"Don't you see what all this amounts to? I have no option but to arrest Sir Charles Dyke for the murder of his wife." "That is a sad conclusion." "And do you believe he killed her?" "Strange as it may seem to you, I do not." "And I'm jiggered if I do either." "I--I am greatly obliged to you, White." Claude bent his head almost to his knees, and for some minutes there was complete silence. When he again looked at the detective there were tears in his eyes. "What can we do to unravel this tangled skein without creating untold mischief?" he murmured. "It beats me, sir," was the perplexed answer. "But when I came in I imagined that Jane Harding or some one had been to see you. Surely, you had learned something of all this before my arrival?" "Yes, indeed. I had reached your goal, but by a different route. Unfortunately, my discovery only goes to confirm yours." Bruce then told him of his visit to the lawyer's office, and its result. Mr. White listened to the recital with knitted brows. "It is very clear," he said, when the barrister had ended, "that Lady Dyke was killed in Mrs. Hillmer's flat, that Sir Charles knew of her death, that he himself conveyed the body to the river bank at Putney, and that ever since he has tried to throw dust in our eyes and prevent any knowledge of the true state of affairs reaching us." "Your summary cannot be disputed in the least particular." "Well, Mr. Bruce, we must do _something_. If you don't like to interfere, then _I_ must." "There is but one person in the world who can enlighten us as to the facts. That person obviously is Sir Charles Dyke himself." "Unquestionably." Bruce looked at his watch. It was 10.30 P.M. He rose. "Let us go to him," he said. "But he is not in London." "He is. I expect you will find that he gave orders for no one to be admitted, and told the servants to say he had left town to make the denial more emphatic." "It will be a terrible business, I fear, Mr. Bruce." "I dread it--on my soul I do. But I cannot shirk this final attempt to save my friend. My presence may tend to help forward a final and full explanation. No matter what the pain to myself, I must be present. Come, it is late already!" CHAPTER XXVIII SIR CHARLES DYKE'S JOURNEY The streets were comparatively deserted as they drove quickly up Whitehall and crossed the south side of Trafalgar Square. It is a common belief, even among Londoners themselves, that the traffic is dense in the main thoroughfares at all hours of the night until twelve o'clock has long past. But to the experienced eye there is a marked hiatus between half-past nine and eleven o'clock. At such a time Charing Cross is negotiable, Piccadilly Circus loses much of its terror, and a hansom may turn out of Regent Street into Oxford Street without the fare being impelled to clutch convulsively at the brass window-slide in a make-believe effort to save the vehicle from being crushed like a walnut shell between two heavy 'buses.