"Yes, only you needn't talk about it outside your office," said Vernon hastily. "I don't want her to be mixed up in this business. Also, I am not very proud of having been trapped in this way." "Only the police will know," Drench assured him, and led the way out of the room, after turning out the lights. "You'd better go home now, Mr. Vernon, as you have done quite enough to-night, and look worn out." Vernon nodded. "When will the inquest take place?" "To-morrow; the sooner it's over the better. We can work on the clue of The Spider which you have supplied. We'll catch him." Vernon shrugged his shoulders. He was less confident of success than Drench, since for nearly two years The Spider had entirely baffled the police. CHAPTER VI. TWO CONVERSATIONS. The inquest duly took place, but no evidence was forthcoming likely to lead to the capture of the assassin. That he was The Spider there, of course, could be no doubt, since the declaration of Vernon went to show that the late Mr. Dimsdale had made an appointment with the blackmailer. Naturally, the whole story had to be told at the inquest, and the public became aware, through the medium of the newspapers, that the dead man had a secret. It could not have been a dishonourable secret, was the general opinion, else Mr. Dimsdale would scarcely have risked a revelation. Using it, whatever it might be, as a decoy to lure The Spider into a trap, he had lost his life in the attempt to capture the famous criminal. And if The Spider had been celebrated before, he was still more celebrated now, and in a more sinister way. Formerly the police had wanted him as an extortioner; now he was inquired for as a murderer. The "Rangoon" crime--as it came to be called--made a mighty sensation, as there was that about it which appealed to the somewhat jaded taste of the public. That a man should be strangled in his own library, and in the very house where nearly one hundred people were dancing, was truly wonderful, when the sequel was that the assassin had escaped. The windows of the library had neither blinds nor curtains; guests had been talking and walking in the garden; on the other side of the tall laurel hedge cabs and carriages with attendants had been waiting in the road, yet The Spider had come and gone like a shadow. Behind the frail concealment of the screen a terrible crime had taken place, and, far from hurrying his departure, the criminal had actually lingered to search for the money he hoped to get. It was proved at the inquest that he did not get his plunder, for enquiries at Mr. Dimsdale's bank showed that the thousand pounds had not been drawn. Undoubtedly, since the dead man had intended to defy the blackmailer, the secret could not have been one to be ashamed of. But what the secret was the public never knew.