enfield," said Crewe, with a smile. "Sir Horace was murdered
in Scotland and his body was brought up to London by train and placed in
his own house in order to mislead the police. Good-bye."

As the taxi-cab drove off, Inspector Chippenfield turned to his
subordinate and said, "We'll rub it into him when he comes back and finds
that we have got our man under lock and key. He's on some wild-goose
chase. Scotland! He might as well go to Siberia while's he's about it."

With a warrant in his pocket Inspector Chippenfield, accompanied by
Rolfe, set out for Macauley Mansions, Westminster. They found the
Mansions to be situated in a quiet and superior part of Westminster, not
far from Victoria Station, and consisting of a large block of flats
overlooking a square--a pocket-handkerchief patch of green which was
supposed to serve as breathing-space for the flats which surrounded it.

Macauley Mansions had no lift, and Number 43, the scene of the events of
Hill's confession, was on the top floor. Inspector Chippenfield and Rolfe
mounted the stairs steadily, and finally found themselves standing on a
neat cocoanut door-mat outside the door of No. 43. The door was closed.

"Well, well," said the inspector, as he paused, panting, on the door-mat
and rang the bell. "Snug quarters these--very snug. Strange that these
sort of women never know enough to run straight when they are well off."

The door opened, and a young woman confronted them. She was hardly more
than a girl, pretty and refined-looking, with large dark eyes, a pathetic
drooping mouth, and a wistful expression. She wore a well-made indoor
dress of soft satin, without ornaments, and her luxuriant dark hair was
simply and becomingly coiled at the back of her head. She held a book in
her left hand, with one finger between the leaves, as though the summons
to the door had interrupted her reading, and glanced inquiringly at the
visitors, waiting for them to intimate their business. She was so
different from the type of girl they had expected to see that Inspector
Chippenfield had some difficulty in announcing it.

"Are you Miss Fanning?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Then you are the young woman we wish to see, and, with your permission,
we'll come inside," said Inspector Chippenfield, recovering from his
first surprise and speaking briskly.

They followed the girl into the hall, and into a room off the hall to
which she led the way. A small Pomeranian dog which la