ath and by Peggie Wynne. To them as to all the servants
he was Mr. Tertius--whether that was his surname or not, Selwood did not
know.

There was nothing mysterious or doubtful about the great pile of buildings
at which the automobile presently stopped. They were practical and
concrete facts. Most people in London knew the famous Herapath Flats--they
had aroused public interest from the time that their founder began
building them.

Jacob Herapath, a speculator in real estate, had always cherished a
notion of building a mass of high-class residential flats on the most
modern lines. Nothing of the sort which he contemplated, he said,
existed in London--when the opportunity came he would show the building
world what could and should be done. The opportunity came when a parcel
of land in Kensington fell into the market--Jacob Herapath made haste to
purchase it, and he immediately began building on it. The result was a
magnificent mass of buildings which possessed every advantage and
convenience--to live in a Herapath flat was to live in luxury.
Incidentally, no one could live in one who was not prepared to pay a
rental of anything from five to fifteen hundred a year. The gross rental
of the Herapath Flats was enormous--the net profits were enough to make
even a wealthy man's mouth water. And Selwood, who already knew all
this, wondered, as they drove away, where all this wealth would go if
anything had really happened to its creator.

The entrance to the Herapath estate office was in an archway which led
to one of the inner squares of the great buildings. When the car stopped
at it, Selwood saw that there were police within the open doorway. One
of them, an inspector, came forward, looking dubiously at Peggie Wynne.
Selwood hastened out of the car and made for him.

"I'm Mr. Herapath's secretary--Mr. Selwood," he said, drawing the
inspector out of earshot. "Is anything seriously wrong?--better tell me
before Miss Wynne hears. He isn't--dead?"

The inspector gave him a warning look.

"That's it, sir," he answered in a low voice. "Found dead by the
caretaker in his private office. And it's here--Mr. Selwood, it's either
suicide or murder. That's flat!"

Selwood got his two companions inside the building and into a waiting-room.
Peggie turned on him at once.

"I see you know," she said. "Tell me at once what it is. Don't be afraid,
Mr. Selwood--I'm not likely to faint nor to go into hysterics. Neither is
Mr. Tertius.