"That is just what I have done," she said, gratefully, a note of agitation sounding in her rich voice, despite an effort to keep it calm. "I was just going for a stroll. I had a splitting headache, and only a good walk in the open air ever does it any good. All at once I met Constable Roberts. I stopped him and he told me dear Miss Cheyne had been murdered. Of course I did not want to be caught, and I was just trying to get back home when that young beggar set on me, mistaking me, I suppose, for an accomplice." "Well, it's very deplorable," put in Cleek, mildly, "but you see, miss, he'd been told to arrest anybody who came along, and under the circumstances----" His voice trailed off into silence and the rest of the sentence went by default. Miss Wynne nodded her head vigorously. "Yes, yes, I suppose so; still, it has all been a mistake and now I think I had better be going home. You will be suspecting me of the actual murder next. "Nonsense, Miss Jennifer, we might as well suspect Lady Brenton, or Sir Edgar, for that matter." "Why, yes, indeed," said the girl, quickly. "But as Lady Brenton was confined to her room, also with a headache, and Sir Edgar is not expected back till the morning, I think we are all quite safe." The curious one-sided smile moved up Cleek's left cheek, then vanished as quickly as it had come. "Quite so, Miss Jennifer," he said, blandly. "Besides, it is not with women we are concerned but the owner of this revolver that we found on the spot----" She saw the revolver and whirled upon him like a mad woman. "My God! He did lea--Edgar--he said it had been stolen!" Realizing the effect of her words, she then turned fiercely on them. "If you dare to suspect Edgar, you are wrong. He was never within miles of the place! You shan't drag him into this wretched mess, you shan't, I say, you shan't----" "Calm yourself, my dear young lady; there is every proof of its being a woman as much as a man," put in Cleek gently. "You are absolutely sure you have no knowledge of the murder, no suspicion?" For the briefest second she seemed to hesitate. Then she spoke hysterically: "Why should I? I shouldn't have come if Roberts had not told me it was Miss Cheyne." "There is no more to be said, then," returned Cleek. "We will all say good-night, and perhaps you will let one of us see you home." "I will take Miss Jennifer back, myself," responded the doctor with a pathetic alacrity which Cleek noted, and with a last good-night the two turned and set off down the lane. "H'm!" said Cleek, rubbing his chin, "and so a fresh element of mystery enters. She knew all that had been done this night, I'll swear. There was no surprise, was there, Roberts, when you told her?" "Come to think of it, sir, she never turned a hair, might have been a dead cat I was talking about." "What do you make of it, Cleek?" Mr. Narkom asked, in a mystified manner.