And this was the story told by Mrs. Morrice, as she sat facing Lane in the small but elegantly-furnished room of her friend Alma Buckley’s flat. She told it throughout in a low voice which now and then broke down, indicating that she was on the verge of tears. For the most part it flowed forth in a continuous narrative, but now and then she paused to answer some question, to give fuller details of some incident, at the detective’s request. She informed him at the beginning that although Miss Buckley knew much—she did not know everything—that she was ignorant of the robberies. Lane thought better of the music-hall artist after that. From the readiness to tell a lie, he had judged her to be a fairly unscrupulous woman, with full knowledge of her friend’s criminal acts, probably drawing a handsome share of the proceeds. It was evident that she drew the line at actual lawbreaking. Lettice Larchester and her father had gone straight to London after leaving Brinkstone, and established themselves in some cheap lodgings in the Fulham district. Larchester had left the quiet little village for more than one reason. For one thing he had grown tired of it, had become weary of the ignorant people who frequented the bar of the Brinkstone Arms, his visits to which constituted his sole social recreation. Then the inspiration which he first derived from the charming scenery around had waned in its intensity, and stimulated him no longer. He was also rather weary of working continually at the one theme of landscape, and trusted that by moving to London he might break fresh ground amongst dealers and infuse variety into his rather monotonous art. This hope was not realized to any considerable extent. For the first three months he displayed a certain feverish activity both in the business and the artistic side of his calling, with decidedly beneficial results to his exchequer. He was fairly moderate in his use of alcohol; out of every payment he received for a picture he put a small proportion in the Savings Bank for “a rainy day” as he announced with importance to his hopeful daughter, who really began to believe he had made up his mind to turn over a new leaf. Alas, at the end of those three comparatively bright months, the old deterioration set in, the old dissolute habits once again assumed mastery of his relaxed will power. He had long bouts of intemperance, during which he could not do a stroke of work. By degrees the small savings were withdrawn from the bank to pay rent and purchase the bare necessities of life.