"I destroyed it," Marsh replied to my utter astonishment. "That is a pity. If Miss Wickham says she did not get those papers, it will be awkward for you. Could you swear the writing on the envelope was hers?" "They could have come from no one else." "And you think she murdered Seligmann to get them?" "I am not to be trapped into admitting anything of the sort." "As you will, Mr. Marsh. For my part, I expect this affair will open Miss Wickham's eyes to your--your true worth." And Quarles took up his hat and walked out of the room. I followed him. In the street he took off his glasses and put them in his pocket. They were the same he had worn that morning--a pair he did not often use. "The Honorable Percival Marsh is a worm," he remarked. "Now for Miss Wickham," said I. "There is no necessity to see her," said Quarles. "I dare say it is true what this worm says. She went to offer her talent cheap to Seligmann on condition that he would give her the papers. I can guess what happened. They talked over the bargain, but Seligmann refused to do what she wanted, and was able, probably, to show her that Marsh was a worthless scoundrel. Unless something of this sort had happened she would have written to Marsh to tell him she had been unsuccessful. I have little doubt Seligmann treated her in a fatherly manner, and then let her out through the garden, perhaps because he found the light in the hall was out. He returned to find--I am not sure yet what it was he found in his study, but nothing to alarm him, I am sure. To-morrow we will go to Maidenhead, Wigan, and see what servants are at the cottage." At noon next day we were in Maidenhead. There was a yard and coach house somewhat removed from the house, and a chauffeur was cleaning a car. In the corner of the yard lay a large dog of the boar-hound type, but I have never seen one quite like it before. "Is that dog savage?" Quarles asked. "He doesn't like strangers, as a rule," said the man, "but he's ill." "Foreign breed of dog, eh?" said Quarles, entering the yard. "Came from Russia." The professor looked puzzled. It was evident that something interfered with his theory. "Sorry to disturb you," he went on, "but we've come to ask a few questions about the awful circumstances of your master's death." "You're right, it is awful," said the man. "The mistress will go mad, that's what she'll do. I shouldn't have been surprised if she'd chucked herself out of the car as we came down this morning." "She has returned to the cottage, then? I suppose it was you who drove her up yesterday?" "Yes, and on Saturday I drove them both up as far as Colnbrook, and then something went wrong with the car. They had to go on by train." "How did she arrive home on Sunday morning, then?" "In a taxi." "And what did she do on Sunday?"