aring to leave the office.

"Put on your hat and come with me," said the inspector. "We will go out
and see Mrs. Hill. I'll frighten the truth out of her and then tackle
Hill. He is sure to be up at Riversbrook, and we can go on there from
Camden Town."

While on the way to Camden Town by Tube, Inspector Chippenfield
arranged his plans with the object of saving time. He would interview
Mrs. Hill and while he was doing so Rolfe could make inquiries at the
neighbouring hotels about Hill. It was the inspector's conviction that
a man who had anything to do with a murder would require a steady
supply of stimulants next day.

Mrs. Hill kept a small confectionery shop adjoining a cinema theatre to
supplement her husband's wages by a little earnings of her own in order
to support her child. Although the shop was an unpretentious one, and
catered mainly for the ha'p'orths of the juvenile patrons of the picture
house next door, it was called "The Camden Town Confectionery Emporium,"
and the title was printed over the little shop in large letters.
Inspector Chippenfield walked into the empty shop, and rapped sharply on
the counter.

A little thin woman, with prematurely grey hair, and a depressed
expression, appeared from the back in response to the summons. She
started nervously as her eye encountered the police uniform, but she
waited to be spoken to.

"Is your name Hill?" asked the inspector sternly. "Mrs. Emily Hill?"

The woman nodded feebly, her frightened eyes fixed on the
inspector's face.

"Then I want to have a word with you," continued the inspector, walking
through the shop into the parlour. "Come in here and answer my
questions."

Mrs. Hill followed him timidly into the room he had entered. It was a
small, shabbily-furnished apartment, and the inspector's massive
proportions made it look smaller still. He took up a commanding position
on the strip of drugget which did duty as a hearth-rug, and staring
fiercely at her, suddenly commenced:

"Mrs. Hill, where was your husband on the night of the 18th of August,
when his employer, Sir Horace Fewbanks, was murdered?"

Mrs. Hill shrank before that fierce gaze, and said, in a low tone:

"Please, sir, he was at home."

"At home, was he? I'm not so sure of that. Tell me all about your
husband's movements on that day and night. What time did he come home, to
begin with?"

"He came home early in the afternoon to take our little girl to the
Zoo--which was a trea