of wool-bleaching.

"Mr. Coulson," the Inspector said suddenly, "do you know a young lady
named Miss Penelope Morse?"

It was here, perhaps, that Mr. Coulson sank a little from the heights of
complete success. He repeated the name, and obviously took time to think
before he answered.

"Miss Penelope Morse," the Inspector continued. "She is a young American
lady, who lives with an invalid aunt in Park Lane, and who is taken
everywhere by the Duchess of Devenham, another aunt, I believe."

"I suppose I may say that I am acquainted with her," Mr. Coulson
admitted. "She came here the other evening with a young man--Sir Charles
Somerfield."

"Ah!" the Inspector murmured.

"She'd read that interview of mine with the Comet man," Mr. Coulson
said, "and she fancied that perhaps I could tell her something about
Hamilton Fynes."

"First time you'd met her, I suppose?" the Inspector remarked.

"Sure!" Mr. Coulson answered. "As a matter of fact, I know very few of
my compatriots over here. I am an American citizen myself, and I haven't
too much sympathy with any one, man or woman, who doesn't find America
good enough for them to live in."

The Inspector nodded.

"Quite so," he agreed. "So you hadn't anything to tell this young lady?"

"Not a thing that she hadn't read in the Comet," Mr. Coulson replied.
"What brought her into your mind, anyway?"

"Nothing particular," the Inspector answered carelessly. "Well, Mr.
Coulson, I won't take up any more of your time. I am convinced that you
have told me all that you know, and I am afraid that I shall have to
look elsewhere to find the loose end of this little tangle."

"Stay and have another drink," Mr. Coulson begged. "I've nothing to do.
There are one or two boys coming in later who'll like to meet you."

The Inspector shook his head.

"I must be off," he said. "I want to get into my office before six
o'clock. I dare say I shall be running across you again before you go
back."

He shook hands and turned away. Then Mr. Coulson made what was, perhaps,
his second slight mistake.

"Say, Mr. Jacks," he exclaimed, "what made you mention that young lady's
name, anyway? I'm curious to know."

The Inspector looked thoughtfully at the end of the fresh cigar which he
had just lit.

"Well," he said, "I don't know that there was anything definite in my
mind, only it seems a little strange that you and Miss Penelope Morse
should both have been acquainted with the murdered man