steal
out and avenge a violation of Rule 3? The doorkeeper had always feared
the man; in the lurid light of this deed, Gaspard's image grew into a
monster of horror, threatening sudden and swift revenge for disobedience
or treachery. No; he must stand firm. But what of the police? Well, men
sleep somehow, and at last he fell asleep, holding the band of the
night-shirt away from his throat: if he fell asleep with that pressing
on him, God knew what he might dream.

"It's very lucky," remarked the Superintendent of Police, who had a
happy habit of looking at the bright side of things, to one of his
subordinates, "that this Benham seems to have had no relations and
precious few friends."

"No widows coming crying about," observed the subordinate, with an
assenting nod.

"Nothing known of him except that he came to Kirton a few months back,
did nothing, seemed to have plenty of money, took his liquor, played a
hand at cards, hurt nobody, seemingly knew nobody."

"Why, I saw him with Mr. Puttock."

"Yes; but Mr. Puttock knows nothing of him, except that he said he came
from Shepherdstown. That's why Puttock was civil to him. The place is in
his constituency."

"Got any idea, sir?" the subordinate ventured to ask.

The Superintendent was about to answer in the negative, when a detective
entered the room.

"Well, I've found one missing man for you," he said, in a satisfied
tone.

"One missing man!" echoed his superior, scornfully. "In a place o' this
size I'd always find you twenty."

The sergeant went on, unperturbed,

"Francois Gaspard, known as politician and agitator, didn't go home to
his lodgings in Kettle Street last night, was to have acted as Marshal
in Company B of Procession 3 to-day, didn't turn up, hasn't turned up
to-night, don't owe any rent, hasn't taken any clothes."

"Oh!" said the Superintendent morosely. "Left an address?"

"Left no address, sir."

"How did he go, and where?"

"Not known, sir."

"Good Lord!" moaned the Superintendent, "and what's your salary?"

The sergeant's good-humour was impregnable.

"Give me time," he said, and the sentence was almost drowned in a loud
knock at the door. An instant later Kilshaw rushed in.

"What's this, Dawson?" he cried to the Superintendent; "what's this
about the murder?"

"You haven't heard, sir?"

"I went out of town to avoid this infernal row to-day, and am only just
back."

Dawson smiled discreetly. He could understand that the p