class above
them can sneak in by back doors of unsuspected places, and indulge in
drinking, gambling, and dancing till daylight. Truly the middle-class
Londoner is a meek, obedient person. One day, however, he may revolt.

Piccadilly was particularly bright and gay that night, as, passing the
end of St. James's Street, we sped forward in the taxi towards Brompton
Road and past the Natural History Museum to Gloucester Road.

On our arrival the door of the flat was opened by a constable without a
helmet. Recognising the famous inspector, he saluted.

The body of the unknown girl had been removed to the mortuary for a
post-mortem examination, but nothing else had been moved, and two
officers of the C.I.D. were busy making examination for finger-prints.

I allowed them to take mine for comparison, but some they found upon the
mahogany table and upon the back of a chair were undoubtedly those of
the victim herself.

The small glass-topped specimen-table still lay where it had been
overturned, and the fragments of the two green-glass flower-vases were
strewn upon the carpet with the drooping red anemones themselves.

Regarding the overturned table the two detectives held that it had
separated the assassin from his victim; that the girl had been chased
around it several times before her assailant had thrown it down, suddenly
sprung upon her, and delivered the fatal blow, full in her chest.

"We've thoroughly examined it for finger-prints, sir," the elder of the
two officers explained to my companion. "Both on the glass top and on the
mahogany edge there are a number of prints of the victim herself, as well
as a number made by another hand."

"A man's?" I asked.

"No; curiously enough, it seems to be a woman's," was the reply.

"A woman's!"

I thought of that sweet perfume, and of the person who had lurked in the
shadow of the stairs!

"That's interesting," remarked Edwards. "They may be those of the woman
who wore green combs in her hair, or else of the porter's wife."

"The owner's man-servant is away abroad on business for his master, we've
found out," answered the man addressed. "So of late the porter's wife,
who lives in the basement of the next house, has been in the habit of
coming in every day and tidying up the room. We took her prints this
morning, and have found quite a lot about the place. No," added the man
emphatically, "the finger-prints on that little table yonder are not
those of the porter's wif