"I've no doubt you did," he replied ill-temperedly, "but I hate your amateur detectives; they simply muddle things. I'd have straightened out this coil long ago had I taken it in hand." "I have my doubts of that," said I dryly, and went off to the telegraph office. There I sent a telegram to Rose Gernon, asking her to come down by the early train next morning, and also informed the detective that I wished her to come. I knew quite well she would not dare to refuse, and, moreover, that my detective would send a man to watch her, while he waited round her house for the possible appearance of Strent. When I got back to the inspector's room, I found that his ill temper had vanished, and he was doing his best to console Francis. "I've seen a man in a worse plight than is yours, Mr. Briarfield," he was saying, when I entered, "and yet he came out all right in the end. The cause of his predicament was similar." "What's that?" said Francis, looking up. "Lack of moral courage. Had you told Denham at the time, and then both of you had told me, we might have laid our hands on Rose Gernon and Strent. As it was, you gave them time to make up their plans and get away." "Rose hasn't got away," said I grimly. "She's safe enough, and will be here to-morrow." "I wish we could say the same about Strent," said the inspector. "Do you think he is guilty?" asked Francis. "Upon my word, sir, after all my experience of the law, I am afraid to say who is guilty and who isn't. That theory of Dr. Merrick's regarding Rose Gernon is feasible enough. She certainly seems to have had more motive for killing your brother than had Strent." "It's my opinion," said I, "that there is a relationship between Strent and Rose. In such relationship lies the secret of the crime and her silence." "Humph! There's something in that," said the inspector. "They might be man and wife." "Or brother and sister," suggested Francis. "Or even lovers," I said, nodding my head. "Jealousy on the part of Strent might have spurred him on to killing Felix." These, however, were all theories, and we parted for the night without coming to any decision as to who was the guilty party. In the morning I received a telegram from Merrick, and went off with it at once to the inspector. It ran thus: "Have secured Strent. Am bringing him down with Rose. Arrive at noon. Hold over inquest if possible." "By Jove, sir!" said the inspector, "that man is lost as a doctor. He ought to be a detective!" CHAPTER XV. WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE FEN INN. "You see, I was right," said Merrick, when I met him at the station. "You have been right in every instance," I answered; "the inspector, here, quite agrees with me that you should be a detective. Where are your prisoners?" "No, no! Not prisoners!" replied Merrick, shocked at the word. "They are my guests, traveling companions, what you will, but not prisoners."