“I dare say it’ll be for Miss Weston.” “Taking her to Holloway at once? Well, well. I dare say it’s all for the best.” But Miss Weston was not to go without a noise. Mr. Ford saw to that. At the head of the stairs he conducted an altercation with Inspector Mordan in which defiance, abuse, and profane swearing were his chief arguments. It was beastly stupid and it was damned impudence to arrest Miss Weston, and it was also beastly impudence and damned stupid, and so forth. In the midst of which the wretched girl was shepherded by two detectives downstairs. “My God, you might as well arrest me!” Mr. Ford cried, in final desperation. “Perhaps I will,” said the Inspector heavily, and glowered at him. Mr. Ford paled and drew back. On the stairs below Miss Weston stopped and turned. “Oh, Edmund, don’t,” she said. “They can’t hurt me. You know they can’t.” Superintendent Bell drew Reggie aside. “Think that throws any light?” Reggie said. “Well, not a searchlight,” said the Superintendent. Miss Weston was driven off. Mr. Ford, looking dazed, came slowly downstairs, and to him went Gordon. “Better get her a solicitor, you know,” Gordon said. “By Jove, that’s it!” Mr. Ford cried, and plunged out. The Inspector and the Superintendent exchanged glances and looked at Gordon. “Why did you put him on to that, sir?” said the Superintendent. “Professional feeling, dear boy,” Gordon smiled. “Nice girl, ain’t it? I fancy my firm are Miss Bolton’s executors, and I fancy that bird is sole legatee.” The Superintendent pursed his lips. The Inspector laughed. “It grows, don’t it, sir? Just grows,” he said. “I would like to get on,” Reggie yawned. “That’s right,” said the Superintendent, and took the Inspector aside. Mr. Gordon, following Reggie to the boudoir, was distressed by the sight of the dead body, and said so. Reggie went on with his photography--first the stab in the throat, then the minor wounds, then the bruise on the shoulder. At which last Inspector Mordan found him. “Taking the wrong side, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Oh, I’m taking all sides. Ever try it?” Reggie said. “Well, have you done, doctor?” the little Jew broke in. “Can’t we have her covered up?” “I’ll have the body removed, sir. If the doctor has quite done.” said the Inspector. And so at last the body of Birdie Bolton was taken away to the mortuary, and Mr. Gordon, much relieved, flung open the windows and turned to his business, the secretaire and its papers. He worked quickly. . . . “Nothing there but love-letters. Wonder where she kept her will?” “There’s a safe in the bedroom, I think,” Reggie said. “You bet there is. She had all her jewels in the house, I know, and she had some good stuff, poor old girl. Well, come on; here’s her keys.”