"I beg your Majesty to pardon my frankness of speech," I said, with the utmost deference, "and to accept my most earnest and heartfelt gratitude. I believe that already I know where to look for the man who has done this, and with your permission will at once set about the search. May I ask that the powers and services of the police may be placed at my disposal?" "You shall have anything and every thing you desire, Lord Glisfoyle. If you desire to leave at once the necessary authority shall be sent after you to your hotel." I bowed myself out then, and drove in hot haste to the Hotel de l’Opera in search of Mayhew. The news of the assassination of Quesada had reached the hotel, and I found them all in a mood of deep concern, and full of anxiety to learn the result of my long interview at the Palace. "I have not time for a word now, except that I have gained all I wished on one condition—that I trace the man who killed Quesada, and prove it murder and not a Carlist assassination." "But you cannot," cried Mayhew. "It’s all over the city that——" "I can and will," I broke in. "But listen, my dear fellow. Important documents will come to me from the Palace in a few minutes. I am going now to Quesada’s house, and I wish you to bring them to me there the instant they arrive;" and without waiting another moment I was hurrying away, when my sister cried: "Let me come with you, Ferdinand. That poor girl will be in such sorrow." "A good thought, Mercy. Quick;" and we drove away together. But at Quesada’s I met with a check. The police were in possession of the house and would not admit me, though I urged and insisted and stormed in turns. Senor Rubio was there in charge, and nothing would move him. There was no option, therefore, except to await the arrival of the necessary authority; and scribbling a hasty note to the Duke of Novarro to tell him the state of matters and to urge despatch, I sent Mercy with it to the Palace in search of him. Then I tried to curb my impatience while I waited, and to occupy the time I made an examination of the outside of the house in the possible hope of some discovery which might help me. I was thoroughly convinced that the murder was the act of Juan Livenza, and that I should find he had been at the house and had seen Quesada. I could not get a single question answered, however, and even my scrutiny of the exterior of the house and the grounds brought police interference. But this was not before I had seen that which set me thinking hard. The window of the library in which I had last seen Quesada, the room he chiefly used, overlooked the garden at the rear, and one of the panes of glass was broken. An examination of the stonework underneath it, and of the ground immediately below, revealed marks which seemed to tell me how such a deed might well have been committed.