ell with the police to make any
trouble about my coming here."

Caranby did not reply, but looked steadily at the two men who were
walking slowly up the room. Hale was slender, tall, and dark in color,
with a nose like the beak of an eagle. He was perfectly dressed and
had even an elegant appearance. His age might have been forty, but in
the artificial light he looked even younger. Clancy, on the other
hand, wore his clothes with the air of a man unaccustomed to evening
dress. He was light in color, with weak blue eyes and a foolish
expression about his slack mouth. Jennings wondered why a man like
Hale should connect himself with such a creature. The men nodded to
Senora Gredos, who took little notice of them, and then repaired to the
buffet. Owing to the position of the detective and Caranby, the new
arrivals did not see them. Nor for the present was the detective
anxious to attract their notice. Indeed, he would have stolen away
unperceived, but that he wished to question Hale as to the whereabouts
of Mrs. Herne.

"It is a long time since I have seen you," said Caranby, removing his
eyes from the newcomers, and addressing the detective; "you were not
an--er--an official when we last met."

"It is three years ago," said Jennings; "no. I had money then, but
circumstances over which I had no control soon reduced me to the
necessity of earning my living. As all professions were crowded, I
thought I would turn my talents of observation and deduction to this
business."

"Do you find it lucrative?"

Jennings smiled and shrugged his shoulders again. "I do very well," he
said, "but I have not yet made a fortune."

"Ah! And Cuthbert told me you wished to marry."

"I do. But when my fortune will allow me to marry, I don't know."

Caranby, without raising his voice or looking at his companion,
supplied the information. "I can tell you that," said he, "when you
learn who killed Miss Loach."

"How is that?"

"On the day you lay your hand on the assassin of that poor woman I
shall give you five thousand pounds."

Jennings' breath was taken away. "A large sum," he murmured.

"She was very dear to me at one time," said Caranby with emotion. "I
would have married her but for the machinations of her sister."

"Mrs. Octagon?"

"Yes! She wanted to become my wife. The story is a long one."

"Cuthbert told it to me."

"Quite right," said Caranby, nodding, "I asked him to. It seems to me
that in my