“The epidemic of small-pox in County Mayo, Ireland, shows few signs of abating. The spread of the disease has been very remarkable considering the widely-scattered nature of the population, though there can be no doubt that the market-towns are the centres of infection, and that it is from these that the germs of contagion are carried into the country by people from all parts who resort thither on market days. In many cases the disease has assumed a particularly malignant form, and deaths have been very rapid and numerous. The comparatively few medical men available are sadly overworked, owing largely to the distances separating their different patients. Among those who have succumbed within the last few days is Mr. Algernon Rewse, a young English gentleman who has been staying with a friend at a cottage a few miles from Cullanin, on a fishing excursion.” [Illustration: ALGERNON REWSE.] Hewitt placed the cutting on the table at his side. “Yes?” he said inquiringly. “It is to Mr. Algernon Rewse’s death you wish to draw my attention?” “It is,” Mr. Bowyer answered; “and the reason I come to you is that I very much suspect--more than suspect, indeed--that Mr. Algernon Rewse has _not_ died by small-pox, but has been murdered--murdered cold-bloodedly, and for the most sordid motives, by the friend who has been sharing his holiday.” “In what way do you suppose him to have been murdered?” “That I cannot say--that, indeed, I want you to find out, among other things--chiefly, perhaps, the murderer himself, who has made off.” “And your own status in the matter,” queried Hewitt, “is that of--?”