hing on his mind!"

In this surmise he was perfectly correct. The old butler did have
something that was troubling him--a matter so grave and serious that
they did not finish discussing it until the study was dusk and sounds
from the dining-room indicated that Betty Blake was helpfully setting
the table in the unduly prolonged absence of its regular attendant.
When their talk was ended, it was the detective who wore a perplexed
expression, while Bates had lost the troubled, almost haunted look that
had been in his eyes since the death of Simon Varr.

Creighton hurried to his room to prepare for dinner, and when he
glanced from his window he observed for the first time that the weather
was about to exhibit itself in a petulant, ill-humored mood. Black
storm-clouds were rolling up, a chill, gusty wind was rattling the
windows and a heavy spat of rain dashed against the glass as he turned
away. It would be a nasty night.

Miss Ocky remarked on the fact when she joined him in the dining-room.
She looked unhappy.

"I hate cold," she told him. "Had enough of it in my life. I am going
to have a fire lighted in the living-room. If you want to talk to me
this evening you'll have to put up with having your toes toasted."

He assured her that toasted toes were his favorite delicacy. Then he
nodded to a third place set at the table and raised his eyebrows.

"For Copley, but he hasn't turned up."

"He may be dining with his new father-in-law," suggested the detective.
"Or with Jason Bolt, talking business."

She did not pursue the subject, but later, when they were seated before
a crackling fire in the living-room, she attacked him briskly.

"I haven't talked with either you or him since your interview in the
library. Was--was it satisfactory? Please tell me."

"With all the pleasure in the world. The interview was
satisfactory--and I think I know what you mean by that! He accounted
for his movements on the night before last with unimpeachable accuracy."

"Thank heaven!" said Miss Ocky. "I don't mean that I had any suspicion
of him, but I'm glad if he has cleared himself in your eyes."

"He has, perfectly."

"I wish I knew what your plan of campaign is to be! You half promised
to let me see just how a detective works, you know. What are you going
to do first?"

"Suppose I don't know myself?" He paused to light her cigarette and
one for himself, then added deliberately: "You can't always tell which
way