Ramsay smiled and shook his finely shaped head. He, too, rose, walking towards the door. "It's a little early for that, isn't it?" he said. "I've studied these affairs--criminology, you know--for many years. In my opinion, it's a mistake to be too hasty in trying to arrive at solutions. But," he added, with a shrug of his misshapen shoulders, "it's always the way of the police, and of most folk who try to get at the truth. Things that are deep down need some deep digging for!" "There's the question of the present whereabouts of nearly three hundred thousand pounds' worth of jewels," remarked Allerdyke grimly. "Remember that!" "Quite so," agreed Ramsay. "But--your own particular and personal desire, as I gather from the newspapers, is to find the murderer of your cousin?" "Ah!" said Allerdyke. "And it is! Got any ideas on that point?" Ramsay smiled as he opened the door. "I think," he said, with a quiet significance. "I think that you'll be having all this mystery explained and cleared up all of a sudden, Mr. Allerdyke, in a way that'll surprise you. These things are like warfare--there's a sudden turn of events, a sudden big event just when you're not expecting it. Well, good-bye--thank you for giving me a chance with your man's invention." Allerdyke found himself walking up Arundel Street before he had quite realized that this curious interview was over. At the top he paused, staring vacantly at the folk who passed and repassed along the Strand. "I'd lay a pound to a penny that chap's all right," he muttered to himself. "He's not a wrong 'un--unless he's damned deceitful! All the same, he knows something! What? My conscience!--was there ever such a confounded muddle in this world as this is!" But the muddle was a deeper one within the next few minutes. He crossed over to his hotel, and as he was entering he met Mrs. Marlow coming out, fresh, dainty, charming, as usual. She stopped at sight of him and held up the little hand-bag which hung from her wrist. "Oh, Mr. Allerdyke!" she said, opening the bag and taking an envelope from it. "I've something for you. See--here's the photograph your cousin gave me. You were wrong, you see--there's no spot in it--it's a particularly clear print. Look!" In Allerdyke's big palm she laid the very photograph which, according to all his reckoning, was that which Chettle had found within the cover of Lydenberg's watch. CHAPTER XXIII THE POSSIBLE DEATH WARRANT "Quite a clear print, you see," repeated Mrs. Marlow brightly. "No spot there. You must have been thinking of another." "Aye, just so," replied Allerdyke absentmindedly. "Another, yes, of course. Aye, to be sure--you're right. No spot on that, certainly." He was talking aimlessly, confusedly, as he turned the print over in his hand, examining it back and front. And having no excuse for keeping it, he handed it back with a keen look at its owner. What the devil, he asked himself, was this mysterious woman playing at?