"Well, not quite," was my companion's reply. "A dead man's face looks rather different to that of a living person. Nevertheless, I feel almost positive that he's the same. I recollect that the first occasion I saw him was at Ranelagh, when he came and sat close by me, and was apparently watching my every movement. I took no notice, because lots of people, when they ascertain who I am, stare at me as though I were some extraordinary species. A few nights later on, walking home from the Bachelors', I passed him in Piccadilly, and again on the next day he followed me persistently through the Burlington. Don't you remember, too, when Marigold held that bazaar in the drawing-room in aid of the Deep Sea Mission? Well, he came, and bought several rather expensive things. I confess that his constant presence grew very irritating, and although I said nothing to you at the time, for fear you would laugh at my apprehension, I grew quite timid, and didn't care to walk home from the club at night alone." "Rather a pity you didn't point him out to me," I remarked, very much puzzled. "I, too, have a faint idea that I've seen him somewhere. It may have been that when I've walked with you he has followed us." "Most likely," was the young Earl's reply. "He evidently had some fixed purpose in watching my movements, but what it could be is an entire mystery. During the last fortnight I was in town I always carried my little revolver, fearing--well, to tell you the truth, fearing lest he should make an attack upon me," he admitted with a smile. "The fact was, I had become thoroughly unnerved." This confession sounded strange from a resolute athletic man of his stamp whom I had hitherto regarded as utterly fearless and possessing nerves of iron. "And now," he went on, "the fellow is found murdered within half a mile of the house! Most extraordinary, isn't it?" "Very remarkable--to say the least," I said reflectively. "The police will probably discover who and what he is." "Police!" he laughed. "What do you think such a fellow as Redway could discover, except perhaps it were a mug of beer hidden by a publican after closing-time? No, I agree with Pink, we must have a couple of men down from London. It seems that Pink has found the print of a woman's shoe at the spot, while in the dead man's hand was grasped a piece of white fur. The suspicion is, therefore, that some woman has had a hand in it. I think, Willoughby, you'd best run up to London and get them to send down some smart man from the Criminal Investigation Department. Go and see my friend Layard, the Home Secretary, and tell him I sent you to obtain his assistance. He'll no doubt see that some capable person is sent." I suggested that he should write a note to Sir Stephen Layard which I would deliver personally, and at once he sat down and scribbled a few lines in that heavy uneven calligraphy of his, for he had ever been a sad penman.