"Thanks," said the other, and bent down to ignite his cigarette at the match provided by the policeman. But he still kept his face in shadow. Not that Mulligan had any desire or reason to see it. He merely thought that the gentleman was a departing guest, although he could not account for the dark hall, which set aside the idea of a party. Moreover, the stranger was arrayed in a light tweed suit, which was not exactly appropriate for a party. Also he wore a loose overcoat of bluish-black cloth, with a deep velvet collar and velvet cuffs made in the latest fashion. On so warm a night, this garment was quite unnecessary. Still, Mulligan had no reason to be suspicious, and was the last man to be inquisitive. He had the politeness if not the keen wit of the Celt. After lighting his cigarette the gentleman strolled away towards the ancient village which formed the nucleus of modern Troy. Unwilling to lose the chance of a pleasant conversation, and perhaps a kindly shilling, Mulligan followed, and beside the light active form of his companion looked like a bear lumbering in the company of an antelope. The gentleman did not appear anxious to talk, so Mulligan made the first remark. "The song's done," said he, as they walked on. "It isn't a long song," replied the other carelessly. "I dare say she'll start another soon, and you can listen at the gate half the night, if you have a mind to." "It's a party you'll be having then, sir?" "Party! No! Can't people sit up till midnight without having the house full of dancers?" "Augh," grunted Mulligan; "there being no light in the hall, I might have guessed there was no party." The other man started slightly and laughed uneasily. "My sister asked me to turn out the light when I went," said he. "I did so before I opened the door." "You'll be going home then, sir?" "Yes--to the other end of London. Is there a hansom about?" "Near the station, sir. That'll be half a mile away." "I know--I know," retorted the other quickly. "I often come here to see my sister." He paused, then added anxiously: "I suppose you know most of the people who live in these villas?" "None, sir. I've only been on this beat a week." "You'll get to know them soon, I expect. A quiet place, officer." "It is that, sir," assented Mulligan, as they turned down a narrow and lonely street. "Never a robbery or an accident or a murder to make things happy." "Why should there be a murder?" asked the man angrily. "Murders are not so common." "More common than you think, sir, but the most of them aren't found out. It is I who'd like a really fine crime with my name in the papers, and a printed recommendation as an efficient officer. None of your poker murders and plain sailing you'll understand, sir, but a mystery, as you read of in them little books written by gentry as don't know the law."