Jacob Herapath, a speculator in real estate, had always cherished a notion of building a mass of high-class residential flats on the most modern lines. Nothing of the sort which he contemplated, he said, existed in London--when the opportunity came he would show the building world what could and should be done. The opportunity came when a parcel of land in Kensington fell into the market--Jacob Herapath made haste to purchase it, and he immediately began building on it. The result was a magnificent mass of buildings which possessed every advantage and convenience--to live in a Herapath flat was to live in luxury. Incidentally, no one could live in one who was not prepared to pay a rental of anything from five to fifteen hundred a year. The gross rental of the Herapath Flats was enormous--the net profits were enough to make even a wealthy man's mouth water. And Selwood, who already knew all this, wondered, as they drove away, where all this wealth would go if anything had really happened to its creator. The entrance to the Herapath estate office was in an archway which led to one of the inner squares of the great buildings. When the car stopped at it, Selwood saw that there were police within the open doorway. One of them, an inspector, came forward, looking dubiously at Peggie Wynne. Selwood hastened out of the car and made for him. "I'm Mr. Herapath's secretary--Mr. Selwood," he said, drawing the inspector out of earshot. "Is anything seriously wrong?--better tell me before Miss Wynne hears. He isn't--dead?" The inspector gave him a warning look. "That's it, sir," he answered in a low voice. "Found dead by the caretaker in his private office. And it's here--Mr. Selwood, it's either suicide or murder. That's flat!" Selwood got his two companions inside the building and into a waiting-room. Peggie turned on him at once. "I see you know," she said. "Tell me at once what it is. Don't be afraid, Mr. Selwood--I'm not likely to faint nor to go into hysterics. Neither is Mr. Tertius. Tell us--is it the worst?" "Yes," said Selwood. "It is." "He is dead?" she asked in a low voice. "You are sure? Dead?" Selwood bent his head by way of answer; when he looked up again the girl had bent hers, but she quickly lifted it, and except that she had grown pale, she showed no outward sign of shock or emotion. As for Mr. Tertius, he, too, was calm--and it was he who first broke the silence. "How was it?" he asked. "A seizure?" Selwood hesitated. Then, seeing that he had to deal with two people who were obviously in full control of themselves, he decided to tell the truth. "I'm afraid you must be prepared to hear some unpleasant news," he said, with a glance at the inspector, who just then quietly entered the room. "The police say it is either a case of suicide or of murder." Peggie looked sharply from Selwood to the police official, and a sudden flush of colour flamed into her cheeks.