d turned to them.

"What next?" he asked abruptly.

"The rose arches," returned the inspector.

Copplestone indicated an opening in the trees, some distance ahead of
them.

"Over here," he directed, moving towards it.

There were twelve ornamental arches, overgrown with roses. Monsieur
Dupont looked at the wealth of flowers almost with reverence.

"So far," he muttered, "the only innocent things I have seen in this
garden."

Tranter stopped at a point where several paths intersected.

"I left her here," he said. "I went down that path to the right, which
she told me would lead to the main lawns where I should be most likely
to Mr. Copplestone. She said she was going straight back to the house."

"She should have taken that path," Copplestone said, turning to one in
another direction. "That is the way to the house."

"Did she know the garden well?" asked the inspector.

"Perfectly well."

"Still, she might easily have taken a wrong turning in the darkness."

"She might. But it is about the straightest path in the garden. I don't
think she would have made a mistake."

Slowly and carefully Inspector Fay followed the path to the house, under
the guidance of Copplestone. Every yard of the way was examined, but
yielded nothing. The inspector's face became darker and darker. He
stopped when they turned a corner and found themselves at the house.

"She could not possibly have got so far as this before the attack was
made," he said discontentedly.

"Impossible," agreed the manager. "If the murderer had killed her here,
he would have left her here. He would not have taken the risk of
dragging her all the way to the river."

"It seems a curious thing," the clergyman remarked, "that apparently she
did not utter any cry for help."

"Ah!" said Monsieur Dupont quietly.

He looked at the clergyman with a new interest. Copplestone also glanced
at him quickly.

"Even the thunder would hardly have drowned a sharp cry, and some one
would surely have heard it."

"Probably she hadn't time," suggested the manager. "No doubt he sprang
out and attacked her from the back. He must have been as quick as the
lightning itself."

Monsieur Dupont drew Tranter aside.

"Our clerical friend does not realize the importance of his own point,"
he said softly. "But he has put his finger on the key to the whole
mystery."

"The key?" Tranter repeated.

"If Christine Manderson had uttered a cry for help, this would have been
a