He said nothing more until we were back again in the kitchen. Then he looked at me with glassy eyes. "But who's t'e murderer?" he demanded. "Where's t'e guilty party?" "I don't know," I answered. "That's for you to find out. As for me, I'm going to bed." "Wait a minute," he said, detaining me, as I started for the door. "Who was t'at feller who told me to come here?" "He was a reporter named Godfrey. He had nothing to do with it." "But somebody must be arrested for t'is," and he looked at me in a way that was most suggestive. "Well, you're not going to arrest me," I retorted. "What's t'at on your hand?" he asked, and caught my wrist and held it to the light. "It's blood," I said; "but it's my own," and then I was again suddenly conscious of my strange appearance, and realised how unaccountable my presence in this house must seem. "Oh, well," I said, "there's no use to waste time arguing about it. I suppose you're right in holding me. Go call your chief. I'll explain things to him." "I can't leave you here," he protested. "T'e patrol box is at t'e corner." "All right; I'll go with you," I agreed. "I don't want to escape," and I accompanied him to the box, and waited while he called up headquarters, and sent in a brief but highly-coloured version of the tragedy. Then we walked back to the house together. As we approached it, I was startled to see a shadow flit across the kitchen blind. "She mustn't go down there again," I said, and flung open the door. Lucy Kingdon was standing with her hand on the knob of the door which led to the cellar. She started around at my entrance, and stared at me, but I saw no light of recognition in her eyes. "Don't go down there," I said gently. "You'd better lie down again." She permitted me to lead her back to the couch without protest or resistance. "Try to rest," I said. "There's nothing you can do. You must be strong for to-morrow." She lay down as obediently as a child, and closed her eyes. Her lips moved for a moment; but at last I was relieved to note by her regular breathing that she had apparently fallen asleep. I returned to the dining-room and closed the door between, so that the light and noise might not disturb her. "Here t'ey are!" cried the patrolman, who had stationed himself at the outer door, and I heard a wagon rattle up in front of the house. Then half a dozen policemen came pouring into the yard, headed by a man with grey hair and heavy black moustache, whom I saw to be the chief. He stopped for a moment to listen to the story the patrolman had to tell, then he turned sharply to me. "Of course you'll have to explain your presence here," he began. "My name's Lester; if you doubt it, here's my card," I said, cutting him short. "Mr. Godfrey and I suspected something was wrong here. We looked into it and found much more than we bargained for." "Who's Mr. Godfrey?" "The man who sent your patrolman here." "How did you get so dirty?" "Uncovering the dead man in the cellar."