"I don't know so much about that. Guilt can wear a mask of brazen innocence if necessary. How do you know I haven't murdered Mrs. Caldershaw, and at this moment may not have the celebrated glass eye in my trouser pocket?" "We don't know yet that she's been murdered, Mr. Vance. There was no wound----" "Pooh! She might have been poisoned." "Why do you think so, sir?" asked Giles quickly. "Because I write melodramas, and always look on the most dramatic side. Oh, this is your cottage, is it? Quite a stage cottage, with plenty of greenery about the porch." Giles did not know what to make of my chatter. "You're a funny gent, sir." "A hungry one, at all events, my friend. Is this your wife? How are you, Mrs. Giles? I am your husband's prisoner, and for the time being your cottage is a gaol. Mrs. Caldershaw's dead, and I've stolen her glass eye." "Mrs. Caldershaw dead!" gasped Mrs. Giles, a rosy-faced little woman, who turned pale at the sudden announcement. "What does the gentleman mean, Sam?" "Sit down, sir," said Giles, pushing forward a chair, then turned towards his astonished and somewhat terrified wife to explain. In a few minutes Mrs. Giles was in full possession of the facts which had led me to her abode. She listened in silence, her face now quite white and drawn. "What does it all mean, Sam?" she asked under her breath. "That's what we've got to find out, Sarah. Warshaw has been sent for from Arkleigh, and when he comes, we'll see what is to be done." "Warshaw and Caldershaw," I murmured; "rather similar names. I hope your policeman friend will wire to Murchester about my car." "There's no telegraph office hereabout, sir. I expect he'll send in a messenger to Murchester for the Inspector, and for your friend, sir." "Lord Cannington? Oh, yes. He can identify me as Cyrus Vance." "What!" said Mrs. Giles, who was recovering her colour, "the gentleman who wrote them lovely plays?" "The same," I assented, "and the gentleman's very hungry." "You shall have supper in a few minutes," cried Mrs. Giles, much impressed with the angel she had hitherto entertained unawares. "Sam, did you bring back that bacon?" "Nor I didn't, my dear, 'cos there wasn't anyone to sell the bacon, Mrs. Caldershaw being dead." "Ugh!" shuddered the little woman. "I'll never be able to eat another thing out of that shop. A murder----" "We don't know that it's a murder," interposed her husband hastily. I laughed. "You shouted murder lustily enough when you had me down, Giles." The man looked sheepish. "I made a mistake and thought you was a robber, until I saw you were a gent." "Well a gent can be a robber, you know. Many gents are." "They steal something more valuable than glass eyes, sir."