ight,
four-sixty-two?" inquired the inspector.

"About eight, sir. My beat's along the Richmond Road, from the Lion
Gate down to the museum, and then around the back streets."

"Saw nothing?"

"I saw a man come out of this house hurriedly, soon after I came on
duty. I was standing on the opposite side, under the wall of the
Gardens. The lady what's downstairs let him out and told him to fetch
the doctor quickly."

"Ah! Short, the servant," I observed.

"Where is he?" asked the inspector, while the detective with the ready
note-book scribbled down the name.

"He came to fetch me, and Miss Mivart has now sent him to fetch her
sister. He was the first to make the discovery."

"Oh, was he?" exclaimed the detective-sergeant, with some suspicion.
"It's rather a pity that he's been sent out again. He might be able to
tell us something."

"He'll be back in an hour, I should think."

"Yes, but every hour is of consequence in a matter of this sort,"
remarked the sergeant. "Look here, Davidson," he added, turning to one
of the plain-clothes men, "just go round to the station and send a
wire to the Yard, asking for extra assistance. Give them a brief
outline of the case. They'll probably send down Franks or Moreland. If
I'm not mistaken, there's a good deal more in this mystery than meets
the eye."

The man addressed obeyed promptly, and left.

"What do you know of the servants here?" asked the inspector of the
constable.

"Not much, sir. Six-forty-eight walks out with the cook, I've heard.
She's a respectable woman. Her father's a lighterman at Kew Bridge. I
know 'em all here by sight, of course. But there's nothing against
them, to my knowledge, and I've been a constable in this sub-division
for eighteen years."

"The man--what's his name?--Short. Do you know him?"

"Yes, sir. I've often seen him in the 'Star and Garter' at Kew
Bridge."

"Drinks?"

"Not much, sir. He was fined over at Brentford six months ago for
letting a dog go unmuzzled. His greatest friend is one of the
gardeners at the Palace--a man named Burford, a most respectable
fellow."

"Then there's no suspicion of anyone as yet?" remarked the inspector,
with an air of dissatisfaction. In criminal mysteries the police often
bungle from the outset, and to me it appeared as though, having no
clue, they were bent on manufacturing one.

I felt in my vest pocket and touched the little object with a feeling
of secret satisfaction. How I longed to