"Mr. Bruce, my friend was incapable of murdering any woman. He was equally incapable of conducting any discreditable _liaison_ with any woman. I have known him for years, and a straighter, truer, more honorable man I never met. I don't know what his reason was for assuming my name, which he undoubtedly did, as the agent called this morning, and I find the flat is taken in my name." "What did you say?" "Oh, just that Mensmore had acted for me. The man seemed a bit puzzled, but he didn't kick when I offered to pay up the rent owing since Christmas, and another quarter in advance." "I don't suppose he did. The rent was due, then?" "Yes. It seems that Mensmore, writing in my name, sent a letter from Monte Carlo a month ago, saying he would return about this time and settle up." "Thus proving his intention all along to come back to London. It is a queer muddle, Mr. Corbett, is it not?" "Very; but you will pardon me, as an outsider, saying one thing--you all appear to have overlooked a clear trail." "And what is that?" "What about Mrs. Hillmer? Who is she? Who are her friends? Who maintains her in such style? Bertie was with me four years and never mentioned her name. She could not have been rich by inheritance, as it was on account of their father going broke that Mensmore had to leave the Army and come to the States. It strikes me, Mr. Bruce, that the woman knows more about this affair than the man." "You may be right. But do not forget the absolute proofs we possess that the crime occurred in Mensmore's chambers, and the extraordinary coincidence that he left England immediately afterwards." "I am not forgetting anything. Those facts tell both ways. Just because he quitted the country at the time somebody may have tried to throw the blame on him." The theory was plausible, though Bruce could not accept it. Nevertheless, after Corbett had taken his departure he could not help thinking about his references to Mrs. Hillmer. That there was force in them he could not deny, and with the admission came the unpleasant thought that perhaps he, Bruce, was in some sense responsible for the neglect to clear up her antecedents. However, a few hours might explain much. With unwonted impatience the barrister awaited the coming of night. He tried every expedient to kill time, and found each operation tedious. He dined early, and as half-past seven came and passed he wondered why the detective did not appear. But his doubts on this point did not last long. "White is looking at Charing Cross to make sure of their arrival," he said to himself. At ten minutes to eight the detective came in hurriedly. "They will be here directly," he announced. "A servant has taken their luggage to Mrs. Hillmer's place, and they are evidently driving straight here after taking some refreshment at the station." "Have you no faith in human nature, Mr. White? Could you not trust their words?"