e station.

"We'll soon find out," replied the inspector. "Of course, there is
something in it, but there is no doubt Hill will not stick at a lie to
save his own skin. But we are more likely to get at the truth by
threatening to arrest him than by arresting him. If he were arrested he
would probably shut up and say no more."

"And are you going to arrest Birchill?"

"Yes."

"For the murder?" asked Rolfe.

"No; for burglary. It would be a mistake to charge him with murder until
we get more evidence. The papers would jeer at us if we charged him with
murder and then dropped the charge."'

"Do you think Birchill will squeak?"

"On Hill?" said the inspector. "When he knows that Hill has been trying
to fit him for the murder he'll try and do as much for Hill. And between
them we'll come at the truth. We are on the right track at last, my boy.
And, thank God, we have beaten our friend Crewe."

Inspector Chippenfield's satisfaction in his impending triumph over Crewe
was increased by a chance meeting with the detective. As the two police
officials came out of Leicester Square Station on their way to Scotland
Yard to obtain a warrant for Birchill's arrest, they saw Crewe in a
taxi-cab. Crewe also saw them, and telling the driver to pull up leaned
out of the window and looked back at the two detectives. When they came
up with the taxi-cab they saw that Crewe had on a light overcoat and
that there was a suit-case beside the driver. Crewe was going on a
journey of some kind.

"Anything fresh about the Riversbrook case?" he asked.

"No; nothing fresh," replied Inspector Chippenfield, looking Crewe
straight in the face.

"You are a long time in making an arrest," said Crewe, in a
bantering tone.

"We want to arrest the right man," was the reply. "There's nothing like
getting the right man to start with; it saves such a lot of time and
trouble. Where are you off to?"

"I'm taking a run down to Scotland."

The inspector glanced at Crewe rather enviously.

"You are fortunate in being able to enjoy yourself just now," he said
meaningly.

"I won't drop work altogether," remarked Crewe. "I'll make a few
inquiries there."

"About the Riversbrook affair?"

"Yes."

With the murderer practically arrested, Inspector Chippenfield permitted
himself the luxury of smiling at the way in which Crewe was following up
a false scent.

"I thought the murder was committed in London--not in Scotland," he said.

"Wrong, Chipp