st, Polton came into
the room, carrying a small roll-up case of tools and a bunch of skeleton
keys.

"Will you have them in a bag, sir?" he asked.

"No," replied Thorndyke; "in my overcoat pocket. Oh, and here is a note,
Polton, which I want you to take round to Scotland Yard. It is to the
Assistant Commissioner, and you are to make sure that it is in the right
hands before you leave. And here is a telegram to Mr. Brodribb."

He dropped the keys and the tool-case into his pocket, and we went down
together to the waiting hansom.

At Weybridge Station we found Mr. Brodribb pacing the platform in a
state of extreme dejection. He brightened up somewhat when he saw us,
and wrung our hands with emotional heartiness.

"It was very good of you both to come at a moment's notice," he said
warmly, "and I feel your kindness very much. You understood, of course,
Thorndyke?"

"Yes," Thorndyke replied. "I suppose the mandarin beckoned to him."

Mr. Brodribb turned with a look of surprise. "How did you guess that?"
he asked; and then, without waiting for a reply, he took from his pocket
a note, which he handed to my colleague. "The poor old fellow left this
for me," he said. "The servant found it on his dressing-table."

Thorndyke glanced through the note and passed it to me. It consisted of
but a few words, hurriedly written in a tremulous hand.

"He has beckoned to me, and I must go. Good-bye, dear old friend."

"How does his cousin take the matter?" asked Thorndyke.

"He doesn't know of it yet," replied the lawyer. "Alfred and Raggerton
went out after an early breakfast, to cycle over to Guildford on some
business or other, and they have not returned yet. The catastrophe was
discovered soon after they left. The maid went to his room with a cup of
tea, and was astonished to find that his bed had not been slept in. She
ran down in alarm and reported to the butler, who went up at once and
searched the room; but he could find no trace of the missing one, except
my note, until it occurred to him to look in the cupboard. As he opened
the door he got rather a start from his own reflection in the mirror;
and then he saw poor Fred hanging from one of the pegs near the end of
the closet, close to the glass. It's a melancholy affair--but here is
the house, and here is the butler waiting for us. Mr. Alfred is not back
yet, then, Stevens?"

"No, sir." The white-faced, frightened-looking man had evidently been
waiting at the ga