“Forge a cheque--what do you mean? I don’t understand what you are talking about.” For a moment Ena was nonplussed. If this girl did not know about the forgery, what was agitating her? The solution of this minor mystery came in a flash. It was the murder! Kenneth was in it! She went cold at the thought. “Oh, my God! I didn’t think of that!” she gasped. “Tell me about this forgery----” began Margot, and then her visitor remembered her errand. “I want you to come along and see Kenneth. He’s waiting for you at my flat--naturally he can’t come here. He’ll tell you everything.” Margot was bewildered. “Of course I’ll come, but----” “Don’t ‘but’, my dear--just slip into your things and come along. Kenneth told me to ask you to bring all the keys you have--he said they can prove his innocence----” “Dear, dear, dear!” said a gentle voice, and Ena flung round, to face the man who had come into the room. She was trapped and knew it. That old devil! “The key of the larder now, would that be of any use to you?” asked Mr. Reeder in his jocular mood. “Or the key of Wormwood Scrubbs?” “Hullo, Reeder!” The girl was coolness itself. “I thought you were alone, young lady. I did not know you were entertaining Mr. and Mrs. Reeder.” Such an outrageous statement made Mr. Reeder blush, but it did not confuse him. Nor did Mrs. Grible seem particularly distressed. “This lady is Mrs. Grible, of my department,” he said gravely. “She must have some use,” said Ena. She picked up her coat which she had taken off. “I’ll ’phone you later, Miss Lynn.” “The cells at Bow Street police station are hygienically equipped, but they have no telephones,” said Mr. Reeder, and for the first time in many years Ena lost her nerve. “What’s the idea--cells?” she demanded loudly. “You’ve got nothing on me----” “We shall see--will you step this way?” He opened the door of the drawing-room. “I should like to have a few words with you.” He heard a knock at the outer door and looked at Margot. “I shall be on hand,” he said. She went to the door--and fell back at the sight of her visitor. It was Kenneth McKay. He looked at her gravely, and without a word took her into his arms and kissed her. He had never kissed her that way before. “Can I see you?” She nodded and took him back to her room. The other three had disappeared. “It is only right that you should know, darling, that I’m in terrible trouble. I’ve just come from home, and I suppose the police are after me. They may be after my father, too. He knew Wentford--hated him. I didn’t dream that----” “Ken--what about you? Why do the police want you?” He looked at her steadily.