I should be very sorry indeed," Penelope answered, "to stand in the
way of justice. No one can hope more fervently than I do that the
perpetrator of these deeds will be found and punished. But what I cannot
understand is your coming here and reopening the subject with me. I tell
you again that I have no possible information for you."

"Perhaps not," the Inspector declared, "but, on the other hand, there
are certain questions which you can answer me,--answer them, I mean, not
grudgingly and as though in duty bound,--answer them intelligently, and
with some apprehension of the things which lie behind."

"And what is the thing that lies behind them?" she asked.

"A theory, madam," the Inspector answered,--"no more. But in this case,
unfortunately, we have not passed the stage of theories. My theory, at
the present moment, is that the murderer of these two men was the same
person."

"You have evidence to that effect," she said, suddenly surprised to find
that her voice had sunk to a whisper.

"Very little," Mr. Jacks admitted; "but, you see, in the case of
theories one must build them brick by brick. Then if, after all, as
we reach the end, the foundation was false, well, we must watch them
collapse and start again."

"Supposing we leave these generalities," Penelope remarked, "and get on
with those questions which you wish to ask me. My aunt, as you may have
heard, is an invalid, and although she seldom leaves her room, this is
one of the afternoons when she sometimes sits here for a short time. I
should not care to have her find you."

The Inspector leaned back in his chair. It was a very pleasant drawing
room, looking out upon the Park. A little French clock, a masterpiece of
workmanship, was ticking gayly upon the mantelpiece. Two toy Pomeranians
were half hidden in the great rug. The walls were of light blue, soft,
yet full of color, and the carpet, of some plain material, was of the
same shade. The perfume of flowers--the faint sweetness of mimosa and
the sicklier fragrance of hyacinths--seemed almost overwhelming, for the
fire was warm and the windows closed. By the side of Penelope's chair
were a new novel and a couple of illustrated papers, and Mr. Jacks
noticed that although a paper cutter was lying by their side the leaves
of all were uncut.

"These questions," he said, "may seem to you irrelevant, yet please
answer them if you can. Mr. Hamilton Fynes, for instance,--was he, to
your knowledge, acquainted