Dr. Japix was a bachelor, and therefore, by all the laws of domesticity, should have been badly served as far as regards home comforts; but then Dr. Japix had a good housekeeper so was served excellently well in every respect. For instance, his dinners were famous for the quality of the food and wines, as Fanks and his friend Axton found by practical experience when they dined with their unwedded host. He gave them a capital meal, undeniable wine, and as all three men were good conversationalists, they had a very delightful dinner. Afterwards, they went to the Doctor's study, a particularly comfortable room, and smoked wonderfully good cigars over first-rate coffee. The study was a private snuggery especially affected by the Doctor, who had in it all his books, a few comfortable chairs, an enticing-looking writing-table, some good etchings by eminent artists, and plenty of warm red draperies to keep out the cold winds so general in Ironfields. On this night there was a blazing fire in the polished grate, and around it sat Japix and his two guests, enjoying the soothing weed and talking about the Jarlchester case. Luckily, Japix was perfectly free on this special night, and unless some unexpected call should be made on him, was permitted by those hard laws which regulate the lives of medical men to enjoy his smoke and talk to his friends as he pleased. All three had plenty to say, and as the night wore on towards the small hours, they gradually began to talk of Melstane's murder, a topic to which everything had been tending for a considerable time. It is true that they had referred to it in a desultory fashion, but it was not until ten o'clock that they settled down to a steady analysis of the case. "Most extraordinary," said Japix, in his subdued roar; "reflects great credit on you, Fanks, for the way in which you have found it out." "I've not got to the end of my journey yet," replied Octavius, grimly, "so I won't holloa till I'm out of the wood." "You're out of the Jarlchester wood, at all events." "Yes, only to plunge into the deeper recesses of the Ironfields wood." "Well," said Axton, reflectively, "you've proved conclusively that I did not commit the crime." "You!" shouted Japix, in amazement. "Yes, I!" replied Roger, serenely. "Just fancy, Doctor, you are sitting with a suspected murderer." "Not now," remonstrated Fanks, good-humouredly; "if I did suspect you for a moment, you soon cleared yourself in my eyes. But you must admit things looked black against you." "So black," assented Axton, quickly, "that had the detective been any other than yourself, I should now be in prison awaiting my trial on a charge of attempted murder." "Possibly," answered Fanks, lighting a fresh cigar; "not only that but even probably. However, you have proved your innocence, and Spolger has proved his." "Did you suspect him also?" asked the Doctor, chuckling. "I thought as much from your questions to-day, Monsieur Fouché."