ggest, and
see if we can't do a bit of detective work of our own. See you tomorrow
at the usual in Fleet Street."

Then Triffitt went along to the _Argus_ office, and spent the rest of
the afternoon in writing up a breezy and brilliant column about the
scene at the inquest, intended to preface the ordinary detailed report.
He wound it up with an artfully concocted paragraph in which he threw
out many thinly veiled hints and innuendoes to the effect that the
police were in possession of strange and sensational information and
that ere long such a dramatic turn would be given to this Herapath
Mystery that the whole town would seethe with excitement. He preened his
feathers gaily over this accomplishment, and woke earlier than usual
next morning on purpose to go out before breakfast and buy the _Argus_.
But when he opened that enterprising journal he found that his column
had been woefully cut down, and that the paragraph over which he had so
exercised his brains was omitted altogether. Triffitt had small appetite
for breakfast that morning, and he went early to the office and made
haste to put himself in the way of the news editor, who grinned at sight
of him.

"Look here, Master Triffitt," said the news editor, "there's such a
thing as being too smart--and too previous. I was a bit doubtful about
your prognostications last night, and I rang up the C.I.D. about 'em.
Don't do it again, my son!--you mean well, but the police know their job
better than you do. If they want to keep quiet for a while in this
matter, they've good reasons for it. So--no more hints. See?"

"So they do know something?" muttered Triffitt sourly. "Then I was
right, after all!"

"You'll be wrong, after all, if you stick your nose where it isn't
wanted," said the news editor. "Just chuck the inspired prophet game for a
while, will you? Keep to mere facts; you'll be alarming the wrong people,
if you don't. Off you go now! and do old Herapath's funeral--it's at noon,
at Kensal Green. There'll be some of his fellow M.P.'s there, and so on.
Get their names--make a nice, respectable thing of it on conventional
lines. And no fireworks! This thing's to lie low at present."

Triffitt went off to Kensal Green, scowling and cogitating. Of course
the police knew something! But--what? What they knew would doubtless
come out in time, but Triffitt had a strong desire to be beforehand with
them. In spite of the douche of cold water which the news editor had
ju