not that I'm aware of. But it seemed that he was
essentially what might be called a ladies' man."

"I know that. He used to delight in entertaining his lady friends."

"But who is this woman Petre whom you've mentioned?" he inquired with
some curiosity.

"The woman who is ready to give you information for a consideration," I
replied.

"How do you know that?"

"Well, I am acquainted with her. I was with her last night," was my quick
response. "Her intention is to condemn a perfectly innocent woman."

"Whom?" he asked sharply. "The woman who lost that green horn comb at the
flat?"

I held my breath.

"No, Edwards," I answered, "That question is unfair. As a gentleman, I
cannot mention a lady's name. If she chooses to do so that's another
matter. But if she does--as from motives of jealousy she easily may
do--please do not take any action without first consulting me. Ere long I
shall have a strange, almost incredible, story to put before you."

"Why not now?" he asked, instantly interested.

"Because I have not yet substantiated all my facts," was my reply.

"Cannot I assist you? Why keep me in the dark?" he protested.

"I'm afraid you can render me no other assistance except to hesitate to
accept the allegations of that woman Petre," I replied.

"Well, we shall wait until she approaches us again," he said.

"This I feel certain she will do," I exclaimed. "But if you see her, make
no mention whatever of me--you understand? She believes me to be dead,
and therefore not likely to disprove her allegations."

"Dead!" he echoed. "Really, Mr. Royle, all this sounds most interesting."

"It is," I declared. "I believe I am now upon the verge of a very
remarkable discovery--that ere long we shall know the details of that
crime in South Kensington."

"Well, if you do succeed in elucidating the mystery you will accomplish a
marvellous feat," said the great detective, placing his hands together
and looking at me across his table. "I confess that I'm completely
baffled. That friend of yours who called himself Kemsley has disappeared
as completely as though the ground had opened and swallowed him."

"Ah, Edwards, London's a big place," I laughed, "and your men are really
not very astute."

"Why not?"

"Because the man you want called at my rooms in Albemarle Street only a
few days ago."

"What?" he cried, staring at me surprised.

"Yes, I was unfortunately out, but he left a message with my man that he
would