“Isn’t it?” Mr. Gaylor was smiling. “So simple! I had the whole theory of the murders given to me to-night. McKay forged and uttered the note, and to cover up his crime killed Wentford.” “And you instantly arrested him?” “Am I a child in arms?” asked Gaylor reproachfully. “No, I questioned the lad. He doesn’t deny that he paid the moneylender, but says that the money came to him from some anonymous source. It arrived at his house by registered post. Poor young devil, he’s rattled to blazes! What are we waiting for now?” “A Gentleman Who Wants to Open a Box,” said Mr. Reeder mysteriously. (“Reeder releases his mysteries as a miser pays his dentist,” said Gaylor to the superintendent. “He knows I know all about the case--I admit he is very good and passes on most of the information he gets, but the old devil _will_ keep back the connecting links!” “Humour him,” said the superintendent.) CHAPTER IX Margot Lynn had spent a wretched and a weary day. The little city office which she occupied, and where she had conducted most of her uncle’s business, had become a place of bad dreams. She had never been very fond of her tyrannical relative, who, if he had paid her well, had extracted the last ounce of service from her. He was an inveterate speculator, and had made considerable monies from his operations on the Stock Exchange. It was she who had bought and sold on his telephoned instructions, she who put his money into a London bank. Over her head all the time he had held one weapon: she had an invalid mother in Italy dependent on his charity. All day long, people had been calling at the office. A detective had been there for two hours, taking a new statement; reporters had called in battalions, but these she had not seen. Mr. Reeder had supplied her with an outer guard, a hard-faced woman who held the pressmen at bay. But the police now knew everything there was to know about “Wentford’s” private affairs--except one thing. She was keeping faith with the dead in this respect, though every time she thought of her reservation her heart sank. She finished up her work and went home, leaving the building by a back door to avoid the patient reporters. They were waiting for her at her flat, but the hard-faced Mrs. Grible swept them away. Once safely in the flat, a difficulty arose. How could she tactfully and delicately dismiss the guard which Mr. Reeder had provided? She offered the woman tea, and Mrs. Grible, who said very little, embarrassed her by making it. “I’m greatly obliged to you and Mr. Reeder,” she said after the little meal. “I don’t think I ought to take up any more of your time----” “I’m staying until Mr. Reeder comes,” said the lady. Very meekly the girl accepted the situation. Mr. Reeder did not come until ten o’clock. Margot was half dead with weariness, and would have given her legacy to have undressed and gone to bed.