"He's been, has he?" I said, keeping up the deception to allay the man's suspicions. "I must try and see him." "He lives in Jermyn Street, you know." "Yes; I shall go there." But I did not go to Jermyn Street at once; I went to see Quarles. "I'm perplexed, Wigan," said the professor before I could utter a word. "I've seen a man with a stiletto driven into his neck, yet, as soon as I begin to think of the murderer, something seems to tell me it wasn't murder." I smiled at his foolishness and told him what I had done. "What time to-day did this Mr. Marsh first go to River Mansions?" Quarles asked when I had finished. "The porter didn't say." "They're not expensive flats, are they?" "No." "You've got on the trail cleverly, but you haven't proved it murder yet," he said. "The first question Zena asked me was whether I was certain the stiletto wasn't a hatpin." "There might be a pair, and so it would be a clew," explained Zena. "It was too much of a weapon for a hatpin," I said. "Exactly my answer," said Quarles, "and Zena went and fetched that thing lying on the writing-table. That came from Norway and is a hatpin, though you might not think it." It was indeed a fearsome looking weapon, and a deadly stroke might be dealt with it. "I'm perplexed, Wigan," the professor went on. "I'm a man in a wood and can't find my way out. That is literal rather than a figure of speech. In my endeavor to get out and look for a murderer I seem to keep on hurting myself against the trunks and branches of trees, and out of the darkness about me wild animals seem to roar with laughter at my idea of murder. What do you make of it?" "You have been reading some ancient mythology, dear," said Zena, "and I expect the great god Pan has got on your nerves. Didn't a solemn voice from the Ionian Sea proclaim him to be dead? Perhaps he isn't." Quarles looked at her and nodded. "Come out of the wood, professor," I said, "and we'll go and interview Marsh in Jermyn Street." Knowing him as I did, I had no doubt that he had formed a theory, and, until he had found whether there were any facts to support it, was pleased to play the fool. I was rather angry, but showing annoyance served no useful purpose with him. He was keen enough when we found Percival Marsh at home. There are scores like Percival Marsh in London; no great harm in them, certainly no great good; chiefly idlers, always spendthrifts, who may end by settling down into decent citizens or may go completely to the devil. It was quite evident he took us for duns when we entered, but there was no mistaking his concern when I told him we had come to talk about Miss Wickham. "I called upon her this afternoon," I said. "She was not at home. You will not be surprised, since I hear you have been there several times to-day." "Why did you call upon her?" "To ask why she went to see Mr. Seligmann, of Hampstead, on Saturday night." "Did she go there?"