he end of
this dangled a liliputian stopper, a wee mite of a thing that was little
more than a short, thick pin of plain, unjewelled, unornamented gold.

"One of the 'capsules' of which I spoke, you see," said Cleek, "and
bearing not the slightest resemblance to the one belonging to Margot.
The thing has snapped from its fastening and been trodden upon--trodden
under a very heavy foot, I should say, from the condition of it. There
is something engraved upon it, something that won't tend to ease your
mind, Mr. Narkom. Take my glass and look at it."

Narkom did so. Engraved on the crushed and fragrant-smelling bit of gold
he saw a coat-of-arms--arms which he, at least, knew to be those of the
house of St. Ulmer--and under this the name "Katharine."

"Good Lord!" he said, and let the crushed bauble fall back upon the palm
from which he had lifted it. "That child--that dear girl who is as much
as life itself to young Geoff Clavering? But how could she--a slip of a
girl like that----"

He turned and looked over at the dead figure spiked to the cottage wall.

Cleek made no reply--at least for the moment. He had gone back to the
"hound's trick" of sniffing the trail and was creeping on again--_past_
the litter of papers this time--and crawling on all fours toward the
very doorway by which the police had first gained access to the room.

"Wait! Cross no bridges until you come to them," he said at last in an
excited whisper. "Some one who trod upon that thing passed out this way.
I _knew_ I smelt the oil the very instant I crossed the threshold; now I
can understand why. The assassin left by the very door you entered, but
whether man or woman----"

By now the trail had led him to the very threshold of the room. Beyond
lay the dark hall by which Narkom and his men had entered the house, and
the light of his upraised electric torch shining out into that black
passage showed him something that made his pulses leap. It was simply a
fragment of some soft pinkish material, caught and torn off from a
woman's skirt by a nail head that protruded above the level of the
boarded floor. He rose and ran out to it; he caught it up and examined
it; then, with a laugh, shut his hand over it and went hurriedly back to
the superintendent's side.

"Mr. Narkom," he said, "tell me something! We have, presumably, found a
perfume receptacle belonging to the Lady Katharine Fordham; but did you
notice--can you remember what manner of frock her la