"All in good time, my dear friend, remember the old proverb 'set a thief to catch a thief'! We'll see what our good friend Dr. Verrall has to say, and if I am not mistaken, here he comes." And come he did, for a sound of voices and hurried footsteps introduced him to their presence. "What is this?" said Dr. Verrall to the Superintendent, whose identity had evidently been impressed on him by Roberts who hovered obsequiously in the background. Of Cleek he took no notice, having apparently taken an unaccountable dislike to the man who had tried so hard to pump him, on the excuse of a servant's fit of indigestion but a night or two ago. "What is this the man tells me? Miss Cheyne, the Honourable Miss Cheyne," he corrected himself as if the dead lady herself had reproved him for thus forgetting her title, "has been murdered. It is impossible!" "Not so impossible," interposed Cleek smoothly, his eyes narrowing down to mere slits as he noted the doctor's white face and unconsciously trembling fingers, "as not to be the actual fact, Doctor." He made mental comment of the doctor's agitation. It was strange to find the man so upset over the death of an eccentric stranger even if she had been a patient of his. And how was it he was so quickly on the spot? Aloud, however, he continued blandly: "She has been murdered some time, too, Doctor----" With a little cry of horror, Dr. Verrall passed to the body and bent over it for a minute. "Humm," he said, meditatingly. "Dead, but within a couple of hours, I should say." But Mr. Narkom struck in upon him. "Impossible," said he, involuntarily, looking over at Cleek, "why, we heard the shot--you and I, not half an hour ago." "The doctor is quite right, Mr. Narkom," Cleek replied, an undercurrent of mockery in his voice. "The corpse----" Dr. Verrall started a little. "This is the Honourable Miss Cheyne, sir," he said with a quick look of contempt at the policeman. "Pardon me, Doctor," was the smooth reply. "The Honourable Miss Cheyne has been dead nearly a month. I said she had been dead a long time. _This_," he flung out his foot in scorn, "well, don't you think you had better remove the wig first?" "What do you mean?" gasped the Superintendent. Then, without waiting for a reply, he bent down and touched almost fearfully the mass of golden hair. It moved under his fingers and with one twitch came away in his shaking hand, revealing the sleek, close-cropped head of a man, of which the particularly noticeable feature was a narrow, sloping forehead. A sudden smile looped up the corner of Cleek's mouth as he turned to the astonished group about him with a little theatrical gesture. There was a sort of triumph in his eyes.