y released from the force that was driving me forward!"

Sir John turned from me in bitterness. Without offering any word of
departure, he pulled open the door and stepped across the sill. The door
closed, and I was alone.

* * * * *

That was my introduction to Sir John Harmon. I offer it in detail
because it was the first of a startling series of events that led to the
most terrible case of my career. In my records I have labeled the entire
case "The Affair of the Death Machine."

Twelve hours after Sir John's departure--which will bring the time, to
the morning of December 8--the headlines of the Daily Mail stared up at
me from the table. They were black and heavy: those headlines, and
horribly significant. They were:

FRANKLIN WHITE Jr. FOUND
MURDERED

Midnight Marauder Strangles
Young Society Man in West-End
Mansion

I turned the paper hurriedly, and read:

Between the hours of one and two o'clock this morning, an unknown
murderer entered the home of Franklin White, Jr., well known
West-End sportsman, and escaped, leaving behind his strangled
victim.

Young White, who is a favorite in London upper circles, was
discovered in his bed this morning, where he had evidently lain
dead for many hours. Police are seeking a motive for the crime,
which may have its origin in the fact that White only recently
announced his engagement to Margot Vernee, young and exceedingly
pretty French debutante.

Police say that the murderer was evidently an amateur, and that he
made no attempt to cover his crime. Inspector Thomas Drake of
Scotland Yard has the case.

There was more, much more. Young White had evidently been a decided
favorite, and the murder had been so unexpected, so deliberate, that the
Mail reporter had made the most of his opportunity for a story. But
aside from what I have reprinted, there was only a single short
paragraph which claimed my attention. It was this:

The White home is not a difficult one to enter. It is a huge gray
town-house, situated just off the square, in After Street. The
murderer entered by a low French window, leaving it open.

I have copied the words exactly as they were printed. The item does not
call for any comment.

* * * * *

But I had hardly dropped the paper before she stood before me. I say
"she"--it was Margot Vernee,