"Cheyne Court, Lennard. When you fellows get there, I want you to search that dried-up moat while we do the house," said the Superintendent as he climbed in after Cleek and shut the door behind them. Like a shot the motor was off, taking a pace which would make the police of the neighbourhood wink with astonishment. In the space of a few minutes the car drew up outside of Cheyne Court and armed with a bunch of skeleton keys which would lay every room and cupboard open to them, Cleek and Mr. Narkom jumped out. Having sent Petrie and Hammond to their respective tasks, they set to work to make a systematic search from the top to the bottom of the big, rambling house. From room to room and floor to floor they passed, but the broad daylight revealed no more than their torches had done at night. That there was some secret entry was obvious, but tap and prod as they might, it was all in vain. The walls were solid, the cupboards stern realities; and at the end of an hour, the question as to how the murderer had entered and escaped on that eventful night remained as great a mystery as ever. Finally, they reached the upper landing, and at a small room at the back, the door of which stood wide open, Cleek stopped short. "This must be Lady Margaret's own room," he said, turning to Mr. Narkom excitedly, his eyes alight; "here is the coat she wore when I drove her over on that eventful night." He lifted a blue travelling cloak from the back of a chair, beside the smooth, untumbled bed. "Let's poke about in here for a while and see if we can't get some clues as to what happened," he continued. Suiting the action to the word, he dropped on his knees, and commenced examining every inch of the floor which was covered with cocoanut matting. Suddenly Mr. Narkom saw him come to an abrupt halt, every nerve tense, as he sniffed repeatedly at the air. Then he bent still farther over the matting. "Humn," he said, ruminatively. "That scent again. _Huile de jasmin_, eh?" There was a note of satisfaction in his voice. "_Huile de jasmin!_ No wonder it lingered. Look, here is another spot," creeping on all fours in the direction of the perfumed trail, he put his finger upon a tiny oily patch and smiled up into the astonished Superintendent's face. "Oh, I know this stuff well. At one time its real scent was only used in the harems of the great Rajahs, and they used to have a few drops put in receptacles attached to the back of their jewels. Sometimes a ring would bear its odour, sometimes a bracelet or earring. Later, though, it became more common and was used in the bazaars." "Bazaars?" said Mr. Narkom. "Then it's Indian, you mean." "My dear chap, do you remember that Lady Brenton was born in India? That is where Sir Edgar's father met and married her." Cleek nodded and went on as though Mr. Narkom had not interrupted him.