The mysterious woman in the big hat was still the chief subject of leading articles in the papers, coupled with that of the ineptitude of the police who could not discover her. There were caricatures and picture post-cards in all the shop windows of a gigantic hat covering the whole figure of its wearer, only the feet, and a very long and pointed chin, protruding from beneath the enormous brim. Below was the device, “Who is she? Ask the police?” One day--it was the second since the discharge of Miss Löwenthal--my dear lady came into my room beaming. It was the first time I had seen her smile for more than a week, and already I had guessed what it was that had cheered her. “Good news, Mary,” she said gaily. “At last I’ve got the chief to let me have a free hand. Oh, dear! what a lot of argument it takes to extricate that man from the tangled meshes of red tape!” “What are you going to do?” I asked. “Prove that my theory is right as to who murdered Mark Culledon,” she replied seriously; “and as a preliminary we’ll go and ask his servants at Lorbury House a few questions.” It was then three o’clock in the afternoon. At Lady Molly’s bidding, I dressed somewhat smartly, and together we went off in a taxi to Fitzjohn’s Avenue. Lady Molly had written a few words on one of her cards, urgently requesting an interview with Lady Irene Culledon. This she handed over to the man-servant who opened the door at Lorbury House. A few moments later we were sitting in the cosy boudoir. The young widow, high-bred and dignified in her tight-fitting black gown, sat opposite to us, her white hands folded demurely before her, her small head, with its very close coiffure, bent in closest attention towards Lady Molly. “I most sincerely hope, Lady Irene,” began my dear lady, in her most gentle and persuasive voice, “that you will look with all possible indulgence on my growing desire--shared, I may say, by all my superiors at Scotland Yard--to elucidate the mystery which still surrounds your late husband’s death.” Lady Molly paused, as if waiting for encouragement to proceed. The subject must have been extremely painful to the young widow; nevertheless she responded quite gently: “I can understand that the police wish to do their duty in the matter; as for me, I have done all, I think, that could be expected of me. I am not made of iron, and after that day in the police court----” She checked herself, as if afraid of having betrayed more emotion than was consistent with good breeding, and concluded more calmly: “I cannot do any more.” “I fully appreciate your feelings in the matter,” said Lady Molly, “but you would not mind helping us--would you?--in a passive way, if you could, by some simple means, further the cause of justice.” “What is it you want me to do?” asked Lady Irene. “Only to allow me to ring for two of your maids and to ask them a few questions. I promise you that they shall not be of such a nature as to cause you the slightest pain.”