seen in his new
English surroundings. Barker was himself an undoubted Englishman; but by
his remarks it was clear that he had first known Douglas in America and
had there lived on intimate terms with him. He appeared to be a man of
considerable wealth, and was reputed to be a bachelor.

In age he was rather younger than Douglas--forty-five at the most--a
tall, straight, broad-chested fellow with a clean-shaved, prize-fighter
face, thick, strong, black eyebrows, and a pair of masterful black eyes
which might, even without the aid of his very capable hands, clear a way
for him through a hostile crowd. He neither rode nor shot, but spent his
days in wandering round the old village with his pipe in his mouth, or
in driving with his host, or in his absence with his hostess, over the
beautiful countryside. "An easy-going, free-handed gentleman," said
Ames, the butler. "But, my word! I had rather not be the man that
crossed him!" He was cordial and intimate with Douglas, and he was no
less friendly with his wife--a friendship which more than once seemed
to cause some irritation to the husband, so that even the servants were
able to perceive his annoyance. Such was the third person who was one of
the family when the catastrophe occurred.

As to the other denizens of the old building, it will suffice out of a
large household to mention the prim, respectable, and capable Ames, and
Mrs. Allen, a buxom and cheerful person, who relieved the lady of some
of her household cares. The other six servants in the house bear no
relation to the events of the night of January 6th.

It was at eleven forty-five that the first alarm reached the small local
police station, in charge of Sergeant Wilson of the Sussex Constabulary.
Cecil Barker, much excited, had rushed up to the door and pealed
furiously upon the bell. A terrible tragedy had occurred at the Manor
House, and John Douglas had been murdered. That was the breathless
burden of his message. He had hurried back to the house, followed within
a few minutes by the police sergeant, who arrived at the scene of the
crime a little after twelve o'clock, after taking prompt steps to warn
the county authorities that som