“And Mr. Loveday never came before? Does he ask after your mistress?” “Well, of course he always wants to know if she’s been heard of. It’s only civil, sir.” She stopped and stared at Reggie. “I suppose he does talk a deal about the mistress,” she said slowly. “When he ought to be talking about you,” Reggie murmured. The parlourmaid looked frightened. “But it’s as if he was always expecting some news of her,” she protested. “Oh, is it!” said Inspector Oxtoby, and Reggie frowned at him. “Yes, it is!” she cried. “And I don’t care what you say. And a good mistress she was”--she began to weep again, and was incoherent. “I’m sure she was,” Reggie said, “and you’re fond of her. That’s why we’re here, you know. You want to help her, don’t you? When was Mr. Loveday going to meet you again?” Through sobs it was stated that Mr. Loveday had said he would be by the little gate at his usual time that night. “Well, I don’t want you to see him, Gladys,” said Reggie gently. “You’re to stay indoors like a good girl. Don’t say anything to anybody and you’ll be all right.” On that they left her, and Reggie, taking Bell’s arm as they crossed the garden, murmured, “I like Gladys. She’s a pleasant shape. This job’s opening out, Bell, isn’t it?” “It beats me,” said Bell. “What’s the fellow after?” “He knows something,” said Oxtoby. “And he’s not quite sure what he knows,” said Reggie. “Well, well. An early dinner is indicated. It’s a hard world. Come and dine with me.” That night as it grew dark the chauffeur stood by the little gate of Sylvia Sheridan’s garden, an object of interest to three men behind a laurel hedge. He waited some time in vain. He lit a cigarette and exhibited for a moment a large flat face. He waited longer, opened the gate and approached the back of the house. “Better take him now,” said Reggie. “Loitering with intent. I’ll go down to the station.” Inspector Oxtoby, with Bell in support, closed upon the man in the kitchen garden. In the little office at Stanton police-station Albert Edward Loveday was charged with loitering about Miss Sheridan’s house with intent to commit a felony. He was loudly indignant, protesting that he had only gone to see his girl. He was told that he could say all that to the magistrates, and was removed still noisy. Mr. Fortune came out of the shadow. “I don’t take to Albert Edward,” he said. “I fear he’s a bit of a bully.” Bell nodded. “That’s his measure, sir. A chap generally shows what he’s made of when you get him in the charge room. I never could understand that. You’d think any fellow with a head on him would take care to hide what sort he is here. But they don’t seem as if they could help themselves.” “Most of the fellows you get in the charge room haven’t heads. I doubt if Albert Edward has. He looks as if he hadn’t thought things out.”