d
him with valuable information. He had hoped to obtain what he wanted
from the fuller reports of the trial; but that investigation had been
conducted upon the supposition that his wife, and no other, had caused
the death of Alexander Minchin. No business friend of the deceased had
been included among the witnesses, and the very least had been made of
his financial difficulties, which had formed no part of the case for the
Crown.

Langholm, however, his wits immensely quickened by the tonic of his new
discovery, began to see possibilities in this aspect of the matter, and,
as soon as the telegraph offices were open, he despatched a rather long
message to Mrs. Steel, reply paid. It was simply to request the business
address of her late husband, with the name and address of any partner or
other business man who had seen much of him in the City. If the telegram
were not intercepted, Langholm calculated that he should have his reply
in a couple of hours, and one came early in the forenoon:--

"Shared office 2 Adam's Court Old Broad Street with a Mr. Crofts
his friend but not mine Rachel Steel."

Langholm looked first at the end, and was thankful to see that the reply
was from Rachel herself. But the penultimate clause introduced a
complication. It must have some meaning. It would scarcely be a wholly
irrelevant expression of dislike. Langholm, at all events, read a
warning in the words--a warning to himself not to call on Mr. Crofts as
a friend of the dead man's wife. And this increased the complication,
ultimately suggesting a bolder step than the man of letters quite
relished, yet one which he took without hesitation in Rachel's cause. He
had in his pocket the card of the detective officer who had shown him
over the Black Museum; luckily it was still quite clean; and Langholm
only wished he looked the part a little more as he finally sallied
forth.

Mr. Crofts was in, his small clerk said, and the sham detective followed
the real one's card into the inner chamber of the poky offices upon the
third floor. Mr. Crofts sat aghast in his office chair, the puzzled
picture of a man who feels his hour has come, but who wonders which of
his many delinquencies has come to light. He was large and florid, with
a bald head and a dyed mustache, but his coloring was an unwholesome
purple as the false pretender was ushered in.

"I am sorry to intrude upon you, Mr. Crofts," began Langholm, "but I
have come to make a few in