First, there was the question of the elderly female in the wide mantle, spoken of by Jane Turner as her assailant. It seems that someone answering to that description had called on the Friday at about one o’clock, and asked to see Miss Turner. The maid who answered the door replied that she thought Miss Turner had gone to Banwell. “Oh!” said the old dame, “she won’t have started yet. I am Miss Turner’s mother, and I was to call for her so that we might drive out together.” “Then p’r’aps Miss Turner is still in her room,” suggested the maid. “Shall I go and see?” “Don’t trouble,” replied the woman; “I know my way. I’ll go myself.” Whereupon the old dame walked past the servant, crossed the hall, and went upstairs. No one saw her come down again, but one of the lodgers seems to have heard a knock at Jane Turner’s door, and the female voice saying, “It’s me, Jane--may I come in?” What happened subsequently, who the mysterious old female was, and how and for what purpose she assaulted Jane Turner and robbed her of a few valueless articles, was the puzzle which faced the police then, and which--so far as the public is concerned--has never been solved. Jane Turner’s mother was in bed at the time suffering from a broken ankle and unable to move. The elderly woman was, therefore, an impostor, and the search after her--though keen and hot enough at the time, I assure you--has remained, in the eyes of the public, absolutely fruitless. But of this more anon. On the actual scene of the crime there was but little to guide subsequent investigation. The rope with which Jane Turner had been pinioned supplied no clue; the wool shawl was Miss Turner’s own, snatched up by the miscreant to smother the girl’s screams; on the floor was a handkerchief, without initial or laundry mark, which obviously had been saturated with chloroform; and close by a bottle which had contained the anæsthetic. A small table was overturned, and the articles which had been resting upon it were lying all around--such as a vase which had held a few flowers, a box of biscuits, and several issues of the _West of England Times_. And nothing more. The miscreant, having accomplished his fell purpose, succeeded evidently in walking straight out of the house unobserved; his exit being undoubtedly easily managed owing to it being the busy luncheon hour. Various theories were, of course, put forward by some of our ablest fellows at the Yard; the most likely solution being the guilt or, at least, the complicity of the girl’s sweetheart, Arthur Cutbush--a ne’er-do-well, who spent the greater part of his time on race-courses. Inspector Danvers, whom the chief had sent down to assist the local police, declared that Jane Turner herself suspected her sweetheart, and was trying to shield him by stating that she possessed nothing of any value; whereas, no doubt, the young blackguard knew that she had some money, and had planned this amazing _coup_ in order to rob her of it.