"As I thought," he said. He turned suddenly round on the horrified constable, his voice and features those of the young Lieutenant Deland. "It was not such a wild-goose chase that night a month ago, after all, eh?" he said briskly. "Lieutenant Deland, you know, Constable. Miss Cheyne was lying dead in that room, and this rascal took her clothes and her place. Heaven help that poor girl!" he added gravely, while both Mr. Narkom and the constable gazed from him to the grotesque figure, almost dazed by the sudden turn of events. Almost as startled as his companions, the doctor tore away the clothes, revealing the slim body of a man about forty years of age, revealing, too, something that caused Mr. Narkom to lay a shaking hand upon Cleek's arm. "You see what that is, don't you?" he gasped. "Look at his arm. It bears the sign of the pentacle. He's a member of the gang, at any rate." Cleek stood still a moment, thinking. "Yes," Cleek replied in a low voice. "The Purple Emperor has much to answer for." "There is something clenched in his hand," said the doctor, who had proceeded with his task. "Bring the light nearer, please." As the stiff-ringed fingers were bent back, a little glittering fragment was displayed. Cleek grasped it, and twitching back his head sniffed violently two or three times. The doctor started in amazement. "Good Lord, man," said he testily, "you can't tell who it belongs to by smelling it." "I'm not so sure of that," responded Cleek smiling. "At any rate, find me the person who scents himself or herself with _Huile de Jasmin_, and you will be on the right road." "_Huile de Jasmin!_" interjected the doctor suddenly. "_Huile de Jas_--no, no, it is not possible. I will not believe that." He had risen to his feet and was gazing across at Cleek, his face drawn and white. "You know some one who uses that scent?" said Cleek quietly. "Come, Doctor, in her interests, clear the ground first of all; do not delay matters. There may be nothing in it, but----" His tones were fraught with significance, and the other man realized their value. "I have known Miss Jennifer Wynne to use it. She is very fond of the scent," he said, grudgingly. "But that does not mean she had anything to do with _this_," he pointed to the floor. "It is rarely that a woman fires a revolver, and as this wound has clearly been caused by this weapon here the first thing we have to do is to find the owner of it." "True," said Cleek, quietly, bending as he spoke and pulling the dead man's lips down.