ieur Dupont offered him a cigar, and lit one himself with great
composure.

"I know just as much about the crime, my friend, as I have said. I
repeat--I know how and why that unfortunate woman died. Who, or what,
caused her to die is another matter, which we are setting ourselves to
solve."

"You are certain that Layton is innocent?"

"James Layton did not commit the crime," Monsieur Dupont returned
firmly. "But he will be hanged for it--if we are not in time."

"Well," said Tranter, "what is there for me to do?"

"For you," replied Monsieur Dupont, "there is the most important task in
the case, so far. And the most dangerous. Within twenty-four hours you
must discover, and bring to me here, the secret of the Crooked House."

"Good Lord!" Tranter exclaimed, taken aback, "how on earth am I to do
that?"

"I do not know," Monsieur Dupont admitted. "Nor have I any helpful
suggestions to make. The method of procedure I leave to you."

"Housebreaking is entirely out of my province," Tranter objected. "And
the secret of that house, if there is one, is likely to be very well
guarded."

"Probably," agreed Monsieur Dupont. "But the fact remains that before
the end of the next twenty-four hours I must have that secret--and you
are the person who must bring it to me."

Tranter took up his hat and stick, without further protest.

"Very well," he said stoutly. "I will do my best."

Monsieur Dupont looked at his watch.

"It is one o'clock," he said, opening the door. "At one o'clock
to-morrow I shall be waiting for you in this room."

CHAPTER XVII

MR. GLUCKSTEIN IN CONFIDENCE

Mrs. Astley-Rolfe invariably received her creditors in pink deshabille.

The financier, Mr. Solomon Gluckstein, original and senior
representative of John Brown & Co., Jermyn Street, was particularly fond
of pink, and extremely susceptible to deshabille. Whiskey-and-soda,
personally prepared for him in sufficient strength by his charming
debtor, increased the fondness and the susceptibility.

"Ma tear lady," said Mr. Gluckstein, with desperate firmness, "I have
come on an unplethant errand."

Mrs. Astley-Rolfe pouted petulantly.

"Am I to have no peace?" she complained, from an alluring attitude on a
couch. "Isn't it enough to have gone through the last two days? Look at
me. I am a nervous wreck."

"Then all women wouldth with to be nervouth wrecks," said Mr. Gluckstein
gallantly.

"I believe that odious detective actually i