"I couldn't come sooner, Simon," protested Gebb, taking a chair, "I've been worried out of my life by this Grangebury case." "And what good has all your worry done, you fool? You've found out nothing." "Indeed I have. I've traced back Miss Ligram's life to the year '93. She is--but I forget--you don't know the case." "Don't I!" retorted Parge, sharply. "I know a deal more than you can tell me. I suppose you are in difficulties over the matter?" Gebb admitted that he was. "And I candidly confess that I do not see my way out of them," he added, with an anxious look at Parge. The fat man grunted. "If you had come to me in the first instance I could have saved you a lot of trouble." "Can you explain the mystery, Simon?" "I can. If I couldn't, I wouldn't have sent for you." "Do you know the motive for the committal of the crime?" "I do I've employed my wits to some purpose, I can tell you." "And the name of the assassin?" "Yes! Didn't I say in my letter that I had solved the mystery, you fool?" "And where he is to be found?" continued Gebb, exhaustively. For the first time Parge replied in the negative. "There you have me," he grumbled, scratching his chin. "I know where he should be, but I don't know where he is. It will be your business to find him." "If you'll give me a clue to his whereabouts, I'll do my best," was the meek reply of the pupil. "I can't," said the ex-detective, frankly. "I did my best to hunt him down four years ago, before I retired, and I failed." "Ho! Ho! So this cove has been in trouble before?" "Not only in trouble, but in prison." "On what charge?" asked Gebb, with openly expressed surprise. "On a charge of murder!" "What! Is this assassination of Miss Ligram his second crime?" "It is," replied Parge, enjoying the astonishment of his visitor; "but this man--I'll tell you his name later on--did not intend to kill Miss Ligram." "But he did kill her--strangled her!" "Not Miss Ligram!" said the fat man, obstinately. "Ligram was an assumed name." "I know that, Simon. She has passed under half a dozen names." "So the papers say. Just run over the names." Gebb did so promptly, giving the names in order. "Margil, Migral, Ramlig, Limrag, Milgar, and Ligram." "Good! Now, Absalom, what strikes you as strange about these names?" "They are all invented," said Gebb, after a pause. "Quite so," assented Parge, "and their invention does credit to the imagination of the lady. Do you notice that the same letters, differently placed, are used in every instance?" "Anagrammatic!" said Gebb, with a nod. "Precisely! She manufactured all these false names out of her real one." "A very ingenious idea, Simon. And what is her real name?" "Gilmar!" replied Parge, slowly. "Miss Ellen Gilmar, of Kirkstone Hall, near Norminster, Hants."