s.
Jackson."

"Very good, my lady," said the man.

CHAPTER IX

T. B. Smith came down to Great Bradley with only one object in view. He
knew that the solution to the mystery, not only of Farrington's
disappearance, but possibly the identity of the mysterious Mr. Fallock,
was to be found rather in this small town than in the metropolis.
Scotland Yard was on its mettle. Within a space of seven days there had
been two murders, a mysterious shooting, and a suicide so full of
extraordinary features as to suggest foul play, without the police being
in the position to offer a curious and indignant public the slightest
resemblance of a clue. This, following as it had upon a shooting affray
at the Docks, had brought Scotland Yard to a position of defence.

"There are some rotten things being said about us," said the Chief
Commissioner on the morning of T. B.'s departure. He threw a paper
across the table, and T. B. picked it up with an enigmatic smile. He
read the flaring column in which the intelligence of the police
department was called into question, without a word, and handed the
paper back to his chief.

"I think we might solve all these mysteries in one swoop," he said. "I
am going down to-day to inspect the Secret House--that is where one end
of the solution lies."

The Chief Commissioner looked interested.

"It is very curious that you should be talking about that," he said. "I
have had a report this morning from the chief constable of the county on
that extraordinary menage."

"And what has he to say about it?"

Sir Gordon Billings shrugged his shoulders.

"It is one of those vague reports which chief constables are in the
habit of furnishing," he said, drily. "Apparently the owner is an
American, an invalid, and is eccentric. More than this--and this will
surprise you--he has been certified by competent medical authorities as
being insane."

"Insane?" T. B. repeated in surprise.

"Insane," nodded the chief; "and he has all the privileges which the
Lunacy Act confers upon a man. That is rather a facer."

T. B. looked thoughtful.

"I had a dim idea that I might possibly discover in the occupant one
who was, at any rate, a close relative to Fallock."

"You are doomed to disappointment," smiled the chief; "there is no doubt
about that. I have had all the papers up. The man was certified insane
by two eminent specialists, and is under the care of a doctor who lives
on the premises, and who also