In answer to the detective's inquiries the visitors were requested to give their cards, which were taken into Mr. Leighbourne. In a few minutes his bell rang and they were shown into a soberly-furnished room, which was occupied by a handsome young man. He was about thirty years of age with curly black hair and a small black moustache smartly pointed so as to give him quite a jaunty air. Elegantly dressed he seemed rather like a West End dandy than a sedate, methodical banker. With all the composure of a man of the world he received his visitors, but there was an uneasy look about him which did not escape the vigilant eyes of Torry. "Be seated, gentlemen," said he, waving his hand towards two chairs. "I understand you wish to see me?" "Are you Mr. Leighbourne?" asked Darrel, who could not conceal his astonishment at the age and appearance of the banker. "I am Mr. Frederick Leighbourne, sir. Perhaps it is my father you wish to see. In that case I must inform you that he is now in Paris, where he has been for some weeks. In his absence, and in the absence of our other partner, Mr. Grent, I act as the representative of the firm." "Mr. Grent!" repeated Torry slowly. "He is absent also, then?" "Yes. He left for Italy last Saturday." "Are you sure?" asked the detective, meaningly. "Certainly. Mr. Grent told me he was going. No doubt he is in Milan by this time." "I am afraid he is not, Mr. Leighbourne." The young man turned pale and looked from one to the other of his visitors. "What do you mean?" he asked anxiously. "I mean," said Torry, "that Mr. Grent has taken a longer journey than you are aware of." "A longer journey? How do you know?" "Because I am a detective." Leighbourne became even paler than before, and pushed back his chair with a quick, nervous movement. "A detective!" he muttered faintly. "Why--why does a detective call on me?" "To inform you of Mr. Grent's death," interposed Darrel, astonished at this unnecessary display of emotion. "Dead! Mr. Grent dead!" Frederick Leighbourne rose in an indescribable state of emotion. "Why, on Friday last, when he said good-bye to me, he was in excellent health." "Health has nothing to do with the death," said Torry drily. "Have you heard of this Mortality-lane murder?" "Yes, yes; that is, I saw--I saw something about it in the evening papers," stammered the banker hurriedly; "but it has nothing--nothing----" "It has everything to do with Mr. Grent, if that is what you mean," said Darrel. "On Sunday morning last, shortly before one o'clock, your partner was murdered!" "Murdered!" Leighbourne's voice leaped an octave. "Oh my God!" "Stabbed to the heart!" "But by whom--by whom?" "By an unknown woman."