n Club and had once been there,
glanced respectfully across at Francis.

"You ought to know something about crime and criminals, Mr. Ledsam," he
said. "Have you any theory about the affair?"

Francis set down the glass from which he had been drinking, and, folding
up the evening paper, laid it by the side of him.

"As a matter of fact," he answered calmly, "I have."

The few words, simply spoken, yet in their way charged with menace,
thrilled through the little room. Fairfax swung round upon his stool, a
tall, aggressive-looking youth whose good-looks were half eaten up with
dissipation. His eyes were unnaturally bright, the cloudy remains in his
glass indicated absinthe.

"Listen, you fellows!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Francis Ledsam, the great
criminal barrister, is going to solve the mystery of poor old Victor's
death for us!"

The three other young men all turned around from the bar. Their eyes and
whole attention seemed rivetted upon Francis. No one seemed to notice
the newcomer who passed quietly to a chair in the background, although
he was a person of some note and interest to all of them. Imperturbable
and immaculate as ever, Sir Timothy Brast smiled amiably upon the little
gathering, summoned a waiter and ordered a Dry Martini.

"I can scarcely promise to do that," Francis said slowly, his eyes
resting for a second or two upon each of the four faces. "Exact
solutions are a little out of my line. I think I can promise to give you
a shock, though, if you're strong enough to stand it."

There was another of those curiously charged silences. The bartender
paused with the cocktail shaker still in his hand. Voss began to beat
nervously upon the counter with his knuckles.

"We can stand anything but suspense," he declared. "Get on with your
shock-giving."

"I believe that the person responsible for the death of Victor Bidlake
is in this room at the present moment," Francis declared.

Again the silence, curious, tense and dramatic. Little Jimmy, the
bartender, who had leaned forward to listen, stood with his mouth
slightly open and the cocktail-shaker which was in his hand leaked drops
upon the counter. The first conscious impulse of everybody seemed to be
to glance suspiciously around the room. The four young men at the bar,
Jimmy and one waiter, Francis and Sir Timothy Brast, were its only
occupants.

"I say, you know, that's a bit thick, isn't it?" Sidney Voss stammered
at last. "I wasn't in the place at a