ppose for a minute that Miss Manning is acquainted
with a reputable firm of solicitors. If she is, tell her to consult
them, and get them to communicate with Scotland Yard, where I shall
supply or leave with others certain information which should be acted
on promptly in her behalf. If, as I expect, she knows no lawyer, see
that she takes this card to the address on it and give Messrs. Gibb,
Morris & Gibb my message. You understand?"

"Yes."

"Finally, she must be warned to say nothing of this to Robert Fenley.
In fact, the less that young spark knows about her affairs the better.
After tonight's adventure that hint is hardly needed, perhaps; but it
is always well to be explicit. Now off with you."

"I'm not tired. Can I be of any service?"

"Yes. I want you to be ready for a long day's work in Miss Manning's
interests. Mr. Furneaux and I may be busy elsewhere. Unquestionably we
shall not be in Roxton; we may even be far from London. Miss Manning
will want a friend. See to it that you start the day refreshed by some
hours of sleep."'

"Good-by," said Trenholme promptly. "Sorry you two will miss Eliza's
dinner. But that is only a feast deferred. By the way, if I leave
Roxton I'll send you my address."

"Don't worry about that," smiled the Superintendent. "Our friend the
Inspector here will keep tab on you. Before you're finished with
inquests, police courts and assizes you'll wish you'd never heard the
name of Fenley.... By Jove, I nearly forgot to caution you. Not a word
to the press.... Phi-ew!" he whistled. "If they get on to this story
in its entirety, won't they publish chapter and verse!"

So Trenholme went out into the village street and walked to his
quarters in the White Horse Inn. It was not yet two o'clock, but dawn
had already silvered the northeast arc of the horizon. Just twenty
hours earlier an alarm clock had waked him into such a day as few have
experienced. Many a man has been brought unexpectedly into intimate
touch with a tragedy of no personal concern, but seldom indeed do the
Fates contrive that death and love and high adventure should be so
closely bound, and packed pellmell into one long day.

Only to think of it! When he stole upstairs with the clock to play a
trick on Eliza, he had never seen Sylvia nor so much as heard her name
spoken. When he sang of love and the dawn while striding homeward
through the park, he had seen her, yet did not know her, and had no
hope of ever seeing her a