with you."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Betty. "If I could only be doing
something!"

Starmidge nodded his comprehension and mused a while.

"Just so!" he said. "You don't want to sit and wait. Well, there is
something you might do, Miss Fosdyke, as you're Mr. Horbury's niece. Mr.
Polke's been telling me about Mr. Horbury's household arrangements. Now,
as you are a relation, suppose you call on his housekeeper, who was the
last person to see him, and get all the information you can out of her?
Draw her on to talk--you never know what interesting point you mayn't
get in that way. And--are you Mr. Horbury's nearest relation?"

"Yes--the very nearest--next-of-kin," answered Betty.

"Then ask to see his papers--his desk--his private belongings," said
Starmidge. "Demand to see them! You've the legal right. And let us
know--you'll always find me somewhere about Mr. Polke's--how you get
on. Now, superintendent, we'll get to work."

Outside the Scarnham Arms, Starmidge looked at his companion with a sly
smile.

"Are you anything of a betting man?" he asked.

"Naught much--odd half-crown now and then," replied Polke. "Why?"

"Lay you a fiver to a shilling Miss Fosdyke won't see anything of
Horbury's--nor get any information!" answered Starmidge, more slyly than
ever. "She won't be allowed!"

Polke gave the detective a shrewd look.

"I dare say!" he said. "Whew!--it's a queer game, this, Starmidge. First
moves of it, anyway."

"Let's get on to the next," counselled Starmidge. "Where's this
journalist?"

Mr. Parkinson, a high-browed, shock-headed young man, who combined the
duties of editor and reporter with those of advertisement canvasser and
business manager of the one four-page sheet which Scarnham boasted,
received the two police officials in a small office in which there was
just room for himself and his visitors to squeeze themselves.

"I was about coming round to you, Mr. Polke," he said. "Can you let me
have the facts of this Horbury affair?"

"We've come to save you the trouble," answered Polke. "This
gentleman--Detective-Sergeant Starmidge, of the C.I.D., Mr.
Parkinson--wants to have a bit of a transaction with you."

Parkinson eyed the famous detective with as much wonder as Neale had
felt on the previous evening.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Pleased to meet you, sir--I've heard of you. What
can I do for you, Mr. Starmidge?"

"Can you wire--at our expense--a full account of all that I shall tell