“What I can’t understand, Stott,” said one of his hearers, “is why the devil didn’t you send for the police?” Mr. Stott smiled mysteriously. “The police should have been there,” he said, “and by-the-way, I need not remind you fellows that what I say to you is in absolute confidence. I am scared out of my life lest that babbling servant of mine starts talking. You can never trust these gossiping girls. I confess, though, that I had half a mind, not to send for the police, but to tackle the Chinks myself. I should have done it, too, but the girl was so frightened of being left alone.” “Have they come since?” asked another interested hearer. “No; nor the woman--you remember that I told you of the woman who used to drive up to Mayfield every night in her car?” “It seems to me that the police ought to know,” interrupted the first speaker. “One of your servants is bound to talk. As you say, you can’t trust ’em! And then the authorities will want to know why you haven’t reported the matter.” “It is not my business,” said Mr. Stott pharisaically, “It is for the police to get busy. I’m not at all surprised that the coroner’s jury made the remark they did. Here is a man murdered--” He exhibited the crime graphically. “At any rate, I’m keeping out of it--these Chinese criminals are dangerous fellows to monkey with.” He had paid his bill and was walking out of the cafe, when somebody touched him on the arm, and he swung round to see a tall, melancholy and long faced man. “Excuse me; Mr. Stott, I believe?” “That is my name. I haven’t the pleasure--” “My name is Carver--I am an Inspector of Police, and I want you to tell me something about what was seen outside of Mayfield, both before and after the murder.” Mr. Stott’s face fell. “That servant of mine has been talking,” he said annoyed. “I knew she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.” “I know nothing about your servant, sir,” said Carver, sadly, “but I have been sitting in Toby’s for the past three days and I have heard quite a lot. It sounded to me almost as if you were the principal speaker on the subject, but maybe I was mistaken.” “I shall say nothing,” said Mr. Stott firmly, and the detective sighed. “I shouldn’t hurry to make up my mind on that subject if I were you,” he said, “it is certain to be a difficult business explaining to the Public Prosecutor why you have kept silence so long--it looks very suspicious, you know, Mr. Stott.” Mr. Stott was aghast. “Suspicious--me--Good heavens! Come to my office, Mr. Carver-- suspicious! I knew I should be dragged into it! I’ll fire Eline tonight!” When Tab in the course of duty, called that night at the station, he heard the story from Carver.