She hesitated a moment, then held out her hand. “I promise,” she said. “Good for you, Belinda Mary,” said he, and tucking her arm in his he led her out of the room switching off the light and racing her down the stairs. If there was a lot of the schoolgirl left in Belinda Mary Bartholomew, no less of the schoolboy was there in this Commissioner of Police. He would have danced her through the fog, contemptuous of the proprieties, but he wasn't so very anxious to get her to her cab and to lose sight of her. “Good-night,” he said, holding her hand. “That's the third time you've shaken hands with me to-night,” she interjected. “Don't let us have any unpleasantness at the last,” he pleaded, “and remember.” “I have promised,” she replied. “And one day,” he went on, “you will tell me all that happened in that cellar.” “I have told you,” she said in a low voice. “You have not told me everything, child.” He handed her into the cab. He shut the door behind her and leant through the open window. “Victoria or Marble Arch?” he asked politely. “Charing Cross,” she replied, with a little laugh. He watched the cab drive away and then suddenly it stopped and a figure lent out from the window beckoning him frantically. He ran up to her. “Suppose I want you,” she asked. “Advertise,” he said promptly, “beginning your advertisement 'Dear Tommy.”' “I shall put 'T. X.,'” she said indignantly. “Then I shall take no notice of your advertisement,” he replied and stood in the middle of the street, his hat in his hand, to the intense annoyance of a taxi-cab driver who literally all but ran him down and in a figurative sense did so until T. X. was out of earshot. CHAPTER XVII Thomas Xavier Meredith was a shrewd young man. It was said of him by Signor Paulo Coselli, the eminent criminologist, that he had a gift of intuition which was abnormal. Probably the mystery of the twisted candle was solved by him long before any other person in the world had the dimmest idea that it was capable of solution. The house in Cadogan Square was still in the hands of the police. To this house and particularly to Kara's bedroom T. X. from time to time repaired, and reproduced as far as possible the conditions which obtained on the night of the murder. He had the same stifling fire, the same locked door. The latch was dropped in its socket, whilst T. X., with a stop watch in his hand, made elaborate calculations and acted certain parts which he did not reveal to a soul. Three times, accompanied by Mansus, he went to the house, three times went to the death chamber and was alone on one occasion for an hour and a half whilst the patient Mansus waited outside. Three times he emerged looking graver on each occasion, and after the third visit he called into consultation John Lexman. Lexman had been spending some time in the country, having deferred his trip to the United States.