ether with
his letters and newspapers.

Peter Ruff was, after all, like the rest of us, a creature of habit.
He made an invariable rule of glancing through the newspapers before he
paid any regard at all to his letters or his breakfast. In the absence
of anything of a particularly sensational character, he then opened his
letters in leisurely fashion, and went back afterwards to the newspaper
as he finished his meal. This morning, however, both his breakfast and
letters remained for some time untouched. The first paragraph which
caught his eye as he shook open the Daily Telegraph was sufficiently
absorbing. There it was in great black type:

TERRIBLE TRAGEDY IN THE FLAT OF A WELL-KNOWN ACTRESS!
AUSTEN ABBOTT SHOT DEAD!
ARREST OF CAPTAIN SOTHERST

Beyond the inevitable shock which is always associated with the taking
of life, and the unusual position of the people concerned in it,
there was little in the brief account of the incident to excite the
imagination. A policeman on the pavement outside the flat in which Miss
Shaw and her mother lived fancied that he heard, about two o'clock
in the morning, the report of a revolver shot. As nothing further
transpired, and as the sound was very indistinct, he did not at once
enter the building, but kept it, so far as possible, under observation.
About twenty minutes later, a young gentleman in evening dress came out
into the street, and the policeman noticed at once that he was carrying
a small revolver, which he attempted to conceal. The constable thereupon
whistled for his sergeant, and accompanied by the young gentleman--who
made no effort to escape--ascended to Miss Shaw's rooms, where the body
of Austen Abbott was discovered lying upon the threshold of the sitting
room with a small bullet mark through the forehead. The inmates of
the house were aroused and a doctor sent for. The deceased man was
identified as Austen Abbott--a well-known actor--and the man under
arrest gave his name at once as Captain the Honourable Brian Sotherst.
Peter Ruff sighed as he laid down the paper. The case seemed to him
perfectly clear, and his sympathies were altogether with the young
officer who had taken the law into his own hands. He knew nothing of
Miss Letty Shaw, and, consequently, did her, perhaps, less than justice
in his thoughts. Of Austen Abbott, on the other hand, he knew a great
deal--and nothing of good. It was absurd, after all, that