in his London days, was still in town. The novelist went round to his
house that night, chiefly because it was not ten minutes' walk from the
Cadogan Hotel, and with little hope of finding anybody at home. Yet
there was his friend, with the midnight lamp just lighted, and so kind a
welcome that Langholm confided in him on the spot. And the man who knew
all the detectives in London did not laugh at the latest recruit to
their ranks; but smile he did.

"I'll tell you what I might do," he said at length. "I might give you a
card that should get you into the Black Museum at New Scotland Yard,
where they would show you any relics they may have kept of the Minchin
murder; only don't say why you want to see them. Every man you see there
will be a detective; you may come across the very fellows who got up the
case; if so, they may tell you what they think of it, and you should be
able to find out whether they're trying again. Here you are, Langholm,
and I wish you luck. Doing anything to-morrow night?"

Langholm could safely say that he was not.

"Then dine with me at the Rag at seven, and tell me how you get on. It
must be seven, because I'm off to Scotland by the night mail. And I
don't want to be discouraging, my dear fellow, but it is only honest to
say that I think more of your chivalry than of your chances of success!"

At the Black Museum they had all the trophies which had been produced in
court; but the officer who acted as showman to Langholm admitted that
they had no right to retain any of them. They were Mrs. Minchin's
property, and if they knew where she was they would of course restore
everything.

"But the papers say she isn't Mrs. Minchin any longer," the officer
added. "Well, well! There's no accounting for taste."

"But Mrs. Minchin was acquitted," remarked Langholm, in tone as
impersonal as he could make it.

"Ye-es," drawled his guide, dryly. "Well, it's not for us to say
anything about that."

"But you think all the more, I suppose?"

"There's only one opinion about it in the Yard."

"But surely you haven't given up trying to find out who really did
murder Mr. Minchin?"

"We think we did find out, sir," was the reply to that.

So they had given it up! For a single second the thought was
stimulating; if the humble author could succeed where the police had
failed! But the odds against such success were probably a million to
one, and Langholm sighed as he handled the weapon with which the crime