ches on the table, sir," said Coates.

Instantly I remembered that this was the case, that they lay in fact
near to my hand. I struck one, and in its flickering light looked
about the room. My visitor had gone--palpably through the window, for
certainly the front door had not been opened.

"She has gone, Coates!" I exclaimed.

And on this occasion it was Coates who repeated in an amazed voice:

"_She_?"

But even as he spoke, my attention had become diverted.

I was staring at that portion of the table upon which Maspero's book
lay. Beside it had stood the little Bubastis statuette ... but the
statuette was there no longer!

CHAPTER IX

THE VELVET CURTAIN

"This gets me well out of my depth, Mr. Addison," said Inspector
Gatton.

We were standing in the garden at a point near to my open study
window. A small flower-bed intervened between the path and the high
privet hedge. It lay much in shade, and Coates had set tobacco plants
there. But the soil was softer here than elsewhere.

Clearly marked upon it were the imprints of little high-heeled shoes.

"It seems to take us back to the days of 'Spring-heeled Jack,'" my
friend continued; "which was before my time! I don't think _that_
mystery was ever cleared up?"

"No," I replied, meeting his questioning glance; "it never was,
satisfactorily. Therefore the analogy is an unfortunate one. But as
you say, it certainly looks as though my visitor had sprung across a
six-foot hedge!"

"It's absolutely mad," said Gatton gloomily. "Far from helping us, it
only plunges us deeper in the mire."

We returned to the study, and:

"You will have seen the daily papers?" asked the Inspector.

I nodded.

"Practically all of them. They give a hateful prominence to the name
of Miss Merlin."

"And to that of the new baronet--Sir Eric," said Gatton significantly.

I stared at him straightly.

"Do you seriously believe," said I, "that Eric Coverly had anything
whatever to do with the death of his cousin?"

Gatton stirred uneasily in his chair.

"Well," he answered, "ignoring everything else for the moment, who
else benefits by Sir Marcus Coverly's death?"

It was a poser--a question which I had dreaded because I had known it
to be unanswerable.

"He inherits the title," continued Gatton, "and on the death of Lady
Burnham Coverly he inherits Friars' Park. There is some clause or
entail, or legal hotchpotch whereby the estate and revenue remain hers
during