termined to forego his earlier project of
walking out of the park by the Easton gate.

He had just emerged from the trees when a gruff voice hailed him.

"Hi!" it cried. "Who're you, an' what are you doin' here!"

A man, carrying a shotgun and accompanied by a dog, strode up with
determined air.

Trenholme explained civilly, since the keeper was clearly within
his rights. Moreover, the stranger was so patently a gentleman
that Velveteens adopted a less imperative tone.

"Did you hear a shot fired somewhere?" he asked.

"Yes. Among those trees." And Trenholme pointed. "It was a rifle,
too," he added, with an eye at the twelve-bore.

"So _I_ thought," agreed the keeper.

"Rather risky, isn't it, firing bullets in a place like this?"

"I just want to find out who the ijiot is that did it. Excuse me, sir,
I must be off." And man and dog hurried away.

And Trenholme, not knowing that death had answered the shot, took
his own departure, singing as he walked, his thoughts altogether on
life, and more especially on life as revealed by the limbs of a girl
gleaming in the dark waters of a pool.

CHAPTER II

"WHO HATH DONE THIS THING?"

Trenholme's baritone was strong and tuneful--for the Muses, if
kind, are often lavish of their gifts--so the final refrain of an
impassioned love song traveled far that placid morning. Thus, when he
reached the iron gates, he found the Roxton policeman standing there,
grinning.

"Hello!" said the artist cheerily. Of course he knew the policeman. In
a week he would have known every man and dog in the village by name.

"Good mornin', sir," said the Law, which was nibbling its chin strap
and had both thumbs stuck in its belt. "That's a fine thing you was
singin'. May I arsk wot it was? I do a bit in that line meself."

"It's the _cantabile_ from Saint-Saens' _Samson et Dalila_," replied
Trenholme. "Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix!"

"Is it now? An' wot may that be, sir?"

The policeman's humor was infectious. Trenholme laughed, too.
Realizing that the words and accent of Paris had no great vogue in
Hertfordshire, he explained, and added that he possessed a copy of
the song, which was at the service of the force. The man thanked him
warmly, and promised to call at the inn during the afternoon.

"By the way, sir," he added, when Trenholme had passed through the
wicket, "did you hear a shot fired while you was in the park?"

"Yes."

"Jer see anybody?"

"A keeper, who seem