Was Albert Mensmore Sydney H. Corbett? Was he Mrs. Hillmer's brother? The "Bertie" she had spoken of meant Albert as well as a hypothetical Herbert. Mensmore was an old schoolfellow of Sir Charles Dyke's. In all probability he knew Lady Dyke as well. He lived in Raleigh Mansions under an assumed name, and quitted his abode two days after the murder. Every circumstance pointed to the terrible assumption that at Mensmore's hands the unfortunate lady met her death. And Bruce had sworn to avenge her memory! He laughed with savage mirth as he reflected that he himself had helped this man to escape the punishment of Providence, self-inflicted. It was, indeed, pitifully amusing to think how the clever detective had used his powers to befool himself. The very openness of the clue had helped to conceal it the more effectually. Were it not for Dodge and his Springboks he might have gone on indefinitely covering up the criminal's tracks by his own friendly actions. The situation was maddening, intolerable. Bruce wanted to seize the reins and flog the horse into a mad gallop through the traffic as a relief to his feelings. Blissfully unconscious of the living volcano he carried within, the cabby on the perch did not indulge in any such illegal antics. He quietly drove along the Embankment and delivered his seething fare at his Victoria-street chambers. Quite oblivious of commonplace affairs, the barrister threw a shilling to the driver and darted out. The man gazed at his Majesty's image with the air of one who had never before seen such a coin. It might have been a Greek obolus, so utter was his blank astonishment. But Bruce was across the pavement, and cabby had to find words, else it would be too late. "Here guv'nor," he yelled, "what the ballyhooley do you call this?" "What's the matter?" was the impatient query. "Matter!" The cabman looked towards the sky to see if the heavens were falling. "Matter!" in a higher key, as a crowd began to gather. "I tykes him from Leaden'all Street to Victoria. 'E gives me a bob, an' 'e arsks me wot's the matter. I'd been on the ranks four bloomin' hours--" "Oh, there you are!" and Bruce threw him half-a-crown before he disappeared up the steps. Mr. White was watching for Bruce's arrival. He wondered why the barrister was so perturbed, and resolved to strike while the iron was hot. So he, too, vanished into the interior. CHAPTER XIII A QUESTION OF PRINCIPLE "If any one calls, I am out," cried Claude to his factotum, as he crossed the entrance-hall of his well-appointed flat, and flung open the door of his library. "The guv'nor's in a tantrum," observed Smith to his wife, and he settled himself to renew the perusal of Grand National training reports. He had just noticed the interesting fact that last year's winner had "jumped in for the last mile" in a gallop given to a rank outsider, when the electric bell upset his calculations.