"Fact, the matrimonial stakes are open to any one, and I don't see why Miss Penfold shouldn't marry me." "She might if Desmond was out of the way, but as it is--pish!" "Well, we'll see," retorted Ellersby, lighting a cigarette. "I've fallen in love with her, and I'm going to ask her to be my wife. "Bet you a hundred to one she don't have you," said Marton, producing his pocket-book. "Done," and the bet was booked immediately. "Why hang it," said Marton, when this little transaction was concluded, "you're not fit to marry--drink, dear boy--bad thing, hey?" "Oh, I'll give all that sort of thing up when I'm married," replied Ellersby, carelessly. "You'll have to give up half your life then," retorted his friend rudely, "for you always seem to be at the brandy bottle." Ellersby laughed, in nowise offended. "If you had had as many agues and fevers as I have, you'd be at it too; but you needn't be afraid, when I become Benedict I'll take the pledge. By the way, come and see my new rooms, I've got 'em all done up." "Right, dear boy, right," said Marton, and the two gentlemen left the club chatting about the Piccadilly murder and the possible result thereof. While this interesting conversation was going on, Sir Rupert, Dowker, and Norwood were all in a first-class carriage on their way to Brighton. As Marton had informed Ellersby, the _Seamew_ had returned to England the previous day, and now the trio were going down to see if Lady Balscombe could give them any information likely to solve the mystery of the murder of Lena Sarschine. Of course Sir Rupert fully recognised the truth of the proverb "Every man for himself," but now the guilty passion of his wife appeared a secondary consideration to the desire of saving an innocent man from a shameful death. On the way down, Norwood told Dowker the discovery he had made about the dagger, at which the detective was much astonished. "If; as you say," he remarked, "the lodging-house servant can prove the broken dagger was in the house all the time, it certainly cannot have been the weapon used, and yet it corresponds in every particular with the other weapon I took from Cleopatra Villa. I can quite understand Miss Sarschine taking it and the manner in which it came into Desmond's possession, but if this was not the weapon used, where is the weapon that was." "There are plenty of these daggers," suggested Norwood. "Certainly--but the coincidence in this case is that the dagger found in Mr. Desmond's rooms, which came from the house of the murdered woman, was poisoned, and Lena Sarschine was killed by a poisoned instrument." "There were no other daggers taken from the house I suppose?" asked Norwood. "Not that I know of," replied the detective, "but I am convinced that the whole secret of this crime lies in the conversation between Mr. Desmond and Lady Balscombe." "You do not say my wife is guilty of this murder?" said Sir Rupert angrily.