Turning out the lights was an
instinctive act due to her desire to hide the crime, or rather to hide
the murderer."

"How do you know all this?" asked Rolfe, who had been staring at Crewe
with open-mouthed astonishment.

"That woman was not Mrs. Holymead," continued Crewe. "I had a visit
to-day from the woman who did these things, and as evidence of the truth
of her story she brought me the revolver and the handkerchief."

"What did she come to you for?" asked Rolfe, with breathless interest.
"What did she want?"

"She came to me to make a full confession," said Crewe, in even tones.

"A confession!" exclaimed Rolfe. "She ought to have come to the police.
Why didn't she come to us?"

Crewe smiled at the puzzled, indignant detective.

"I think she came to me because she wanted to mislead me," he said.

CHAPTER XXV

Joe Leaver, worn out after nearly a week's work of watching the movements
of Mr. Holymead, had fallen asleep in an empty loft above a garage which
overlooked Verney's Hotel in Mayfair. He had seen Mr. Holymead disappear
into the hotel, and he knew from the experience gained in his watch that
the K.C. would spend the next couple of hours in dressing for dinner,
sitting down to that meal, and smoking a cigar in the lounge. So Joe had
relaxed, for the time being, the new task which his master had set him,
and had flung himself on some straw in the loft to rest. He did not
intend to go to sleep, but he was very tired, and in a few minutes he was
in a profound slumber.

In his sleep Joe dreamed that he had attained the summit of his ambition,
and was being paid a huge salary by an American film company to display
himself in emotional dramas for the educational improvement of the
British working classes. In his dream he had to rescue the heroine from
the clutches of the villains who had carried her off. They had imprisoned
her at the top of a "skyscraper" building and locked the lift, but Joe
climbed the fire escape and caught the beautiful girl in his arms. The
villains, who were on the watch, set fire to the building, and when Joe
attempted to climb out of the window with the heroine clinging round his
neck, the flames drove him back. As he stood there the wind swept a sheet
of flame towards Joe until it scorched his face. The pain was so real
that Joe opened his eyes and sprang up with a cry.

A man was standing over him, a man past middle age, short and broad in
figure, whose clean-shaven fa