me to
catch the 9.45 at the station, and to entrust Mr. Morton with the
latch-key of Russell House," remarked the man in the corner dryly.

"What nonsense!" Polly ejaculated.

"Nonsense, is it?" he said, tugging wildly at his bit of string; "is it
nonsense to affirm that if a man wants to make sure that his victim
shall not escape, he does not usually wind rope 'loosely' round his
figure, nor does he throw a wool shawl lightly round his mouth. The
police were idiotic beyond words; they themselves discovered that Morton
was so 'loosely' fastened to his chair that very little movement would
have disentangled him, and yet it never struck them that nothing was
easier for that particular type of scoundrel to sit down in an arm-chair
and wind a few yards of rope round himself, then, having wrapped a wool
shawl round his throat, to slip his two arms inside the ropes."

"But what object would a man in Mr. Morton's position have for playing
such extraordinary pranks?"

"Ah, the motive! There you are! What do I always tell you? Seek the
motive! Now, what was Mr. Morton's position? He was the husband of a
lady who owned a quarter of a million of money, not one penny of which
he could touch without her consent, as it was settled on herself, and
who, after the terrible way in which she had been plundered and then
abandoned in her early youth, no doubt kept a very tight hold upon the
purse-strings. Mr. Morton's subsequent life has proved that he had
certain expensive, not altogether avowable, tastes. One day he discovers
the old love letters of the 'Comte Armand de la Tremouille.'

"Then he lays his plans. He typewrites a letter, forges the signature of
the erstwhile Count, and awaits events. The fish does rise to the bait.
He gets sundry bits of money, and his success makes him daring. He looks
round him for an accomplice--clever, unscrupulous, greedy--and selects
Mr. Edward Skinner, probably some former pal of his wild oats days.

"The plan was very neat, you must confess. Mr. Skinner takes the room in
Russell House, and studies all the manners and customs of his landlady
and her servant. He then draws the full attention of the police upon
himself. He meets Morton in West Street, then disappears ostensibly
after the 'assault.' In the meanwhile Morton goes to Russell House. He
walks upstairs, talks loudly in the room, then makes elaborate
preparations for his comedy."

"Why! he nearly died of starvation!"

"That, I dare say