"Well, the whole affair will end as usual," said the detective with a sigh, "in a public scandal and divorce; but I want to see you about this," and taking the hat out of the parcel, he laid it before Madame. It was rather striking-looking--black straw, with brown and blue velvets twisted together and caught on one side with a slender silver crescent. "Yes, that's mine," said Madame, glancing at it. "Rather good style, I think. What do you want to know?" "The name of the person you sold it to." "Humph!--rather a difficult question to answer--some one might have bought it and taken it away with them, but if they left an address I'll soon find out." She touched a bell, and a girl appeared. "Send Miss Brail to me--she's invaluable," explained Madame to Dowker when the girl had vanished. "Such a wonderful memory, forgets nothing. I find her useful in my deals with ladies--a milliner's business is not all bonnets and hats, as we know." "It's more than the world does," responded Dowker with as near an approach to a smile as he allowed himself. Miss Brail made her appearance, and decided the question at once. "It was sold to a lady about two months ago--somewhere in St. John's Wood." "Was it a real lady?" asked Dowker. "Well, she was more like a servant," responded Miss Brail doubtfully, "I should say a lady's maid." "Was it sent?" asked Madame impatiently. "Yes--the address is in the book," answered Miss Brail, and went out to get the book. In a few moments she returned, and announced: "Lydia Fenny, Cleopatra Villa, St. John's Wood." In spite of his habitual phlegm, Dowker started, on perceiving which, Madame dismissed Miss Brail at once. "Why do you start?" she asked curiously, when the door had closed. Dowker sighed in his usual manner, and taking out his handkerchief, twisted it up into a hard ball, a sure sign that he was impressed in some way. "Cleopatra Villa is Lord Calliston's place." "Oh!" said Madame in rather an amazed tone, "what a curious thing we should have been speaking about him! I suppose this Lydia Fenny is the lady's maid there." "Was the lady's maid," corrected Dowker. "What do you mean?" "If this hat," touching it, "was sold by you to Lydia Fenny--she is dead." "Dead!" "Yes, the victim of the Jermyn Street murder." "What?" Madame Rêne sprang to her feet, greatly agitated. "I wanted to find out the name of the dead woman in order to get a clue to the perpetrator of the crime," explained Dowker rapidly, "this hat was on the head when the body was discovered. It had a mark inside showing it was bought here, so I came here to find out to whom it was sold--you tell me Lydia Fenny, so the logical conclusion is that Lydia Fenny is the victim." "It's all very strange," said Madame, rapidly looking at him with keen eyes, "but it may not be Lydia Fenny at all. Other hats might have been made similar to this one, or Lydia Fenny might have lent or given the hat to another person."