to report that he has identified her."

"I should have preferred you to have gone yourself, sir," began Dunbar,
taking out his notebook.

"My state of health, Inspector," said the solicitor, "renders it
undesirable that I should submit myself to an ordeal so unnecessary--so
wholly unnecessary."

"Very good!" muttered Dunbar, making an entry in his book; "your clerk,
then, whom I can see in a moment, identifies the murdered woman as Mrs.
Vernon. What was her Christian name?"

"Iris--Iris Mary Vernon."

Inspector Dunbar made a note of the fact.

"And now," he said, "you will have read the copy of that portion of my
report which I submitted to you this morning--acting upon information
supplied by Miss Helen Cumberly?"

"Yes, yes, Inspector, I have read it--but, by the way, I do not know
Miss Cumberly."

"Miss Cumberly," explained the detective, "is the daughter of Dr.
Cumberly, the Harley Street physician. She lives with her father in
the flat above that of Mr. Leroux. She saw the body by accident--and
recognized it as that of a lady who had been named to her at the last
Arts Ball."

"Ah!" said Debnam, "yes--I see--at the Arts Ball, Inspector. This is a
mysterious and a very ghastly case."

"It is indeed, sir," agreed Dunbar. "Can you throw any light upon the
presence of Mrs. Vernon at Mr. Leroux's flat on the very night of her
husband's death?"

"I can--and I cannot," answered the solicitor, leaning back in the
chair and again adjusting his pince-nez, in the manner of a man having
important matters--and gloomy, very gloomy, matters--to communicate.

"Good!" said the inspector, and prepared to listen.

"You see," continued Debnam, "the late Mrs. Vernon was not actually
residing with her husband at the date of his death."

"Indeed!"

"Ostensibly"--the solicitor shook a lean forefinger at his
vis-a-vis--"ostensibly, Inspector, she was visiting her sister in
Scotland."

Inspector Dunbar sat up very straight, his brows drawn down over the
tawny eyes.

"These visits were of frequent occurrence, and usually of about a
week's duration. Mr. Vernon, my late client, a man--I'll not deny it--of
inconstant affections (you understand me, Inspector?), did not greatly
concern himself with his wife's movements. She belonged to a smart
Bohemian set, and--to use a popular figure of speech--burnt the candle
at both ends; late dances, night clubs, bridge parties, and other
feverish pursuits, possibly taken up as a res