a wire
to Cuthbert to the address given by the servant, asking him to come up
to town next morning.

At eleven Jennings presented himself and found Cuthbert waiting for
him, rather surprised and agitated. "Why did you wire me in so
peremptory a manner?" asked Mallow; "have you discovered anything?"

"Yes! I am sorry to break your holiday. By the way, you have been at
Brighton. Did you stop at the Metropolitan?"

"Yes. I and Uncle Caranby have been there for a few days."

"Did you see Mrs. Herne there?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"For a reason I'll tell you later." Jennings glanced round the room
and his eyes became fixed on a trophy of arms. "You are fond of these
sort of things?" he demanded.

"Yes, in a way. Yonder are war-spears, revolvers, swords, and--"

"I see--I see. Here is an empty space. What was here?"

"By Jove, I never noticed that before. I forget!"

"Perhaps this will supply the gap," said Jennings, and held out the
knife. "Do you recognize this?"

"Certainly. There are three notches in the handle. It is my knife.
Did you take it off the wall?"

CHAPTER XVI

JULIET'S STORY

Instead of answering, Jennings looked at Mallow. "It was the merest
chance I glanced at the wall and saw that one of the arms which form
that trophy was missing. It was also a chance that I suggested the
blank space might be filled up with this knife. Are you sure it is
your property?"

Mallow with a puzzled expression took the weapon in his hand and
examined it closely. "It is mine," he admitted, "on the butts of my
revolvers you will find I carve these notches. I also did so on this
bowie, which I bought in New York when I went on my last big-game shoot
to the Rockies. I marked my things in this way so that the other
fellows should not use them by mistake. I brought back this knife, and
although it is not a pretty ornament, I fixed it up on the wall yonder.
I used it to cut up game. But if you did not take it off the wall--and
I confess I never missed it until you drew my attention to the fact
that it was missing--where did you get it?"

Jennings scarcely knew what to say. Cuthbert talked of the matter in
so easy a manner that it was impossible to think he had killed Miss
Loach. Also he was not the sort of man to murder an inoffensive old
woman, the more especially as he--on the face of it--had no motive to
commit so brutal an act, or to jeopardize his neck. Struck by his
friend's