"If you knew the police, my man, you wouldn't ask that." "I know the police for the biggest set of fools on earth," cried the Cheap-jack passionately. "You'll never hang this man, if I can clear his character. I'll save him to spite you, that would let my poor wife die, for your cursed red-tape business," and before the astonished Trent could express the indignation he felt, Kind was out of the inn, waiting in the foggy street for Elspeth. She joined him shortly in a state of intense excitement, and heard Kind's openly expressed wrath against Trent and his minions. "Then you'll help Mr. Herries," she said, squeezing his arm. "_Won't_ I, you bet, I just will," said Kind heartily. "Let us get the missus out of danger first, and I'll remember enough of my old business to hunt down the real murderer. Always provided," added the ex-detective cautiously, "that this man is innocent." "He is--he is. I'll tell you all about it as we walk to the caravan." "No, my dear," said Sweetlips gently, "until Rachel is safe, I can't think of anything else. Come quickly," he dragged her along into the fog, "she may be dead, poor soul. Come!" and the two figures vanished in the mist, which was thicker and darker and colder than ever. The Cheap-jack's evil star must have been in the ascendant at the moment, for twenty minutes after he had turned his back on the inn, Dr. James Browne of Tarhaven arrived, hotfooted. He came by train to the local station, a quarter of a mile distant, and had walked to the inn through the fogs. At once, he asked for his friend, and Inspector Trent was informed of the fact. He immediately terminated his examination of Mr. and Mrs. Narby--from whom he had learned nothing new--and had the new-comer shown into the stuffy parlour, to be questioned. "Your name?" demanded the Inspector, curtly official. "Dr. Browne. I have come from Tarhaven, and wish to see my friend, Mr. Herries, who is, I understand, accused of murder." "Who told you so?" Browne took a telegram from his breast-pocket, and passed it in silence to the officer. It was unsigned and contained but a few words, which were as follows: "Angus Herries accused of murder, Marsh Inn, Desleigh. Come immediately." When Trent read this, he laid it on the table, and scrutinised the doctor, carefully. Browne was short and stout, and imperative. His hair was red, so was his moustache, and short beard, and he had choleric blue eyes. Apparently he had a temper, but, recognising the majesty of the law, and knowing that it would be needful, for Herries' sake, to stand well with its representative, he kept himself in hand. Experience had taught him the necessity of being cool at critical moments, and the present was critical, if not for himself at least for his friend. "What do you know of this?" asked Trent, when he had taken in the exterior of his visitor.