Apparently there had been several bitter quarrels between Mr. Carrthwaite and young Shuttleworth, culminating in one tempestuous scene, witnessed by the former’s servants at his villa; and although these people did not understand the actual words that passed between the two Englishmen, it was pretty clear that they amounted to an ultimatum on the one side and defiance on the other. The dismissal of the overseer followed immediately, and that same evening Mr. Carrthwaite was found murdered in his garden. Mind you--according to English ideas--the preliminary investigations in that mysterious crime were hurried through in a manner which we should think unfair to the accused. It seemed from the first as if the Sicilian police had wilfully made up their minds that Shuttleworth was guilty. For instance, although [IMAGE: images/img055.jpg CAPTION: “He had been found dead in the garden of his villa”] so many people were prepared to swear that the young English overseer had often worn a coat of which the piece found in the murdered man’s hand was undoubtedly a torn fragment, yet the coat itself was not found among his effects, neither were his late master’s watch and chain. Nevertheless, the young man was arrested within a few hours of the murder, and--after the formalities of the preliminary “instruction”--was duly committed to stand his trial on the capital charge. It was about this time that I severed my official connection with the Yard. Lady Molly now employed me as her private secretary, and I was working with her one day in the study of our snug little flat in Maida Vale, when our trim servant came in to us with a card and a letter on a salver. Lady Molly glanced at the card, then handed it across to me. It bore the name: Mr. Jeremiah Shuttleworth. The letter was from the chief. “Not much in it,” she commented, glancing rapidly at its contents. “The chief only says, ‘This is the father of the man who is charged with the Palermo murder. As obstinate as a mule, but you have my permission to do what he wants.’ Emily, show the gentleman in,” she added. The next moment a short, thick-set man entered our little study. He had sandy hair and a freckled skin; there was a great look of determination in the square face and a fund of dogged obstinacy in the broad, somewhat heavy jaw. In response to Lady Molly’s invitation he sat down and began with extraordinary abruptness: “I suppose you know what I have come about--er--miss?” he suggested. “Well!” she replied, holding up his own card, “I can guess.” “My son, miss--I mean ma’am,” he said in a husky voice. “He is innocent. I swear it by the living----” He checked himself, obviously ashamed of this outburst; then he resumed more calmly. “Of course, there’s the business about the coat, and that coat did belong to my son, but----” “Well, yes?” asked Lady Molly, for he had paused again, as if waiting to be encouraged in his narrative, “what about that coat?”