tory shout from the next room caused him
to pick up the brooch and hasten thither. The first sight that met his
eye was the flushed triumphant face of Merrington bending over some
articles on the table. Caldew's view of the objects was obscured by
Captain Stanhill, who was also examining them, but he guessed by the
attitude of both men that a valuable find had been made. He advanced
eagerly to the table and saw, lying between them, a small revolver and a
handkerchief. The white cambric of the handkerchief was stained crimson
with blood.

The room was in great disorder. Superintendent Merrington, in the
impetuosity of his search, had reduced the previous order to chaos in
the course of a few minutes. Drawers had been opened and their contents
strewn about the floor, rugs and cushions had been flung into a corner
of the room, and the doors of a cabinet had been forced. Even the
pictures on the wall had been disarranged, and some of the chairs were
knocked over.

"Where did you find these things?" asked Caldew, picking up the revolver
and examining it.

"In that gimcrack thing over there." Merrington pointed to a slight,
elegant writing-table standing in a corner of the room. "Isn't it a
typical female hiding-place? About as safe as burying your head in the
sand. The drawer had been locked and the key taken away, but it was
quite easy to open. The lock is a trumpery kind of thing, with the bolt
shooting into the soft wood."

"I see that the revolver is still loaded in five chambers," said Caldew,
as he put down the weapon.

"Yes, and the sixth has been recently discharged. We don't require much
clearer evidence than that. And look at this handkerchief. The blood on
it is hardly dry yet."

Caldew took the handkerchief in his hand. As Merrington remarked, the
blood on it was hardly dry. It was a small linen square, destitute of
feminine adornment except for a dainty "H R" worked in silk in one
corner. The letters were barely visible in the blood with which the
whole handkerchief was saturated.

"I wonder how she got the blood on the handkerchief?" said Caldew. "Did
she try to stop the bleeding after shooting Mrs. Heredith?"

"It would be just like a woman to do so," grunted Merrington. "Women are
fond of crying over spilt milk--especially when they have spilt it
themselves. However, that's neither here nor there. The point is that
this is the girl's handkerchief, and this is the revolver with which she
shot Mrs. H