While I know nothing to the young ladys disadvantage, I have always held it inadvisable that persons should know too exactly how much they stand to gain by the unexpected decease of other persons. In case of any unforeseen accident, the heirs may find themselves in an equivocal position, where the fact of their possessing such knowledge mightif made publicbe highly prejudicial to their interests. The most that I thought it proper to say was that if at any time Miss Dawson should express a wish to see me, I should like to be sent for without delay. Of course, the withdrawal of Miss Dawsons affairs from my hands put it out of my power to interfere any further. In October, 1925, feeling that my health was not what it had been, I retired from business and came to Italy. In this country the English papers do not always arrive regularly, and I missed the announcement of Miss Dawsons death. That it should have occurred so suddenly and under circumstances somewhat mysterious, is certainly interesting. You say further that you would be glad of my opinion on Miss Agatha Dawsons mental condition at the time when I last saw her. It was perfectly clear and competentin so far as she was ever competent to deal with business. She was in no way gifted to grapple with legal problems, and I had extreme difficulty in getting her to understand what the trouble was with regard to the new Property Act. Having been brought up all her life to the idea that property went of right to the next of kin, she found it inconceivable that this state of things should ever alter. She assured me that the law would never permit the Government to pass such an Act. When I had reluctantly persuaded her that it would, she was quite sure that no court would be wicked enough to interpret the Act so as to give the money to anybody but Miss Whittaker, when she was clearly the proper person to have it. Why should the Duchy of Lancaster have any right to it? she kept on saying. I dont even know the Duke of Lancaster. She was not a particularly sensible woman, and in the end I was not at all sure that I had made her comprehend the situationquite apart from the dislike she had of pursuing the subject. However, there is no doubt that she was then quite compos mentis. My reason for urging her to make the will before her final operation was, of course, that I feared she might subsequently lose the use of her faculties, orwhich comes to the same thing from a business point of viewmight have to be kept continually under the influence of opiates. Trusting that you will find here the information you require, I remain, Yours faithfully, Thos. Probyn. Mr. Murbles read this letter through twice, very thoughtfully. To even his cautious mind, the thing began to look like the makings of a case. In his neat, elderly hand, he wrote a little note to DetectiveInspector Parker, begging him to call at Staple Inn at his earliest convenience. Mr. Parker, however, was experiencing nothing at that moment but inconvenience. He had been calling on solicitors for two whole days, and his soul sickened at the sight of a brass plate. He glanced at the long list in his hand, and distastefully counted up the scores of names that still remained unticked. Parker was one of those methodical, painstaking people whom the world could so ill spare. When he worked with Wimsey on a case, it was an understood thing that anything lengthy, intricate, tedious and souldestroying was done by Parker. He sometimes felt that it was irritating of Wimsey to take this so much for granted. He felt so now. It was a hot day. The pavements were dusty. Pieces of paper blew about the streets. Buses were grilling outside and stuffy inside. The Express Dairy, where Parker was eating a hurried lunch, seemed full of the odours of fried plaice and boiling teaurns. Wimsey, he knew, was lunching at his club, before running down with Freddy Arbuthnot to see the New Zealanders at somewhere or other. He had seen hima vision of exquisite pale grey, ambling gently along Pall Mall. Damn Wimsey! Why couldnt he have let Miss Dawson rest quietly in her grave? There she was, doing no harm to anybodyand Wimsey must insist on prying into her affairs and bringing the inquiry to such a point that Parker simply had to take official notice of it. Oh well! he supposed he must go on with these infernal solicitors. He was proceeding on a system of his own, which might or might not prove fruitful. He had reviewed the subject of the new Property Act, and decided that if and when Miss Whittaker had become aware of its possible effect on her own expectations, she would at once consider taking legal advice. Her first thought would no doubt be to consult a solicitor in Leahampton, and unless she already had the idea of foul play in her mind, there was nothing to deter her from doing so. Accordingly, Parkers first move had been to run down to Leahampton and interview the three firms of solicitors there. All three were able to reply quite positively that they had never received such an inquiry from Miss Whittaker, or from anybody, during the year 1925. One solicitor, indeedthe senior partner of Hodgson  Hodgson, to whom Miss Dawson had entrusted her affairs after her quarrel with Mr. Probynlooked a little oddly at Parker when he heard the question. I assure you, Inspector, he said, that if the point had been brought to my notice in such a way, I should certainly have remembered it, in the light of subsequent events. The matter never crossed your mind, I suppose, said Parker, when the question arose of winding up the estate and proving Miss Whittakers claim to inherit? I cant say it did. Had there been any question of searching for nextofkin it mightI dont say it wouldhave occurred to me. But I had a very clear history of the family connections from Mr. Probyn, the death took place nearly two months before the Act came into force, and the formalities all went through more or less automatically. In fact, I never thought about the Act one way or another in that connection. Parker said he was not surprised to hear it, and favoured Mr. Hodgson with Mr. Towkingtons learned opinion on the subject, which interested Mr. Hodgson very much. And that was all he got at Leahampton, except that he fluttered Miss Climpson very much by calling upon her and hearing all about her interview with Vera Findlater. Miss Climpson walked to the station with him, in the hope that they might meet Miss WhittakerI am sure you would be interested to see herbut they were unlucky. On the whole, thought Parker, it might be just as well. After all, though he would like to see Miss Whittaker, he was not particularly keen on her seeing him, especially in Miss Climpsons company. By the way, he said to Miss Climpson, you had better explain me in some way to Mrs. Budge, or she may be a bit inquisitive. But I have, replied Miss Climpson, with an engaging giggle, when Mrs. Budge said there was a Mr. Parker to see me, of course I realised at once that she mustnt know who you were, so I said, quite quickly, Mr. Parker! Oh, that must be my nephew Adolphus. You dont mind being Adolphus, do you? Its funny, but that was the only name that came into my mind at the moment. I cant think why, for Ive never known an Adolphus. Miss Climpson said Parker, solemnly, you are a marvellous woman, and I wouldnt mind even if youd called me Marmaduke. So here he was, working out his second line of inquiry. If Miss Whittaker did not go to a Leahampton solicitor, to whom would she go? There was Mr. Probyn, of course, but he did not think she would have selected him. She would not have known him at Crofton, of courseshe had never actually lived with her greataunts. She had met him the day he came down to Leahampton to see Miss Dawson. He had not then taken her into his confidence about the object of his visit, but she must have known from what her aunt said that it had to do with the making of a will. In the light of her new knowledge, she would guess that Mr. Probyn had then had the Act in his mind, and had not thought fit to trust her with the facts. If she asked him now, he would probably reply that Miss Dawsons affairs were no longer in his hands, and refer her to Mr. Hodgson. And besides, if she asked the question and anything were to happenMr. Probyn might remember it. No, she would not have approached Mr. Probyn. What then? To the person who has anything to concealto the person who wants to lose his identity as one leaf among the leaves of a forestto the person who asks no more than to pass by and be forgotten, there is one name above others which promises a haven of safety and oblivion. London. Where no one knows his neighbour. Where shops do not know their customers. Where physicians are suddenly called to unknown patients whom they never see again. Where you may lie dead in your house for months together unmissed and unnoticed till the gasinspector comes to look at the meter. Where strangers are friendly and friends are casual. London, whose rather untidy and grubby bosom is the repository of so many odd secrets. Discreet, incurious and allenfolding London. Not that Parker put it that way to himself. He merely thought, Ten to one shed try London. They mostly think theyre safer there. Miss Whittaker knew London, of course. She had trained at the Royal Free. That meant she would know Bloomsbury better than any other district. For nobody knew better than Parker how rarely Londoners move out of their own particular little orbit. Unless, of course, she had at some time during her time at the hospital been recommended to a solicitor in another quarter, the chances were that she would have gone to a solicitor in the Bloomsbury or Holborn district. Unfortunately for Parker, this is a quarter which swarms with solicitors. Grays Inn Road, Grays Inn itself, Bedford Row, Holborn, Lincolns Innthe brass plates grow all about as thick as blackberries. Which was why Parker was feeling so hot, tired and fedup that June afternoon. With an impatient grunt he pushed away his eggy plate, paidatthedeskplease, and crossed the road towards Bedford Row, which he had marked down as his portion for the afternoon. He started at the first solicitors he came to, which happened to be the office of one J. F. Trigg. He was lucky. The youth in the outer office informed him that Mr. Trigg had just returned from lunch, was disengaged, and would see him. Would he walk in? Mr. Trigg was a pleasant, freshfaced man in his early forties. He begged Mr. Parker to be seated and asked what he could do for him. For the thirtyseventh time, Parker started on the opening gambit which he had devised to suit his purpose. I am only temporarily in London, Mr. Trigg, and finding I needed legal advice I was recommended to you by a man I met in a restaurant. He did give me his name, but it has escaped me, and anyway, its of no great importance, is it? The point is this. My wife and I have come up to Town to see her greataunt, who is in a very bad way. In fact, she isnt expected to live. Well, now, the old lady has always been very fond of my wife, dont you see, and it has always been an understood thing that Mrs. Parker was to come into her money when she died. Its quite a tidy bit, and we have beenI wont say looking forward to it, but in a kind of mild way counting on it as something for us to retire upon later on. You understand. There arent any other relations at all, so, though the old lady has often talked about making a will, we didnt worry much, one way or the other, because we took it for granted my wife would come in for anything there was. But we were talking about it to a friend yesterday, and he took us rather aback by saying that there was a new law or something, and that if my wifes greataunt hadnt made a will we shouldnt get anything at all. I think he said it would all go to the Crown. I didnt think that could be right and told him so, but my wife is a bit nervousthere are the children to be considered, you seeand she urged me to get legal advice, because her greataunt may go off at any minute, and we dont know whether there is a will or not. Now, how does a greatniece stand under the new arrangements? The point has not been made very clear, said Mr. Trigg, but my advice to you is, to find out whether a will has been made and if not, to get one made without delay if the testatrix is capable of making one. Otherwise I think there is a very real danger of your wifes losing her inheritance. You seem quite familiar with the question, said Parker, with a smile; I suppose you are always being asked it since this new Act came in? I wouldnt say always. It is comparatively rare for a greatniece to be left as sole nextofkin. Is it? Well, yes, I should think it must be. Do you remember being asked that question in the summer of 1925, Mr. Trigg? A most curious expression came over the solicitors faceit looked almost like alarm. What makes you ask that? You need have no hesitation in answering, said Parker, taking out his official card. I am a police officer and have a good reason for asking. I put the legal point to you first as a problem of my own, because I was anxious to have your professional opinion first. I see. Well, Inspector, in that case I suppose I am justified in telling you all about it. I was asked that question in June, 1925. Do you remember the circumstances? Clearly. I am not likely to forget themor rather, the sequel to them. That sounds interesting. Will you tell the story in your own way and with all the details you can remember? Certainly. Just a moment. Mr. Trigg put his head out into the outer office. Badcock, I am engaged with Mr. Parker and cant see anybody. Now, Mr. Parker, I am at your service. Wont you smoke? Parker accepted the invitation and lit up his wellworn briar, while Mr. Trigg, rapidly smoking cigarette after cigarette, unfolded his remarkable story. XVIII The London Lawyers Story I who am given to novelreading, how often have I gone out with the doctor when the stranger has summoned him to visit the unknown patient in the lonely house  This Strange Adventure may lead, in a later chapter, to the revealing of a mysterious crime. The Londoner I think, said Mr. Trigg, that it was on the 15th, or 16th June, 1925, that a lady called to ask almost exactly the same question that you have doneonly that she represented herself as inquiring on behalf of a friend whose name she did not mention. YesI think I can describe her pretty well. She was tall and handsome, with a very clear skin, dark hair and blue eyesan attractive girl. I remember that she had very fine brows, rather straight, and not much colour in her face, and she was dressed in something summery but very neat. I should think it would be called an embroidered linen dressI am not an expert on those thingsand a shady white hat of panama straw. Your recollection seems very clear, said Parker. It is; I have rather a good memory; besides, I saw her on other occasions, as you shall hear. At this first visit she told memuch as you didthat she was only temporarily in Town, and had been casually recommended to me. I told her that I should not like to answer her question offhand. The Act, you may remember, had only recently passed its Final Reading, and I was by no means up in it. Besides, from just skimming through it, I had convinced myself that various important questions were bound to crop up. I told the ladyMiss Grant was the name she gave, by the waythat I should like to take counsels opinion before giving her any advice, and asked if she could call again the following day. She said she could, rose and thanked me, offering me her hand. In taking it, I happened to notice rather an odd scar, running across the backs of all the fingersrather as though a chisel or something had slipped at some time. I noticed it quite idly, of course, but it was lucky for me I did. Miss Grant duly turned up the next day. I had looked up a very learned friend in the interval, and gave her the same opinion that I gave you just now. She looked rather concerned about itin fact, almost more annoyed than concerned.  It seems rather unfair, she said, that peoples family money should go away to the Crown like that. After all, a greatniece is quite a near relation, really. I replied that, provided the greatniece could call witnesses to prove that the deceased had always had the intention of leaving her the money, the Crown would, in all probability, allot the estate, or a suitable proportion of it, in accordance with the wishes of the deceased. It would, however, lie entirely within the discretion of the court to do so or not, and, of course, if there had been any quarrel or dispute about the matter at any time, the judge might take an unfavourable view of the greatnieces application.  In any case, I added, I dont know that the greatniece is excluded under the ActI only understand that she may be. In any case, there are still six months before the Act comes into force, and many things may happen before then.  You mean that Auntie may die, she said, but shes not really dangerously illonly mental, as Nurse calls it. Anyhow, she went away then after paying my fee, and I noticed that the friends greataunt had suddenly become Auntie, and decided that my client felt a certain personal interest in the matter. I fancy she had, said Parker. When did you see her again? Oddly enough, I ran across her in the following December. I was having a quick and early dinner in Soho, before going on to a show. The little place I usually patronise was very full, and I had to sit at a table where a woman was already seated. As I muttered the usual formula about Was anybody sitting there, she looked up, and I promptly recognised my client.  Why, how do you do, Miss Grant? I said.  I beg your pardon, she replied, rather stiffly. I think you are mistaken.  I beg your pardon, said I, stiffer still, my name is Trigg, and you came to consult me in Bedford Row last June. But if I am intruding, I apologise and withdraw. She smiled then, and said, Im sorry, I did not recognise you for the moment. I obtained permission to sit at her table. By way of starting a conversation, I asked whether she had taken any further advice in the matter of the inheritance. She said no, she had been quite content with what I had told her. Still to make conversation, I inquired whether the greataunt had made a will after all. She replied, rather briefly, that it had not been necessary; the old lady had died. I noticed that she was dressed in black, and was confirmed in my opinion that she herself was the greatniece concerned. We talked for some time, Inspector, and I will not conceal from you that I found Miss Grant a very interesting personality. She had an almost masculine understanding. I may say I am not the sort of man who prefers women to be brainless. No, I am rather modern in that respect. If ever I was to take a wife, Inspector, I should wish her to be an intelligent companion. Parker said Mr. Triggs attitude did him great credit. He also made the mental observation that Mr. Trigg would probably not object to marrying a young woman who had inherited money and was unencumbered with relations. It is rare, went on Mr. Trigg, to find a woman with a legal mind. Miss Grant was unusual in that respect. She took a great interest in some case or other that was prominent in the newspapers at the timeI forget now what it wasand asked me some remarkably sensible and intelligent questions. I must say that I quite enjoyed our conversation. Before dinner was over, we had got on to more personal topics, in the course of which I happened to mention that I lived in Golders Green. Did she give you her own address? She said she was staying at the Peveril Hotel in Bloomsbury, and that she was looking for a house in Town. I said that I might possibly hear of something out Hampstead way, and offered my professional services in case she should require them. After dinner I accompanied her back to her hotel, and bade her goodbye in the lounge. She was really staying there, then? Apparently. However, about a fortnight later, I happened to hear of a house in Golders Green that had fallen vacant suddenly. It belonged, as a matter of fact, to a client of mine. In pursuance of my promise, I wrote to Miss Grant at the Peveril. Receiving no reply, I made inquiries there, and found that she had left the hotel the day after our meeting, leaving no address. In the hotel register, she had merely given her address as Manchester. I was somewhat disappointed, but thought no more about the matter. About a month lateron January 26th, to be exact, I was sitting at home reading a book, preparatory to retiring to bed. I should say that I occupy a flat, or rather maisonette, in a small house which has been divided to make two establishments. The people on the ground floor were away at that time, so that I was quite alone in the house. My housekeeper only comes in by the day. The telephone rangI noticed the time. It was a quarter to eleven. I answered it, and a womans voice spoke, begging me to come instantly to a certain house on Hampstead Heath, to make a will for someone who was at the point of death. Did you recognise the voice? No. It sounded like a servants voice. At any rate, it had a strong cockney accent. I asked whether tomorrow would not be time enough, but the voice urged me to hurry or it might be too late. Rather annoyed, I put my things on and went out. It was a most unpleasant night, cold and foggy. I was lucky enough to find a taxi on the nearest rank. We drove to the address, which we had great difficulty in finding, as everything was pitchblack. It turned out to be a small house in a very isolated position on the Heathin fact, there was no proper approach to it. I left the taxi on the road, about a couple of hundred yards off, and asked the man to wait for me, as I was very doubtful of ever finding another taxi in that spot at that time of night. He grumbled a good deal, but consented to wait if I promised not to be very long. I made my way to the house. At first I thought it was quite dark, but presently I saw a faint glimmer in a groundfloor room. I rang the bell. No answer, though I could hear it trilling loudly. I rang again and knocked. Still no answer. It was bitterly cold. I struck a match to be sure I had come to the right house, and then I noticed that the front door was ajar. I thought that perhaps the servant who had called me was so much occupied with her sick mistress as to be unable to leave her to come to the door. Thinking that in that case I might be of assistance to her, I pushed the door open and went in. The hall was perfectly dark, and I bumped against an umbrellastand in entering. I thought I heard a faint voice calling or moaning, and when my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, I stumbled forward, and saw a dim light coming from a door on the left. Was that the room which you had seen to be illumined from outside? I think so. I called out, May I come in? and a very low, weak voice replied, Yes, please. I pushed the door open and entered a room furnished as a sittingroom. In one corner there was a couch, on which some bedclothes appeared to have been hurriedly thrown to enable it to be used as a bed. On the couch lay a woman, all alone. I could only dimly make her out. There was no light in the room except a small oillamp, with a green shade so tilted as to keep the light from the sick womans eyes. There was a fire in the grate, but it had burnt low. I could see, however, that the womans head and face were swathed in white bandages. I put out my hand and felt for the electric switch, but she called out  No light, pleaseit hurts me.  How did she see you put your hand to the switch? Well, said Mr. Trigg, that was an odd thing. She didnt speak, as a matter of fact, till I had actually clicked the switch down. But nothing happened. The light didnt come on. Really? No. I supposed that the bulb had been taken away or had gone phut. However, I said nothing, and came up to the bed. She said in a sort of halfwhisper, Is that the lawyer? I said, Yes, and asked what I could do for her. She said, I have had a terrible accident. I cant live. I want to make my will quickly. I asked whether there was nobody with her. Yes, yes, she said in a hurried way, my servant will be back in a moment. She has gone to look for a doctor. But, I said, couldnt she have rung up? You are not fit to be left alone. We couldnt get through to one, she replied, its all right. She will be here soon. Dont waste time. I must make my will. She spoke in a dreadful, gasping way, and I felt that the best thing would be to do what she wanted, for fear of agitating her. I drew a chair to the table where the lamp was, got out my fountain pen and a printed willform with which I had provided myself, and expressed myself ready to receive her instructions. Before beginning, she asked me to give her a little brandy and water from a decanter which stood on the table. I did so, and she took a small sip, which seemed to revive her. I placed the glass near her hand, and at her suggestion mixed another glass for myself. I was very glad of it, for, as I said, it was a beast of a night, and the room was cold. I looked round for some extra coals to put on the fire, but could see none. That, said Parker, is extremely interesting and suggestive. I thought it queer at the time. But the whole thing was queer. Anyway, I then said I was ready to begin. She said, You may think I am a little mad, because my head has been so hurt. But I am quite sane. But he shant have a penny of the money. I asked her if someone had attacked her. She replied, My husband. He thinks he has killed me. But I am going to live long enough to will the money away. She then said that her name was Mrs. Marion Mead, and proceeded to make a will, leaving her estate, which amounted to about 10,000, among various legatees, including a daughter and three or four sisters. It was rather a complicated will, as it included various devices for tying up the daughters money in a trust, so as to prevent her from ever handing over any of it to the father. Did you make a note of the names and addresses of the people involved? I did, but, as you will see later on, I could make no use of them. The testatrix was certainly clearheaded enough about the provisions of the will, though she seemed terribly weak, and her voice never rose above a whisper after that one time when she had called to me not to turn on the light. At length I finished my notes of the will, and started to draft it out on to the proper form. There were no signs of the servants return, and I began to be really anxious. Also the extreme coldor something elseadded to the fact that it was now long past my bedtime, was making me appallingly sleepy. I poured out another stiff little dose of the brandy to warm me up, and went on writing out the will. When I had finished I said  How about signing this? We need another witness to make it legal. She said, My servant must be here in a minute or two. I cant think what has happened to her.  I expect she has missed her way in the fog, I said. However, I will wait a little longer. I cant go and leave you like this. She thanked me feebly, and we sat for some time in silence. As time went on, I began to feel the situation to be increasingly uncanny. The sick woman breathed heavily, and moaned from time to time. The desire for sleep overpowered me more and more. I could not understand it. Presently it occurred to me, stupefied though I felt, that the most sensible thing would be to get the taximanif he was still thereto come in and witness the will with me, and then to go myself to find a doctor. I sat, sleepily revolving this in my mind, and trying to summon energy to speak. I felt as though a great weight of inertia was pressing down upon me. Exertion of any kind seemed almost beyond my powers. Suddenly something happened which brought me back to myself. Mrs. Mead turned a little over upon the couch and peered at me intently, as it seemed, in the lamplight. To support herself, she put both her hands on the edge of the table. I noticed with a vague sense of something unexpected, that the left hand bore no weddingring. And then I noticed something else. Across the back of the fingers of the right hand went a curious scaras though a chisel or some such thing had slipped and cut them. Parker sat upright in his chair. Yes, said Mr. Trigg, that interests you. It startled me. Or rather, startled isnt quite the word. In my oppressed state, it affected me like some kind of nightmare. I struggled upright in my chair, and the woman sank back upon her pillows. At that moment there came a violent ring at the bell. The servant? Nothank Heaven it was my taxidriver, who had become tired of waiting. I thoughtI dont quite know what I thoughtbut I was alarmed. I gave some kind of shout or groan, and the man came straight in. Happily, I had left the door open as I had found it. I pulled myself together sufficiently to ask him to witness the will. I must have looked queer and spoken in a strange way, for I remember how he looked from me to the brandybottle. However, he signed the paper after Mrs. Mead, who wrote her name in a weak, straggling hand as she lay on her back.  Wot next, guvnor? asked the man, when this was done. I was feeling dreadfully ill by now. I could only say, Take me home. He looked at Mrs. Mead and then at me, and said, Aint there nobody to see to the lady, sir? I said, Fetch a doctor. But take me home first. I stumbled out of the house on his arm. I heard him muttering something about its being a rum start. I dont remember the drive home. When I came back to life, I was in my own bed, and one of the local doctors was standing over me. Im afraid this story is getting very long and tedious. To cut matters short, it seems the taxidriver, who was a very decent, intelligent fellow, had found me completely insensible at the end of the drive. He didnt know who I was, but he hunted in my pocket and found my visitingcard and my latchkey. He took me home, got me upstairs and, deciding that if I was drunk, I was a worse drunk than he had ever encountered in his experience, humanely went round and fetched a doctor. The doctors opinion was that I had been heavily drugged with veronal or something of that kind. Fortunately, if the idea was to murder me, the dose had been very much underestimated. We went into the matter thoroughly, and the upshot was that I must have taken about 30 grains of the stuff. It appears that it is a difficult drug to trace by analysis, but that was the conclusion the doctor came to, looking at the matter all round. Undoubtedly the brandy had been doped. Of course, we went round to look at the house next day. It was all shut up, and the local milkman informed us that the occupiers had been away for a week and were not expected home for another ten days. We got into communication with them, but they appeared to be perfectly genuine, ordinary people, and they declared they knew nothing whatever about it. They were accustomed to go away every so often, just shutting the house and not bothering about a caretaker or anything. The man came along at once, naturally, to investigate matters, but couldnt find that anything had been stolen or disturbed, except that a pair of sheets and some pillows showed signs of use, and a scuttle of coal had been used in the sittingroom. The coalcellar, which also contained the electric meter, had been left locked and the meter turned off before the family leftthey apparently had a few grains of sensewhich accounts for the chill darkness of the house when I entered it. The visitor had apparently slipped back the catch of the pantry windowone of the usual gimcrack affairswith a knife or something, and had brought her own lamp, siphon and brandy. Daring, but not really difficult.


No Mrs. Mead or Miss Grant was to be heard of anywhere, as I neednt tell you. The tenants of the house were not keen to start expensive inquiriesafter all, theyd lost nothing but a shillings worth of coalsand on consideration, and seeing that I hadnt actually been murdered or anything, I thought it best to let the matter slide. It was a most unpleasant adventure. Im sure it was. Did you ever hear from Miss Grant again? Why, yes. She rang me up twiceonce, after three months, and again only a fortnight ago, asking for an appointment. You may think me cowardly, Mr. Parker, but each time I put her off. I didnt quite know what might happen. As a matter of fact, the opinion I formed in my own mind was that I had been entrapped into that house with the idea of making me spend the night there and afterwards blackmailing me. That was the only explanation I could think of which would account for the sleepingdraught. I thought discretion was the better part of valour, and gave my clerks and my housekeeper instructions that if Miss Grant should call at any time I was out and not expected back. Hm. Do you suppose she knew you had recognised the scar on her hand? Im sure she didnt. Otherwise she would hardly have made advances to me in her own name again. No. I think you are right. Well, Mr. Trigg, I am much obliged to you for this information, which may turn out to be very valuable. And if Miss Grant should ring you up againwhere did she call from, by the way? From callboxes, each time. I know that, because the operator always tells one when the call is from a public box. I didnt have the calls traced. No, of course not. Well, if she does it again, will you please make an appointment with her, and then let me know about it at once? A call to Scotland Yard will always find me. Mr. Trigg promised that he would do this, and Parker took his leave. And now we know, thought Parker as he returned home, that somebodyan odd unscrupulous somebodywas making inquiries about greatnieces in 1925. A word to Miss Climpson, I fancy, is indicatedjust to find out whether Mary Whittaker has a scar on her right hand, or whether Ive got to hunt up any more solicitors. The hot streets seemed less oppressively ovenlike than before. In fact, Parker was so cheered by his interview that he actually bestowed a cigarettecard upon the next urchin who accosted him. XIX Gone Away There is nothing good or evil save in the will. Epictetus You will not, I imagine, deny, observed Lord Peter, that very odd things seem to happen to the people who are in a position to give information about the last days of Agatha Dawson. Bertha Gotobed dies suddenly, under suspicious circumstances; her sister thinks she sees Miss Whittaker lying in wait for her at Liverpool docks; Mr. Trigg is inveigled into a house of mystery and is semipoisoned. I wonder what would have happened to Mr. Probyn, if he had been careless enough to remain in England. I deny nothing, replied Parker. I will only point out to you that during the month in which these disasters occurred to the Gotobed family, the object of your suspicions was in Kent with Miss Vera Findlater, who never left her side. As against that undoubted snag, rejoined Wimsey, I bring forward a letter from Miss Climpson, in whichamid a lot of rigmarole with which I will not trouble youshe informs me that upon Miss Whittakers right hand there is a scar, precisely similar to the one which Mr. Trigg describes. Is there? That does seem to connect Miss Whittaker pretty definitely with the Trigg business. But is it your theory that she is trying to polish off all the people who know anything about Miss Dawson? Rather a big job, dont you think, for a singlehanded female? And if so, why is Dr. Carr spared? and Nurse Philliter? and Nurse Forbes? And the other doctor chappie? And the rest of the population of Leahampton, if it comes to that? Thats an interesting point which had already occurred to me. I think I know why. Up to the present, the Dawson case has presented two different problems, one legal and one medicalthe motive and the means, if you like that better. As far as opportunity goes, only two people figure as possiblesMiss Whittaker and Nurse Forbes. The Forbes woman had nothing to gain by killin a good patient, so for the moment we can wash her out. Well now, as to the medical problemthe means. I must say that up to now that appears completely insoluble. I am baffled, Watson (said he, his hawklike eyes gleaming angrily from under the halfclosed lids). Even I am baffled. But not for long! (he cried, with a magnificent burst of selfconfidence). My Honour (capital H) is concerned to track this Human Fiend (capitals) to its hidden source, and nail the whited sepulchre to the mast even though it crush me in the attempt! Loud applause. His chin sank broodingly upon his dressinggown, and he breathed a few guttural notes into the bass saxophone which was the cherished companion of his solitary hours in the bathroom. Parker ostentatiously took up the book which he had laid aside on Wimseys entrance. Tell me when youve finished, he said, caustically. Ive hardly begun. The means, I repeat, seems insolubleand so the criminal evidently thinks. There has been no exaggerated mortality among the doctors and nurses. On that side of the business the lady feels herself safe. No. The motive is the weak pointhence the hurry to stop the mouths of the people who knew about the legal part of the problem. Yes, I see. Mrs. Cropper has started back to Canada, by the way. She doesnt seem to have been molested at all. Noand thats why I still think there was somebody on the watch in Liverpool. Mrs. Cropper was only worth silencing so long as she had told nobody her story. That is why I was careful to meet her and accompany her ostentatiously to Town. Oh, rot, Peter! Even if Miss Whittaker had been therewhich we know she couldnt have beenhow was she to know that you were going to ask about the Dawson business? She doesnt know you from Adam. She might have found out who Murbles was. The advertisement which started the whole business was in his name, you know. In that case, why hasnt she attacked Murbles or you? Murbles is a wise old bird. In vain are nets spread in his sight. He is seeing no female clients, answering no invitations, and never goes out without an escort. I didnt know he took it so seriously. Oh, yes. Murbles is old enough to have learnt the value of his own skin. As for mehave you noticed the remarkable similarity in some ways between Mr. Triggs adventure and my own little adventurelet, as you might say, in South Audley Street? What, with Mrs. Forrest? Yes. The secret appointment. The drink. The endeavour to get one to stay the night at all costs. Im positive there was something in that sugar, Charles, that no sugar should containsee Public Health (Adulteration of Food) Acts, various. You think Mrs. Forrest is an accomplice? I do. I dont know what she has to gain by itprobably money. But I feel sure there is some connection. Partly because of Bertha Gotobeds 5 note; partly because Mrs. Forrests story was a palpable fakeIm certain the womans never had a lover, let alone a husbandyou cant mistake real inexperience; and chiefly because of the similarity of method. Criminals always tend to repeat their effects. Look at George Joseph Smith and his brides. Look at Neill Cream. Look at Armstrong and his teaparties. Well, if theres an accomplice, all the better. Accomplices generally end by giving the show away. True. And we are in a good position because up till now I dont think they know that we suspect any connection between them. But I still think, you know, we ought to get some evidence that actual crimes have been committed. Call me finicking, if you like. If you could suggest a means of doing away with these people so as to leave no trace, I should feel happier about it. The means, eh?Well, we do know something about it. As what? Welltake the two victims Alleged. All right, old particular. The two alleged victims and the two (alleged) intended victims. Miss Dawson was ill and helpless; Bertha Gotobed possibly stupefied by a heavy meal and an unaccustomed quantity of wine; Trigg was given a sufficient dose of veronal to send him to sleep, and I was offered something of probably the same kindI wish I could have kept the remains of that coffee. So we deduce from that, what? I suppose that it was a means of death which could only be used on somebody more or less helpless or unconscious. Exactly. As for instance, a hypodermic injectiononly nothing appears to have been injected. Or a delicate operation of some kindif we could only think of one to fit the case. Or the inhalation of somethingsuch as chloroformonly we could find no traces of suffocation. Yes. That doesnt get us very far, though. Its something. Then, again, it may very well be something that a trained nurse would have learnt or heard about. Miss Whittaker was trained, you knowwhich, by the way, was what made it so easy for her to bandage up her own head and provide a pitiful and unrecognisable spectacle for the stupid Mr. Trigg. It wouldnt have to be anything very out of the waynothing, I mean, that only a trained surgeon could do, or that required very specialised knowledge. Oh, no. Probably something picked up in conversation with a doctor or the other nurses. I say, how about getting hold of Dr. Carr again? Or, noif hed got any ideas on the subject hed have trotted em out before now. I know! Ill ask Lubbock, the analyst. Hell do. Ill get in touch with him tomorrow. And meanwhile, said Parker, I suppose we just sit round and wait for somebody else to be murdered. Its beastly, isnt it? I still feel poor Bertha Gotobeds blood on my head, so to speak. I say! Yes? Weve practically got clear proof on the Trigg business. Couldnt you put the lady in quod on a charge of burglary while we think out the rest of the dope? Its often done. It was a burglary, you know. She broke into a house after dark and appropriated a scuttleful of coal to her own use. Trigg could identify herhe seems to have paid the lady particular attention on more than one occasionand we could rake up his taximan for corroborative detail. Parker pulled at his pipe for a few minutes. Theres something in that, he said finally. I think perhaps its worth while putting it before the authorities. But we mustnt be in too much of a hurry, you know. I wish we were further ahead with our other proofs. Theres such a thing as Habeas Corpusyou cant hold on to people indefinitely just on a charge of stealing coal Theres the breaking and entering, dont forget that. Its burglary, after all. You can get penal servitude for life for burglary. But it all depends on the view the law takes of the coal. It might decide that there was no original intention of stealing coal, and treat the thing as a mere misdemeanour or civil trespass. Anyhow, we dont really want a conviction for stealing coal. But Ill see what they think about it at our place, and meanwhile Ill get hold of Trigg again and try and find the taxidriver. And Triggs doctor. We might get it as an attempt to murder Trigg, or at least to inflict grievous bodily harm. But I should like some more evidence about Cuckoo! So should I. But I cant manufacture evidence out of nothing. Dash it all, be reasonable. Ive built you up a case out of nothing. Isnt that handsome enough? Base ingratitudethats whats the matter with you. Parkers inquiries took some time, and June lingered into its longest days. Chamberlin and Levine flew the Atlantic, and Segrave bade farewell to Brooklands. The Daily Yell wrote antiRed leaders and discovered a plot, somebody laid claim to a marquisate, and a CzechoSlovakian pretended to swim the Channel. Hammond outgraced Grace, there was an outburst of murder at Moscow, Foxlaw won the Gold Cup and the earth opened at Oxhey and swallowed up somebodys front garden. Oxford decided that women were dangerous, and the electric hare consented to run at the White City. Englands supremacy was challenged at Wimbledon, and the House of Lords made the gesture of stooping to conquer. Meanwhile, Lord Peters projected magnum opus on ahundredandone ways of causing sudden death had advanced by the accumulation of a mass of notes which flowed all over the library at the flat, and threatened to engulf Bunter, whose task it was to file and crossreference and generally to produce order from chaos. Oriental scholars and explorers were buttonholed in clubs and strenuously pumped on the subject of abstruse native poisons; horrid experiments performed in German laboratories were communicated in unreadable documents; and the life of Sir James Lubbock, who had the misfortune to be a particular friend of Lord Peters, was made a burden to him with daily inquiries as to the postmortem detection of such varying substances as chloroform, curare, hydrocyanic acid gas and diethylsulphonmethylethylmethane. But surely there must be something which kills without leaving a trace, pleaded Lord Peter, when at length informed that the persecution must cease. A thing in such universal demandsurely it is not beyond the wit of scientists to invent it. It must exist. Why isnt it properly advertised? There ought to be a company to exploit it. Its simply ridiculous. Why, its a thing one might be wantin ones self any day. You dont understand, said Sir James Lubbock. Plenty of poisons leave no particular postmortem appearances. And plenty of themespecially the vegetable onesare difficult to find by analysis, unless you know what you are looking for. For instance, if youre testing for arsenic, that test wont tell you whether strychnine is present or not. And if youre testing for strychnine, you wont find morphia. Youve got to try one test after another till you hit the right one. And of course there are certain poisons for which no recognised tests exist. I know all that, said Wimsey. Ive tested things myself. But these poisons with no recognised testhow do you set about proving that theyre there? Well, of course, youd take the symptoms into account, and so on. You would look at the history of the case. Yesbut I want a poison that doesnt produce any symptoms. Except death, of courseif you call that a symptom. Isnt there a poison with no symptoms and no test? Something that just makes you go off, Pouf! like that? Certainly not, said the analyst, rather annoyedfor your medical analyst lives by symptoms and tests, and nobody likes suggestions that undermine the very foundations of his professionnot even old age or mental decay. There are always symptoms. Fortunately, before the symptoms of mental decay could become too pronounced in Lord Peter, Parker sounded the call to action. Im going down to Leahampton with a warrant, he said. I may not use it, but the chief thinks it might be worth while to make an inquiry. What with the Battersea mystery and the Daniels business, and Bertha Gotobed, there seems to be a feeling that there have been too many unexplained tragedies this year, and the Press have begun yelping again, blast them! Theres an article in John Citizen this week, with a poster Ninetysix Murderers at Large, and the Evening Views is starting its reports with Six weeks have now passed, and the police are no nearer the solution you know the kind of thing. Well simply have to get some sort of move on. Do you want to come? Certainlya breath of country air would do me good, I fancy. Blow away the cobwebs, dont you know. It might even inspire me to invent a good way of murderin people. O Inspiration, solitary child, warbling thy native woodnotes wild Did somebody write that, or did I invent it? It sounds reminiscent, somehow. Parker, who was out of temper, replied rather shortly, and intimated that the police car would be starting for Leahampton in an hours time. I will be there, said Wimsey, though, mind you, I hate being driven by another fellow. It feels so unsafe. Never mind. I will be bloody, bold and resolute, as Queen Victoria said to the Archbishop of Canterbury. They reached Leahampton without any incident to justify Lord Peters fears. Parker had brought another officer with him, and on the way they picked up the Chief Constable of the County, who appeared very dubiously disposed towards their errand. Lord Peter, observing their array of five strong men, going out to seize upon one young woman, was reminded of the Marquise de Brinvilliers(What! all that water for a little person like me?)but this led him back to the subject of poison, and he remained steeped in thought and gloom till the car drew up before the house in Wellington Avenue. Parker got out, and went up the path with the Chief Constable. The door was opened to them by a frightenedlooking maid, who gave a little shriek at sight of them. Oh, sir! have you come to say somethings happened to Miss Whittaker? Isnt Miss Whittaker at home, then? No, sir. She went out in the car with Miss Vera Findlater on Mondaythats four days back, sir, and she hasnt come home, nor Miss Findlater neither, and Im frightened somethings happened to them. When I see you, sir, I thought you was the police come to say there had been an accident. I didnt know what to do, sir. Skipped, by God! was Parkers instant thought, but he controlled his annoyance, and asked Do you know where they were going? Crows Beach, Miss Whittaker said, sir. Thats a good fifty miles, said the Chief Constable. Probably theyve just decided to stay there a day or two. More likely gone in the opposite direction, thought Parker. They didnt take no things for the night, sir. They went off about ten in the morning. They said they was going to have lunch there and come home in the evening. And Miss Whittaker hasnt written nor nothing. And her always so particular. Cook and me, we didnt know what Oh, well, I expect its all right, said the Chief Constable. Its a pity, as we particularly wanted to see Miss Whittaker. When you hear from her, you might say Sir Charles Pillington called with a friend. Yes, sir. But please, sir, what ought we to do, sir? Nothing. Dont worry. Ill have inquiries made. Im the Chief Constable, you know, and I can soon find out whether theres been an accident or anything. But if there had been, depend upon it we should have heard about it. Come, my girl, pull yourself together, theres nothing to cry about. Well let you know as soon as we hear anything. But Sir Charles looked disturbed. Coming on top of Parkers arrival in the district, the thing had an unpleasant look about it. Lord Peter received the news cheerfully. Good, said he, joggle em up. Keep em moving. Thats the spirit. Always like it when somethin happens. My worst suspicions are goin to be justified. That always makes one feel so important and virtuous, dont you think? Wonder why she took the girl with her, though. By the way, wed better look up the Findlaters. They may have heard something. This obvious suggestion was acted upon at once. But at the Findlaters house they drew blank. The family were at the seaside, with the exception of Miss Vera, who was staying in Wellington Avenue with Miss Whittaker. No anxiety was expressed by the parlourmaid and none, apparently, felt. The investigators took care not to arouse any alarm, and, leaving a trivial and polite message from Sir Charles, withdrew for a consultation. Theres nothing for it, so far as I can see, said Parker, but an allstations call to look out for the car and the ladies. And we must put inquiries through to all the ports, of course. With four days start, they may be anywhere by now. I wish to Heaven Id risked a bit and started earlier, approval or no approval. Whats this Findlater girl like? Id better go back to the house and get photographs of her and the Whittaker woman. And, Wimsey, I wish youd look in on Miss Climpson and see if she has any information. And you might tell em at the Yard to keep an eye on Mrs. Forrests place, said Wimsey. When anything sensational happens to a criminal its a good tip to watch the accomplice. I feel sure you are both quite mistaken about this, urged Sir Charles Pillington. Criminalaccomplicebless me! I have had considerable experience in the course of a long lifelonger than either of yoursand I really feel convinced that Miss Whittaker, whom I know quite well, is as good and nice a girl as you could wish to find. But there has undoubtedly been an accident of some kind, and it is our duty to make the fullest investigation. I will get on to Crows Beach police immediately, as soon as I know the description of the car. Its an Austin Seven and the number is XX9917, said Wimsey, much to the Chief Constables surprise. But I doubt very much whether youll find it at Crows Beach, or anywhere near it. Well, wed better get a move on, snapped Parker. Wed better separate. How about a spot of lunch in an hours time at the George? Wimsey was unlucky. Miss Climpson was not to be found. She had had her lunch early and gone out, saying she felt that a long country walk would do her good. Mrs. Budge was rather afraid she had had some bad newsshe had seemed so upset and worried since yesterday evening. But indeed, sir, she added, if you was quick, you might find her up at the church. She often drops in there to say her prayers like. Not a respectful way to approach a place of worship to my mind, do you think so yourself, sir? Popping in and out on a weekday, the same as if it was a friends house. And coming home from Communion as cheerful as anything and ready to laugh and make jokes. I dont see as how we was meant to make an ordinary thing of religion that wayso disrespectful and nothing uplifting to the art about it. But there! we all as our failings, and Miss Climpson is a nice lady and that I must say, even if she is a Roaming Catholic or next door to one. Lord Peter thought that Roaming Catholic was rather an appropriate name for the more ultramontane section of the High Church party. At the moment, however, he felt he could not afford time for religious discussion, and set off for the church in quest of Miss Climpson. The doors of St. Onesimus were hospitably open, and the red Sanctuary lamp made a little spot of welcoming brightness in the rather dark building. Coming in from the June sunshine, Wimsey blinked a little before he could distinguish anything else. Presently he was able to make out a dark, bowed figure kneeling before the lamp. For a moment he hoped it was Miss Climpson, but presently saw to his disappointment that it was merely a Sister in a black habit, presumably taking her turn to watch before the Host. The only other occupant of the church was a priest in a cassock, who was busy with the ornaments on the High Altar. It was the Feast of St. John, Wimsey remembered suddenly. He walked up the aisle, hoping to find his quarry hidden in some obscure corner. His shoes squeaked. This annoyed him. It was a thing which Bunter never permitted. He was seized with a fancy that the squeak was produced by diabolic possessiona protest against a religious atmosphere on the part of his own particular besetting devil. Pleased with this thought, he moved forward more confidently. The priests attention was attracted by the squeak. He turned and came down towards the intruder. No doubt, thought Wimsey, to offer his professional services to exorcise the evil spirit. Were you looking for anybody? inquired the priest, courteously. Well, I was looking for a lady, began Wimsey. Then it struck him that this sounded a little odd under the circumstances, and he hastened to explain more fully, in the stifled tones considered appropriate to consecrated surroundings. Oh, yes, said the priest, quite unperturbed, Miss Climpson was here a little time ago, but I fancy she has gone. Not that I usually keep tabs on my flock, he added, with a laugh, but she spoke to me before she went. Was it urgent? What a pity you should have missed her. Can I give any kind of message or help you in any way? No, thanks, said Wimsey. Sorry to bother you. Unseemly to come and try to haul people out of church, butyes, it was rather important. Ill leave a message at the house. Thanks frightfully. He turned away; then stopped and came back. I say, he said, you give advice on moral problems and all that sort of thing, dont you? Well, were supposed to try, said the priest. Is anything bothering you in particular? Yees, said Wimsey, nothing religious, I dont meannothing about infallibility or the Virgin Mary or anything of that sort. Just something Im not comfortable about. The priestwho was, in fact, the vicar, Mr. Tredgoldindicated that he was quite at Lord Peters service. Its very good of you. Could we come somewhere where I didnt have to whisper so much. I never can explain things in a whisper. Sort of paralyses one, dont you know. Lets go outside, said Mr. Tredgold. So they went out and sat on a flat tombstone. Its like this, said Wimsey. Hypothetical case, you see, and so on. Sposin one knows somebody whos very, very ill and cant last long anyhow. And theyre in awful pain and all that, and kept under morphiapractically dead to the world, you know. And suppose that by dyin straight away they could make something happen which they really wanted to happen and which couldnt happen if they lived on a little longer (I cant explain exactly how, because I dont want to give personal details and so on)you get the idea? Well, supposin somebody who knew all that was just to give em a little push off so to speakhurry matters onwhy should that be a very dreadful crime? The law began Mr. Tredgold. Oh, the law says its a crime, fast enough, said Wimsey. But do you honestly think its very bad? I know youd call it a sin, of course, but why is it so very dreadful? It doesnt do the person any harm, does it? We cant answer that, said Mr. Tredgold, without knowing the ways of God with the soul. In those last weeks or hours of pain and unconsciousness, the soul may be undergoing some necessary part of its pilgrimage on earth. It isnt our business to cut it short. Who are we to take life and death into our hands? Well, we do it all day, one way and another. Juriessoldiersdoctorsall that. And yet I do feel, somehow, that it isnt a right thing in this case. And yet, by interferingfinding things out and so onone may do far worse harm. Start all kinds of things. I think, said Mr. Tredgold, that the sinI wont use that wordthe damage to Society, the wrongness of the thing lies much more in the harm it does the killer than in anything it can do to the person who is killed. Especially, of course, if the killing is to the killers own advantage. The consequence you mentionthis thing which the sick person wants donedoes the other person stand to benefit by it, may I ask? Yes. Thats just it. Heshethey do. That puts it at once on a different plane from just hastening a persons death out of pity. Sin is in the intention, not the deed. That is the difference between divine law and human law. It is bad for a human being to get to feel that he has any right whatever to dispose of another persons life to his own advantage. It leads him on to think himself above all lawsSociety is never safe from the man who has deliberately committed murder with impunity. That is whyor one reason whyGod forbids private vengeance. You mean that one murder leads to another. Very often. In any case it leads to a readiness to commit others. It has. Thats the trouble. But it wouldnt have if I hadnt started trying to find things out. Ought I to have left it alone? I see. That is very difficult. Terrible, too, for you. You feel responsible. Yes. You yourself are not serving a private vengeance? Oh, no. Nothing really to do with me. Started in like a fool to help somebody whod got into trouble about the thing through having suspicions himself. And my beastly interference started the crimes all over again. I shouldnt be too troubled. Probably the murderers own guilty fears would have led him into fresh crimes even without your interference. Thats true, said Wimsey, remembering Mr. Trigg. My advice to you is to do what you think is right, according to the laws which we have been brought up to respect. Leave the consequences to God. And try to think charitably, even of wicked people. You know what I mean. Bring the offender to justice, but remember that if we all got justice, you and I wouldnt escape either. I know. Knock the man down but dont dance on the body. Quite. Forgive my troublin youand excuse my bargin off, because Ive got a date with a friend. Thanks so much. I dont feel quite so rotten about it now. But I was gettin worried. Mr. Tredgold watched him as he trotted away between the graves. Dear, dear, he said, how nice they are. So kindly and scrupulous and so vague outside their publicschool code. And much more nervous and sensitive than people think. A very difficult class to reach. I must make a special intention for him at Mass tomorrow. Being a practical man, Mr. Tredgold made a knot in his handkerchief to remind himself of this pious resolve. The problemto interfere or not to interfereGods law and Caesars. Policemen, nowits no problem to them. But for the ordinary manhow hard to disentangle his own motives. I wonder what brought him here. Could it possibly beNo! said the vicar, checking himself, I have no right to speculate. He drew out his handkerchief again and made another mnemonic knot as a reminder against his next confession that he had fallen into the sin of inquisitiveness. XX Murder Siegfried What does this mean? Isbrand A pretty piece of kidnapping, thats all. Beddoes Deaths JestBook Parker, too, had spent a disappointing halfhour. It appeared that Miss Whittaker not only disliked having her photograph taken, but had actually destroyed all the existing portraits she could lay hands on, shortly after Miss Dawsons death. Of course, many of Miss Whittakers friends might be in possession of onenotably, of course, Miss Findlater. But Parker was not sure that he wanted to start a local hueandcry at the moment. Miss Climpson might be able to get one, of course. He went round to Nelson Avenue. Miss Climpson was out; there had been another gentleman asking for her. Mrs. Budges eyes were beginning to bulge with curiosityevidently she was becoming dubious about Miss Climpsons nephew and his friends. Parker then went to the local photographers. There were five. From two of them he extracted a number of local groups, containing unrecognisable portraits of Miss Whittaker at church bazaars and private theatricals. She had never had a studio portrait made in Leahampton. Of Miss Findlater, on the other hand, he got several excellent likenessesa slight, fair girl, with a rather sentimental lookplump and prettyish. All these he despatched to Town, with directions that they should be broadcast to the police, together with a description of the girls dress when last seen. The only really cheerful members of the party at the George were the second policeman, who had been having a pleasant gossip with various garageproprietors and publicans, with a view to picking up information, and the Chief Constable, who was vindicated and triumphant. He had been telephoning to various country policestations, and had discovered that XX9917 had actually been observed on the previous Monday by an A.A. scout on the road to Crows Beach. Having maintained all along that the Crows Beach excursion was a genuine one, he was inclined to exult over the Scotland Yard man. Wimsey and Parker dispiritedly agreed that they had better go down and make inquiries at Crows Beach. Meanwhile, one of the photographers, whose cousin was on the staff of the Leahampton Mercury, had put a call through to the office of that uptodate paper, which was just going to press.


A stoppress announcement was followed by a special edition; somebody rang up the London Evening Views which burst out into a frontpage scoop; the fat was in the fire, and the Daily Yell, Daily Views, Daily Wire and Daily Tidings, who were all suffering from lack of excitement, came brightly out next morning with bold headlines about disappearing young women. Crows Beach, indeed, that pleasant and respectable wateringplace, knew nothing of Miss Whittaker, Miss Findlater, or car XX9917. No hotel had received them; no garage had refuelled or repaired them; no policeman had observed them. The Chief Constable held to his theory of an accident, and scouting parties were sent out. Wires arrived at Scotland Yard from all over the place. They had been seen at Dover, at Newcastle, at Sheffield, at Winchester, at Rugby. Two young women had had tea in a suspicious manner at Folkestone; a car had passed noisily through Dorchester at a late hour on Monday night; a darkhaired girl in an agitated condition had entered a publichouse in New Alresford just before closingtime and asked the way to Hazelmere. Among all these reports, Parker selected that of a boyscout, who reported on the Saturday morning that he had noticed two ladies with a car having a picnic on the downs on the previous Monday, not far from Shelly Head. The car was an Austin Sevenhe knew that, because he was keen on motors (an unanswerable reason for accuracy in a boy of his age), and he had noticed that it was a London number, though he couldnt say positively what the number was. Shelly Head lies about ten miles along the coast from Crows Beach, and is curiously lonely, considering how near it lies to the wateringplace. Under the cliffs is a long stretch of clear sandy beach, never visited, and overlooked by no houses. The cliffs themselves are chalk, and covered with short turf, running back into a wide expanse of downs, covered with gorse and heather. Then comes a belt of pinetrees, beyond which is a steep, narrow and rutty road, leading at length into the tarmac high road between Ramborough and Ryders Heath. The downs are by no means frequented, though there are plenty of rough tracks which a car can follow, if you are not particular about comfort or fussy over your springs. Under the leadership of the boyscout, the policecar bumped uncomfortably over these disagreeable roads. It was hopeless to look for any previous cartracks, for the chalk was dry and hard, and the grass and heath retained no marks. Everywhere, little dells and hollows presented themselvesall exactly alike, and many of them capable of hiding a small car, not to speak of the mere signs and remains of a recent picnic. Having arrived at what their guide thought to be approximately the right place, they pulled up and got out. Parker quartered the ground between the five of them and they set off. Wimsey took a dislike to gorsebushes that day. There were so many of them and so thick. Any of them might hold a cigarette package or a sandwich paper or a scrap of cloth or a clue of some kind. He trudged along unhappily, back bent and eyes on the ground, over one ridge and down into the hollowthen circling to right and to left, taking his bearings by the policecar; over the next ridge and down into the next hollow; over the next ridge Yes. There was something in the hollow. He saw it first sticking out round the edge of a gorsebush. It was light in colour, and pointed, rather like a foot. He felt a little sick. Somebody has gone to sleep here, he said aloud. Then he thought Funnyits always the feet they leave showing. He scrambled down among the bushes, slipping on the short turf and nearly rolling to the bottom. He swore irritably. The person was sleeping oddly. The flies must be a nuisance all over her head like that. It occurred to him that it was rather early in the year for flies. There had been an advertising rhyme in the papers. Something about Each fly you swat now means, remember, Three hundred fewer next September. Or was it a thousand fewer? He couldnt get the metre quite right. Then he pulled himself together and went forward. The flies rose up in a little cloud. It must have been a pretty heavy blow, he thought, to smash the back of the skull in like that. The shingled hair was blonde. The face lay between the bare arms. He turned the body on its back. Of course, without the photograph, he could nothe need notbe certain that this was Vera Findlater. All this had taken him perhaps thirty seconds. He scrambled up to the rim of the hollow and shouted. A small black figure at some distance stopped and turned. He saw its face as a white spot with no expression on it. He shouted again, and waved his arms in wide gestures of explanation. The figure came running; it lurched slowly and awkwardly over the heathy ground. It was the policemana heavy man, not built for running in the heat. Wimsey shouted again, and the policeman shouted too. Wimsey saw the others closing in upon him. The grotesque figure of the boyscout topped a ridge, waving its staffthen disappeared again. The policeman was quite near now. His bowler hat was thrust back on his head, and there was something on his watchchain that glinted in the sun as he ran. Wimsey found himself running to meet him and callingexplaining at great length. It was too far off to make himself heard, but he explained, wordily, with emphasis, pointing, indicating. He was quite breathless when the policeman and he came together. They were both breathless. They wagged their heads and gasped. It was ludicrous. He started running again, with the man at his heels. Presently they were all there, pointing, measuring, taking notes, grubbing under the gorsebushes. Wimsey sat down. He was dreadfully tired. Peter, said Parkers voice, come and look at this. He got up wearily. There were the remains of a picnic lunch a little farther down the hollow. The policeman had a little bag in his handhe had taken it from under the body, and was now turning over the trifles it contained. On the ground, close to the dead girls head, was a thick, heavy spannerunpleasantly discoloured and with a few fair hairs sticking to its jaws. But what Parker was calling his attention to was none of these, but a mans mauvegrey cap. Where did you find that? asked Wimsey. Alf here picked it up at the top of the hollow, said Parker. Tumbled off into the gorse it was, corroborated the scout, just up here, lying upside down just as if it had fallen off somebodys head. Any footmarks? Not likely. But theres a place where the bushes are all trodden and broken. Looks as if thered been some sort of struggle. Whats become of the Austin? Hi! dont touch that spanner, my lad. There may be fingerprints on it. This looks like an attack by some gang or other. Any money in that purse? Tenshilling note, sixpence and a few coppersoh! Well, the other woman may have had more on her. Shes very well off, you know. Held up for ransom, I shouldnt wonder. Parker bent down and very gingerly enfolded the spanner in a silk handkerchief, carrying it slung by the four corners. Well, wed better spread about and have a look for the car. Better try that belt of trees over there. Looks a likely spot. And, HopkinsI think youd better run back with our car to Crows Beach and let em know at the station, and come back with a photographer. And take this wire and send it to the Chief Commissioner at Scotland Yard, and find a doctor and bring him along with you. And youd better hire another car while youre about it, in case we dont find the Austinwe shall be too many to get away in this one. Take Alf back with you if youre not sure of finding the place again. Oh! and Hopkins, fetch us along something to eat and drink, will you, we may be at it a long time. Heres some moneythat enough? Yes, thank you, sir. The constable went off, taking Alf, who was torn between a desire to stay and do some more detecting, and the pride and glory of being first back with the news. Parker gave a few words of praise for his valuable assistance which filled him with delight, and then turned to the Chief Constable. They obviously went off in this direction. Would you bear away to the left, sir, and enter the trees from that end, and Peter, will you bear to the right and work through from the other end, while I go straight up the middle? The Chief Constable, who seemed a good deal shaken by the discovery of the body, obeyed without a word. Wimsey caught Parker by the arm. I say, he said, have you looked at the wound? Something funny, isnt there? There ought to be more mess, somehow. What do you think? Im not thinking anything for the moment, said Parker, a little grimly. Well wait for the doctors report. Come on, Steve! We want to dig out that car. Lets have a look at the cap. Hm. Sold by a gentleman of the Jewish persuasion, resident in Stepney. Almost new. Smells strongly of Californian Poppyrather a swell sort of gangsman, apparently. Quite one of the lads of the village. Yeswe ought to be able to trace that. Thank Heaven, they always overlook something. Well, wed better get along. The search for the car presented no difficulties. Parker stumbled upon it almost as soon as he got in under the trees. There was a clearing, with a little rivulet of water running through it, beside which stood the missing Austin. There were other trees here, mingled with the pines, and the water made an elbow and spread into a shallow pool, with a kind of muddy beach. The hood of the car was up, and Parker approached with an uncomfortable feeling that there might be something disagreeable inside, but it was empty. He tried the gears. They were in neutral and the handbrake was on. On the seat was a handkerchiefa large linen handkerchief, very grubby and with no initials or laundrymark. Parker grunted a little over the criminals careless habit of strewing his belongings about. He came round in front of the car and received immediate further proof of carelessness. For on the mud there were footmarkstwo mens and a womans, it seemed. The woman had got out of the car firsthe could see where the left heel had sunk heavily in as she extricated herself from the low seat. Then the right footless heavilythen she had staggered a little and started to run. But one of the men had been there to catch her. He had stepped out of the bracken in shoes with new rubbers on them, and there were some scuffling marks as though he had held her and she had tried to break away. Finally, the second man, who seemed to possess rather narrow feet and to wear the longtoed boots affected by Jew boys of the louder sorthad come after her from the carthe marks of his feet were clear, crossing and halfobliterating hers. All three had stood together for a little. Then the tracks moved away, with those of the woman in the middle, and led up to where the mark of a Michelin balloon tyre showed clearly. The tyres on the Austin were ordinary Dunlopsbesides, this was obviously a bigger car. It had apparently stood there for some little time, for a little pool of engineoil had dripped from the crankcase. Then the bigger car had moved off, down a sort of ride that led away through the trees. Parker followed it for a little distance, but the tracks soon became lost in a thick carpet of pineneedles. Still, there was no other road for a car to take. He turned to the Austin to investigate further. Presently shouts told him that the other two were converging upon the centre of the wood. He called back and before long Wimsey and Sir Charles Pillington came crashing towards him through the bracken which fringed the pines. Well, said Wimsey, I imagine we may put down this elegant bit of purple headgear to the gentleman in the slim boots. Bright yellow, I fancy, with buttons. He must be lamenting his beautiful cap. The womans footprints belong to Mary Whittaker, I take it. I suppose so. I dont see how they can be the Findlater girls. This woman went or was taken off in the car. They are certainly not Vera Findlatersthere was no mud on her shoes when we found her. Oh! you were taking notice, then. I thought you were feeling a bit dead to the world. So I was, old dear, but I cant help noticin things, though moribund. Hullo! whats this? He put his hand down behind the cushions of the car and pulled out an American magazinethat monthly collection of mystery and sensational fiction published under the name of The Black Mask. Light reading for the masses, said Parker. Brought by the gentleman in the yellow boots, perhaps, suggested the Chief Constable. More likely by Miss Findlater, said Wimsey. Hardly a ladys choice, said Sir Charles, in a pained tone. Oh, I dunno. From all I hear, Miss Whittaker was dead against sentimentality and roses round the porch, and the other poor girl copied her in everything. They might have a boyish taste in fiction. Well, its not very important, said Parker. Wait a bit. Look at this. Somebodys been making marks on it. Wimsey held out the cover for inspection. A thick pencilmark had been drawn under the first two words of the title. Do you think its some sort of message? Perhaps the book was on the seat, and she contrived to make the marks unnoticed and shove it away here before they transferred her to the other car. Ingenious, said Sir Charles, but what does it mean? The Black. It makes no sense. Perhaps the longtoed gentleman was a nigger, suggested Parker. Nigger taste runs rather to boots and hairoil. Or possibly a Hindu or Parsee of sorts. God bless my soul, said Sir Charles, horrified, an English girl in the hands of a nigger. How abominable! Well, well hope it isnt so. Shall we follow the road out or wait for the doctor to arrive? Better go back to the body, I think, said Parker. Theyve got a long start of us, and half an hour more or less in following them up wont make much odds. They turned from the translucent cool greenness of the little wood back on to the downs. The streamlet clacked merrily away over the pebbles, running out to the southwest on its way to the river and the sea. Its all very well your chattering, said Wimsey to the water. Why cant you say what youve seen? XXI By What Means? Death hath so many doors to let out life. Beaumont and Fletcher Custom of the Country The doctor turned out to be a plumpish, fussy manand what Wimsey impatiently called a Tutster. He tutted over the mangled head of poor Vera Findlater as though it was an attack of measles after a party or a selfprovoked fit of the gout. Tst, tst, tst. A terrible blow. How did we come by that, I wonder? Tst, tst. Life extinct? Oh, for several days, you know. Tst, tstwhich makes it so much more painful, of course. Dear me, how shocking for her poor parents. And her sisters. They are very agreeable girls; you know them, of course, Sir Charles. Yes. Tst, tst. There is no doubt, I suppose, said Parker, that it is Miss Findlater. None whatever, said Sir Charles. Well, as you can identify her, it may be possible to spare the relatives the shock of seeing her like this. Just a moment, doctorthe photographer wants to record the position of the body before you move anything. Now, Mr.Andrews?yeshave you ever done any photographs of this kind before? No?well, you mustnt be upset by it! I know its rather unpleasant. One from here, please, to show the position of the bodynow from the top of the bankthats rightnow one of the wound itselfa closeup view, please. Yes. Thank you. Now, doctor, you can turn her over, pleaseIm sorry, Mr. AndrewsI know exactly how you are feeling, but these things have to be done. Hullo! look how her arms are all scratched about. Looks as if shed put up a bit of a fight. The right wrist and left elbowas though someone had been trying to hold her down. We must have a photograph of the marks, Mr. Andrewsthey may be important. I say, doctor, what do you make of this on the face? The doctor looked as though he would have preferred not to make so much as an examination of the face. However, with many tuts he worked himself up to giving an opinion. As far as one can tell, with all these postmortem changes, he ventured, it looks as though the face had been roughened or burnt about the nose and lips. Yet there is no appearance of the kind on the bridge of the nose, neck or forehead. Tst, tstotherwise I should have put it down to severe sunburn. How about chloroform burns? suggested Parker. Tst, tst, said the doctor, annoyed at not having thought of this himselfI wish you gentlemen of the police force would not be quite so abrupt. You want everything decided in too great a hurry. I was about to remarkif you had not anticipated methat since I could not put the appearance down to sunburn, there remains some such possibility as you suggest. I cant possibly say that it is the result of chloroformmedical pronouncements of that kind cannot be hastily made without cautious investigationbut I was about to remark that it might be. In that case, put in Wimsey, could she have died from the effects of the chloroform? Supposing she was given too much or that her heart was weak? My good sir, said the doctor, deeply offended this time, look at that blow upon the head, and ask yourself whether it is necessary to suggest any other cause of death. Moreover, if she had died of the chloroform, where would be the necessity for the blow? That is exactly what I was wondering, said Wimsey. I suppose, went on the doctor, you will hardly dispute my medical knowledge? Certainly not, said Wimsey, but as you say, it is unwise to make any medical pronouncement without cautious investigation. And this is not the place for it, put in Parker, hastily. I think we have done all there is to do here. Will you go with the body to the mortuary, doctor. Mr. Andrews, I shall be obliged if you will come and take a few photographs of some footmarks and so on up in the wood. The light is bad, Im afraid, but we must do our best. He took Wimsey by the arm. The man is a fool, of course, he said, but we can get a second opinion. In the meantime, we had better let it be supposed that we accept the surface explanation of all this. What is the difficulty? asked Sir Charles, curiously. Oh, nothing much, replied Parker. All the appearances are in favour of the girls having been attacked by a couple of ruffians, who have carried Miss Whittaker off with a view to ransom, after brutally knocking Miss Findlater on the head when she offered resistance. Probably that is the true explanation. Any minor discrepancies will doubtless clear themselves up in time. We shall know better when we have had a proper medical examination. They returned to the wood, where photographs were taken and careful measurements made of the footprints. The Chief Constable followed these activities with intense interest, looking over Parkers shoulder as he entered the particulars in his notebook. I say, he said, suddenly, isnt it rather odd Heres somebody coming, broke in Parker. The sound of a motorcycle being urged in second gear over the rough ground proved to be the herald of a young man armed with a camera. Oh, God! groaned Parker. The damned Press already. He received the journalist courteously enough, showing him the wheeltracks and the footprints, and outlining the kidnapping theory as they walked back to the place where the body was found. Can you give us any idea, Inspector, of the appearance of the two wanted men? Well, said Parker, one of them appears to be something of a dandy; he wears a loathsome mauve cap and narrow pointed shoes, and, if those marks on the magazine cover mean anything, one or other of the men may possibly be a coloured man of some kind. Of the second man, all we can definitely say is that he wears number 10 shoes, with rubber heels. I was going to say, said Pillington, that,  propos de bottes, it is rather remarkable And this is where we found the body of Miss Findlater, went on Parker, ruthlessly. He described the injuries and the position of the body, and the journalist gratefully occupied himself with taking photographs, including a group of Wimsey, Parker and the Chief Constable standing among the gorsebushes, while the latter majestically indicated the fatal spot with his walkingstick. And now youve got what you want, old son, said Parker, benevolently, buzz off, wont you, and tell the rest of the boys. Youve got all we can tell you, and weve got other things to do beyond granting special interviews. The reporter asked no better. This was tantamount to making his information exclusive, and no Victorian matron could have a more delicate appreciation of the virtues of exclusiveness than a modern newspaper man. Well now, Sir Charles, said Parker, when the man had happily chugged and popped himself away, what were you about to say in the matter of the footprints? But Sir Charles was offended. The Scotland Yard man had snubbed him and thrown doubt on his discretion. Nothing, he replied. I feel sure that my conclusions would appear very elementary to you. And he preserved a dignified silence throughout the return journey. The Whittaker case had begun almost imperceptibly, in the overhearing of a casual remark dropped in a Soho restaurant; it ended amid a roar of publicity that shook England from end to end and crowded even Wimbledon into the second place. The bare facts of the murder and kidnapping appeared exclusively that night in a Late Extra edition of the Evening Views. Next morning it sprawled over the Sunday papers with photographs and full details, actual and imaginary. The idea of two English girlsthe one brutally killed, the other carried off for some end unthinkably sinister, by a black manaroused all the passion of horror and indignation of which the English temperament is capable. Reporters swarmed down upon Crows Beach like locuststhe downs near Shelly Head were like a fair with motors, bicycles and parties on foot, rushing out to spend a happy weekend amid surroundings of mystery and bloodshed. Parker, who with Wimsey had taken rooms at the Green Lion, sat answering the telephone and receiving the letters and wires which descended upon him from all sides, with a stalwart policeman posted at the end of the passage to keep out all intruders. Wimsey fidgeted about the room, smoking cigarette after cigarette in his excitement. This time weve got them, he said. Theyve overreached themselves, thank God! Yes. But have a little patience, old man. We cant lose thembut we must have all the facts first. Youre sure those fellows have got Mrs. Forrest safe? Oh, yes. She came back to the flat on Monday nightor so the garage man says. Our men are shadowing her continually and will let us know the moment anybody comes to the flat. Monday night! Yes. But thats no proof in itself. Monday night is quite a usual time for weekenders to return to Town. Besides, I dont want to frighten her till we know whether shes the principal or merely the accomplice. Look here, Peter, Ive had a message from another of our men. Hes been looking into the finances of Miss Whittaker and Mrs. Forrest. Miss Whittaker has been drawing out big sums, ever since last December year in cheques to Self, and these correspond almost exactly, amount for amount, with sums which Mrs. Forrest has been paying into her own account. That woman has had a big hold over Miss Whittaker, ever since old Miss Dawson died. Shes in it up to the neck, Peter. I knew it. Shes been doing the jobs while the Whittaker woman held down her alibi in Kent. For Gods sake, Charles, make no mistake. Nobodys life is safe for a second while either of them is at large. When a woman is wicked and unscrupulous, said Parker, sententiously, she is the most ruthless criminal in the worldfifty times worse than a man, because she is always so much more singleminded about it. Theyre not troubled with sentimentality, thats why, said Wimsey, and we poor mutts of men stuff ourselves up with the idea that theyre romantic and emotional. All punk, my son. Damn that phone! Parker snatched up the receiver. Yesyesspeaking. Good God, you dont say so. All right. Yes. Yes, of course you must detain him. I think myself its a plant, but he must be held and questioned. And see that all the papers have it. Tell em youre sure hes the man. See? Soak it well into em that thats the official view. Andwait a momentI want photographs of the cheque and of any fingerprints on it. Send em down immediately by a special messenger. Its genuine, I suppose? The Bank people say it is? Good! Whats his story?  Oh!  any envelope?Destroyed?Silly devil. Right. Right. Goodbye. He turned to Wimsey with some excitement. Hallelujah Dawson walked into Lloyds Bank in Stepney yesterday morning and presented Mary Whittakers cheque for 10,000, drawn on their Leahampton branch to Bearer, and dated Friday 24th. As the sum was such a large one and the story of the disappearance was in Friday nights paper, they asked him to call again. Meanwhile, they communicated with Leahampton. When the news of the murder came out yesterday evening, the Leahampton manager remembered about it and phoned the Yard, with the result that they sent round this morning and had Hallelujah up for a few inquiries. His story is that the cheque arrived on Saturday morning, all by itself in an envelope, without a word of explanation. Of course the old juggins chucked the envelope away, so that we cant verify his tale or get a line on the postmark. Our people thought the whole thing looked a bit fishy, so Hallelujah is detained pending investigationin other words, arrested for murder and conspiracy! Poor old Hallelujah! Charles, this is simply devilish! That innocent, decent old creature, who couldnt harm a fly. I know. Well, hes in for it and will have to go through with it. Its all the better for us. Hells bells, theres somebody at the door. Come in. Its Dr. Faulkner to see you, sir, said the constable, putting his head in. Oh, good. Come in, doctor. Have you made your examination? I have, Inspector. Very interesting. You were quite right. Ill tell you that much straight away. Im glad to hear that. Sit down and tell us all about it. Ill be as brief as possible, said the doctor. He was a London man, sent down by Scotland Yard, and accustomed to police worka lean, grey badger of a man, businesslike and keeneyed, the direct opposite of the tutster who had annoyed Parker the evening before. Well, first of all, the blow on the head had, of course, nothing whatever to do with the death. You saw yourself that there had been next to no bleeding. The wound was inflicted some time after deathno doubt to create the impression of an attack by a gang. Similarly with the cuts and scratches on the arms. They are the merest camouflage. Exactly. Your colleague My colleague, as you call him, is a fool, snorted the doctor. If thats a specimen of his diagnosis, I should think there would be a high deathrate in Crows Beach. Thats by the way. You want the cause of death? Chloroform? Possibly. I opened the body but found no special symptoms suggestive of poisoning or anything. I have removed the necessary organs and sent them to Sir James Lubbock for analysis at your suggestion, but candidly I expect nothing from that. There was no odour of chloroform on opening the thorax. Either the time elapsed since the death was too long, as is very possible, seeing how volatile the stuff is, or the dose was too small. I found no indications of any heart weakness, so that, to produce death in a healthy young girl, chloroform would have had to be administered over a considerable time. Do you think it was administered at all? Yes, I think it was. The burns on the face certainly suggest it. That would also account for the handkerchief found in the car, said Wimsey. I suppose, pursued Parker, that it would require considerable strength and determination to administer chloroform to a strong young woman. She would probably resist strenuously. She would, said the doctor, grimly, but the odd thing is, she didnt. As I said before, all the marks of violence were inflicted postmortem. Suppose she had been asleep at the time, suggested Wimsey, couldnt it have been done quietly then? Oh, yeseasily. After a few long breaths of the stuff she would become semiconscious and then could be more firmly dealt with. It is quite possible, I suppose, that she fell asleep in the sunshine, while her companion wandered off and was kidnapped, and that the kidnappers then came along and got rid of Miss Findlater. That seems a little unnecessary, said Parker. Why come back to her at all? Do you suggest that they both fell asleep and were both set on and chloroformed at the same time? It sounds rather unlikely. I dont. Listen, doctoronly keep this to yourself. He outlined the history of their suspicions about Mary Whittaker, to which the doctor listened in horrified amazement. What happened, said Parker, as we think, is this. We think that for some reason Miss Whittaker had determined to get rid of this poor girl who was so devoted to her. She arranged that they should go off for a picnic and that it should be known where they were going to. Then, when Vera Findlater was dozing in the sunshine, our theory is that she murdered hereither with chloroform ormore likely, I fancyby the same method that she used upon her other victims, whatever that was. Then she struck her on the head and produced the other appearances suggestive of a struggle, and left on the bushes a cap which she had previously purchased and stained with brilliantine. I am, of course, having the cap traced. Miss Whittaker is a tall, powerful womanI dont think it would be beyond her strength to inflict that blow on an unresisting body. But how about those footmarks in the wood? Im coming to that. There are one or two very odd things about them. To begin with, if this was the work of a secret gang, why should they go out of their way to pick out the one damp, muddy spot in twenty miles of country to leave their footprints in, when almost anywhere else they could have come and gone without leaving any recognisable traces at all? Good point, said the doctor. And I add to that, that they must have noticed theyd left a cap behind. Why not come back and remove it? Exactly. Then again. Both pairs of shoes left prints entirely free from the marks left by wear and tear. I mean that there were no signs of the heels or soles being worn at all, while the rubbers on the larger pair were obviously just out of the shop. We shall have the photographs here in a moment, and you will see. Of course, its not impossible that both men should be wearing brand new shoes, but on the whole its unlikely. It is, agreed the doctor. And now we come to the most suggestive thing of all. One of the supposed men had very much bigger feet than the other, from which you would expect a taller and possibly heavier man with a longer stride. But on measuring the footprints, what do we find? In all three casesthe big man, the little man and the womanwe have exactly the same length of stride. Not only that, but the footprints have sunk into the ground to precisely the same depth, indicating that all three people were of the same weight. Now, the other discrepancies might pass, but that is absolutely beyond the reach of coincidence. Dr. Faulkner considered this for a moment. Youve proved your point, he said at length. I consider that absolutely convincing. It struck even Sir Charles Pillington, who is none too bright, said Parker. I had the greatest difficulty in preventing him from blurting out the extraordinary agreement of the measurements to that Evening Views man. You think, then, that Miss Whittaker had come provided with these shoes and produced the tracks herself. Yes, returning each time through the bracken. Cleverly done. She had made no mistake about superimposing the footprints.