Sir Arthur disappeared, suddenly, into a low-browed little shop, whose owner seemed, from his wares, to be an incongruous combination of grocer, tobacconist, draper and news-agent. Anthony stood looking about him. The narrow street, which should have been drowsing away that blazing August afternoon, carried an air of tension. Clumps of people stood about on its cobbles. Women leaned from the windows of its quaint houses. The shop outside which he waited, and two others across the road, flaunted shrieking news placards. “’Orrible Murder of a Cabinet Minister!” Anthony quoted with a wry face. “Poor devil, poor devil. He’s made more stir by dying than he ever did in his life.” Sir Arthur emerged, a packet of tobacco in one hand, a sheaf of newspapers in the other. With fleeting amusement Anthony noticed the red and black cover of an _Owl_ “special.” They walked on. The elder man glanced down at the papers in his hand. “It’s a queer thing, Gethryn,” he said, “but I somehow can’t keep away from the sordid side of this awful, terrible tragedy. Up at the house I keep feeling that I must get into that study—that room of all places! And I came this way really to buy newspapers, though I cheated myself into thinking it was tobacco I wanted. And I can’t help nosing about while the detectives are working. I expect I shall bother you.” His voice was lowered. “Gethryn, do you think you’ll succeed? He was my best friend—I——my nerves are on edge, I’m afraid. I——” “Great strain.” Anthony was laconic. Conversation did not appeal to him. He tried to map out a course of action, and decided on one thing only. He must see and talk with the Lady of the Sandal again. For the rest, he did not know. He must wait. They walked on to the house in silence. At the front door was a car. Boyd was climbing into it. He paused at the sight of Anthony. Sir Arthur passed into the house. Boyd was excited, respectably excited. “Where’ve you been, sir? You’ve missed all the fun.” “Really?” Anthony was sceptical. “Yes. I don’t mind telling you, sir, that the case is over, so to speak.” “Is it now?” “It is. You were quite right, sir. It was some one belonging to the house. I can’t tell you more now. I’m off back to town. I’ll see you later, sir.” Anthony raised his eyebrows. Things were going too fast. Had Boyd found out anything about Her? “Shalt not leave me, Boyd.” He raised a protesting hand. “‘The time has come, the Walrus said——’ You’re too mysterious. Be lucid, Boyd, be doosid lucid.” The detective glanced at his watch with anxiety. He seemed torn between the call of duty and desire to be frank with the man who had helped him. “I’ll have to be very short, then, sir,” he said, pushing the watch back into his pocket. “Ought to have started ten minutes ago. This is very unofficial on my part. I’m afraid I must ask you——” “Don’t be superfluous, Boyd.”