His voice rose, specks of foam stood on his lips his whole face seemed
transfigured in an ecstasy of hate.

"She's been robbing him and robbing him for years," he shouted. "He
looked after her and protected her, and she went and told lies about him,
she did. She trapped him!"

His voice rose to a scream, and he made a move forward towards the desk,
both fists clenched till the knuckles showed white. Tarling sprang up,
for he recognised the signs. Before another word could be spoken, the man
collapsed in a heap on the floor, and lay like one dead.

Tarling was round the table in an instant, turned the unconscious man on
his back, and, lifting one eyelid, examined the pupil.

"Epilepsy or something worse," he said. "This thing has been preying on
the poor devil's mind--'phone an ambulance, Whiteside, will you?"

"Shall I give him some water?"

Tarling shook his head.

"He won't recover for hours, if he recovers at all," he said. "If Sam
Stay knows anything to the detriment of Odette Rider, he is likely to
carry his knowledge to the grave."

And in his heart of hearts J. O. Tarling felt a little sense of
satisfaction that the mouth of this man was closed.

CHAPTER IX

WHERE THE FLOWERS CAME FROM

Where was Odette Rider? That was a problem which had to be solved. She
had disappeared as though the earth had opened and swallowed her up.
Every police station in the country had been warned; all outgoing ships
were being watched; tactful inquiries had been made in every direction
where it was likely she might be found; and the house at Hertford was
under observation day and night.

Tarling had procured an adjournment of the inquest; for, whatever might
be his sentiments towards Odette Rider, he was, it seemed, more anxious
to perform his duty to the State, and it was very necessary that no
prurient-minded coroner should investigate too deeply into the cause and
the circumstances leading up to Thornton Lyne's death, lest the suspected
criminal be warned.

Accompanied by Inspector Whiteside, he reexamined the flat to which the
bloodstained carpet pointed unmistakably as being the scene of the
murder. The red thumb prints on the bureau had been photographed and were
awaiting comparison with the girl's the moment she was apprehended.

Carrymore Mansions, where Odette Rider lived, were, as has been
described, a block of good-class flats, the ground floor being given over
to shops. The entrance to the flats w