y in an
alley off Cornhill. He elected to rub in Elkin's words.

"Mr. Siddle seemed to object to The Hollies being mentioned as the scene
of the crime," he said. "I wonder why?"

"Because he's an old molly-coddle," snapped the horse-dealer. "Thinks
everyone is like himself, a regular slow-coach."

Tomlin closed the door into the passage, closed it for the first time in
living memory, whereat Furneaux, on the landing above, grinned
sardonically, and ran downstairs.

"Wot's this about them amatoor clo'es?" he inquired portentously. "Oo 'as
the key of that box?"

"_I_ have," said Elkin. "I locked it after the last performance, and,
unless you've been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the duds are
there yet."

"You're bitin' me 'ead off all the mornin', Fred," protested the
aggrieved landlord. "Fust, the gin was wrong, an' now I'm supposed to
'ave rummidged yur box. Wot for?"

Furneaux popped in.

"My bill ready?" he squeaked.

"No, sir. The train--"

"Leaves at two, but I'm driving to Knoleworth with Superintendent
Fowler."

The door closed behind him. Tomlin shook his head.

"Box! Jack-in-the-box, I reckon," he said darkly, turning to a
dog-eared ledger.

Neither at Knoleworth nor Victoria did Ingerman catch sight of the
detective, though he was anxious either to make the journey in the
company of the representative of Scotland Yard or arrange an early
appointment with him. True, he was not inclined to place the
strange-mannered little man on the same high plane as that suggested by
certain London journalists to whom he had spoken. But he wanted to win
the confidence of "the Yard" in connection with this case, and the belief
that he was being avoided was nettling. He found consolation, of a sort,
in the illustrated papers. One especially contained two pages of local
pictures. "Mr. Grant addressing the crowd," with full text, was very
effective, while there were admirable studies of The Hollies and the
"scene of the tragedy." His own portrait was not flattering. The sun had
etched his Mephistophelian features rather sharply, whereas Grant looked
a very fine fellow.

Ingerman would have been more than surprised were he privileged to
overhear a conversation which began and ended before he reached his flat
in North Kensington.

Furneaux, who had jumped into the fore part of the train at Knoleworth,
and was out in a jiffy at Victoria, handed his bag to a station
detective, and turned into Vauxhall Bridge R