"Never you fear!" said Melky. "I'll beat 'em all right. Ain't I got a good excuse, Mr. Ayscough? Just to ask a civil question. Begging their pardons for intrusion, but since the lamented death of Mr. Daniel Multenius, me and Miss Zillah Wildrose has come into his bit of property, and does the two gentlemen desire to continue their tenancy, and is there anything we can do to make 'em comfortable--see? Oh, I'll talk to 'em all right!" "What're you getting at, all the same?" asked the detective. "Give it a title!" Melky squeezed his companion's arm. "I want to see 'em," he whispered. "That's one thing. And I want to find out how that last cheque of theirs got into our back-parlour! Was it sent by post--or was it delivered by hand? And if by hand--who delivered it?" "You're a cute 'un, you are!" observed Ayscough. "You'd better join us." "Thank you, Mr. Ayscough, but events has happened which'll keep me busy at something else," said Melky, cheerfully. "Do you know that my good old relative has divided everything between me and my cousin?--I'm a rich man, now, Mr. Ayscough. S'elp me!--I don't know how rich I am. It'll take a bit o' reckoning." "Good luck to you!" exclaimed the detective heartily. "Glad to hear it! Then I reckon you and your cousin'll be making a match of it--keeping the money in the family, what?" Melky laid his finger on the side of his nose. "Then you think wrong!" he said. "There'll be marriages before long--for both of us--but it'll not be as you suggest! There's Molteno Lodge, across the road there--s'elp me, I've often seen that bit of a retreat from the top of a 'bus, but I never knew it belonged to the poor old man!" They had now come to the lower part of Maida Vale, where many detached houses stand in walled-in gardens, isolated and detached from each other--Melky pointed to one of the smaller ones--a stucco villa, whose white walls shone in the November moonlight. Its garden, surrounded by high walls, was somewhat larger than those of the neighbouring houses, and was filled with elms rising to a considerable height and with tall bushes growing beneath them. "Nice, truly rural sort of spot," said Melky, as they crossed the road and approached the gate in the wall. "And--once inside--uncommon private, no doubt! What do you say, Mr. Ayscough?" The detective was examining the gate. It was a curious sort of gate, set between two stout pillars, and fashioned of wrought ironwork, the meshes of which were closely intertwined. Ayscough peered through the upper part and saw a trim lawn, a bit of statuary, a garden seat, and all the rest of the appurtenances common to a London garden whose owners wish to remind themselves of rusticity--also, he saw no signs of life in the house at the end of the garden. "There's no light in this house," he remarked, trying the gate. "Looks to me as if everybody was out. Are you going to ring?" Melky pointed along the front of the wall.