"And although you know the murdered man so intimately, you have no suspicion of anyone in this district who was acquainted with him?" "I know no one who knew him. When he left my service he had never been in England." "You say he was engaged in service in London?" "Yes, at a restaurant in Oxford Street, I believe. I met him accidentally in Pall Mall one evening, and he told me so." "You don't know the name of the restaurant?" "He did tell me, but unfortunately I have forgotten." The detective drew a deep breath of regret. "Someone who waited for him on the edge of that wood stepped out and killed him--that's evident," he said. "Without a doubt." "And my belief is that it was an Italian. There were two foreigners who slept at a common lodging-house two nights ago and went on tramp towards Glasgow. We have telegraphed after them, and hope we shall find them. Scotsmen or Englishmen never use a knife of that pattern." With his latter remark I entirely coincided. In my own mind that was the strongest argument in favor of Leithcourt's innocence. That the tenant of Rannoch had kept that secret tryst in daily patience I knew from my own observations, yet to me it scarcely seemed feasible that he would use a weapon so peculiarly Italian and yet so terribly deadly. And then when I reflected further, recollecting that the body I had discovered was that of a woman and not a man, I stood staggered and bewildered by the utterly inexplicable enigma. I promised the burly detective that in exchange for his secrecy regarding my statement that I would assist him in every manner possible in the solution of the problem. "The real name of the murdered man must be at all costs withheld," I urged. "It must not appear in the papers, for I feel confident that only by the pretense that he is unknown can we arrive at the truth. If his name is given at the inquiry, then the assassin will certainly know that I have identified him." "And what then?" "Well," I said with some hesitation, "while I am believed to be in ignorance we shall have opportunity for obtaining the truth." "Then you do really suspect?" he said, again looking at me with those cold, blue eyes. "I know not whom to suspect," I declared. "It is a mystery why the man who was once my faithful servant should be enticed to that wood and stabbed to the heart." "There is no one in the vicinity who knew him?" "Not to my knowledge." "We might obtain his address in London through his father in Leghorn," suggested the officer. "I will write to-day if you so desire," I said readily. "Indeed, I will get my friend the British Consul to go round and see the old man and telegraph the address if he obtains it." "Capital!" he declared. "If you will do us this favor we shall be greatly indebted to you. It is fortunate that we have established the victim's identity--otherwise we might be entirely in the dark. A murdered foreigner is always more or less of a mystery."