But Davis kept his seat, he had not finished yet. "May I take the liberty of detaining you for a few moments longer, sir, to impress upon you the importance of having that body exhumed? You may be correct in your theory it is that of some poor derelict, but I have a different theory altogether." The Inspector looked sharply at him, and drew a deep breath. "Ah, then, you have some knowledge of something: your visit to me has been leading up to this, eh?" "No actual knowledge, sir, but a surmise that has, I venture to think, some foundation. I have two sisters. The elder one I have already spoken of to you." There was a slight note of sarcasm in the Inspector's voice as he replied, "Yes, Mrs Masters, whose fortunate mistake was of such excellent service to you, during the time you were waiting for the real criminal's confession." Davis did not suffer himself to resent this. Of course, a man of the world like Bryant did not believe in this camouflaged story. Mrs Masters was a clever young woman, and had taken advantage of an accidental resemblance to get her brother out of jeopardy. "My other sister, Iris Deane, is in the chorus of the Frivolity Theatre. I don't suppose you have ever heard of her?" Mr Bryant shook his head. He knew a great deal about all classes of criminals, but young ladies in the chorus of the Frivolity, or any other theatre, were not in his line. "She was at Mrs Masters's house last night. She came over especially to welcome me, on my re-introduction to the world which I was supposed to have quitted. She made to us a very startling confession, and that confession is intimately associated with the events at Cathcart Square." And this time, Bryant was genuinely surprised, and was at no pains to conceal it. Reginald Davis--he was beginning to believe in the man's identity now--was evidently a member of a very remarkable family. "You astound me, Mr Davis. Yourself and both your sisters mixed up with what happened there! It sounds like a romance. Pray proceed!" Davis told the story as Iris had told him, carefully concealing the names of the two men concerned in it for the moment. He was careful to point out that on the night of the suicide she could establish a complete and unquestioned alibi. Bryant turned on him sharply. "It occurs to me that you don't think it was a suicide, Mr Davis." "I don't, sir, and at present I can't quite tell you why." "But you must have some reason for thinking that," said Bryant in the same sharp tone. "My only reason is this--if the man who was buried under the name of Reginald Davis is the man I believe him to be, there was no earthly reason why he should commit suicide. To the best of my belief, he was murdered for some motive that I cannot guess, and the murderer, after cutting his throat, put the razor in his stiffening hand."