The contrast on entering was startling. Moris Klaw placed his hat upon the desk, and from it took out the scent spray without which he never travels. He played the contents upon his high, yellow forehead--filling the air with the refreshing odour of verbena. “That shop!” he said, “it smell very strong this morning. It is not so much the canaries as the rats!” “I trust,” began Grimsby, respectfully, “that Miss Klaw is quite well?” “Isis will presently be here to say for herself,” was the reply. “And now--this bad business of Cresping. It seems I am just back in time, but, ah! it is a fortnight old!” Grimsby cleared his throat. “You will have read----” “Ah, my friend!” Moris Klaw held up a long, tapering white hand. “As though you do not know that I never confuse my poor brain with those foolish papers. No, I have not read, my friend!” “Oh!” said Grimsby, something taken aback. “Then I shall have to tell you the family story----” Isis Klaw entered. From her small hat, with its flamingo-like plume, to her dainty shoes, she was redolent of the Rue de la Paix. She wore an amazingly daring toilette; I can only term it a study in flame tones. A less beautiful woman could never have essayed such a scheme; but this superb brunette, with her great flashing eyes and taunting smile, had the lithe carriage of a Cleopatra, the indescribable diablerie of a _ghaziyeh_. Inspector Grimsby greeted her with embarrassed admiration. Greetings over-- “We must hurry, Father!” said the girl. Moris Klaw reclaimed his archaic bowler. “Mr. Searles and Inspector Grimsby will perhaps be joining us?” he suggested. “Where?” began Grimsby. “Where but by the 9:5 train for Uxley!” said Klaw. “Where but from Uxley to Cresping! Do I waste time, then--I?” “You have been retained?” suggested Grimsby. “Ah, no!” was the reply. “But I shall receive my fee, nevertheless!” At the end of the court a cab was waiting. Outside the cavernous door a ramshackle man with a rosy nose bowed respectfully to the proprietor. “You hear me, William,” said Moris Klaw, to this derelict. “You are to sell nothing--unless it is the washstand! Forget not to change the canaries’ water. The Indian corn is for the white rats. If there is no mouse in the trap by eight o’clock, give the owl a herring. And keep from the drink; it will be your ruin, William!” We entered the cab. My last impression of the place was derived from the invisible parrot, who gave us Godspeed with: “Moris Klaw! Moris Klaw! the devil’s come for you!” As we drove stationward, Grimsby, his eyes rarely leaving the piquant face of Isis Klaw, outlined the history of the Crespie family to the silent Moris. In brief it was this: