The lunch over, we went out on the large veranda; the night was cool, with a slight breeze, and down at the edge of the lawn we could hear the water lapping on the shore. As Carter handed me a cigar, I happened to think of Trouble, locked in the garage, and went down to rescue him. He greeted me with a loud bark, but at my command followed to the piazza and dropped by the side of my chair. For a while nothing was said, and in the darkness I watched the glowing tips of my friends' cigars. It was Carter who broke the silence, saying to no one in particular: “Well—what do you think about the murder?” Ranville's drawling voice came floating from his chair, and his tone was serious: “It looks to me, Carter, as if we had stumbled upon what will prove one of the most perplexing murder mysteries we have ever seen. There are some very curious things about this affair; and it's my idea it's going to prove rather difficult to solve.” “It will cause a sensation all right,” was the reply. “You know for weeks Warren's name has been on the front pages of the papers. First there came the accounts of his trip to China. When he did not return at the time expected, the papers began to say his expedition was lost. Then the outlaw war broke in China, and it was thought he was killed; and when he suddenly made his appearance, he certainly got a lot of publicity.” As he paused, I added my bit. I reminded them that his statement that he had settled the question of evolution had made more comment than anything else. “That's right,” replied the Englishman. “Even in London the old _Times_ gave a good many columns to that feature. But as he refused to say what it was he had found, the whole affair led to some little controversy.” “You have had a good deal of experience in murder cases in your Scotland Yard work,” I said to the Inspector. “What do you think was back of Warren's death?” Ranville was silent a while, replying at last: “That is the question. It is pretty hard to say from what we found to-night, just what could be the motive. Men are murdered as a rule for three reasons—robbery, revenge, or, say, in a sudden passion. Now it does not look like robbery, for we saw no signs of anything being taken. That is, unless we figure the murderer broke the glass of the bookcase and took a book. But that seems hardly reasonable.” “Still some one did take a book or two from that case,” was my retort. “Perhaps. Of course Warren might have broken the glass himself by accident. Then again, though I do not know much about books, I do know a bit about that kind of literature. Once in a while we clean up some book dealers who put it out in London. And I know this. None of that stuff sells at a very high figure. It's rare, of course, mostly because it's sold under cover. But a few pounds would buy anything in that case. It does not seem reasonable to start out by assuming he was murdered for a book of that class.”