happened after eleven he would be ignorant. He admitted that he may have
gone a little before eleven that night, but even as to this he was not
prepared to swear.

"In fact," said Whiteside afterwards, "his evidence would lead nowhere.
At the very hour when somebody might have come into the flat--that is to
say, between half-past ten and a quarter to eleven--he admits he was not
on duty."

Tarling nodded. He had made a diligent search of the floor of the
basement corridor through the store-room into the courtyard, but had
found no trace of blood. Nor did he expect to find any such trace, since
it was clear that, if the murder had been committed in the flat and the
night-dress which was wound about the dead man's body was Odette Rider's,
there would be no bleeding.

"Of one thing I am satisfied," he said; "if Odette Rider committed this
murder she had an accomplice. It was impossible that she could have
carried or dragged this man into the open and put him into the car,
carried him again from the car and laid him on the grass."

"The daffodils puzzle me," said Whiteside. "Why should he be found with
daffodils on his chest? And why, if he was murdered here, should she
trouble to pay that tribute of her respect?"

Tarling shook his head. He was nearer a solution to the latter mystery
than either of them knew.

His search of the flat completed, he drove to Hyde Park and, guided by
Whiteside, made his way to the spot where the body was found. It was on
a gravelled sidewalk, nearer to the grass than to the road, and Whiteside
described the position of the body. Tarling looked round, and suddenly
uttered an exclamation.

"I wonder," he said, pointing to a flower-bed.

Whiteside stared, then laughed.

"That curious," he said. "We seem to see nothing but daffodils in this
murder!"

The big bed to which Tarling walked was smothered with great feathery
bells that danced and swayed in the light spring breezes.

"Humph!" said Tarling. "Do you know anything about daffodils, Whiteside?"

Whiteside shook his head with a laugh.

"All daffodils are daffodils to me. Is there any difference in them?
I suppose there must be."

Tarling nodded.

"These are known as Golden Spurs," he said, "a kind which is very common
in England. The daffodils in Miss Rider's flat are the variety known as
the Emperor."

"Well?" said Whiteside.

"Well," said the other slowly, "the daffodils I saw this morning which
were found on Lyne's ch