visitor was P.C. Robinson, who actually smiled and saluted.

"Glad I've caught you before you went out, sir," he said. "Mr. Furneaux
asked me to tell you he had to hurry back to London. I was also to
mention that he had got the whiskers."

"What whiskers? Whose whiskers?"

"That's all he said, sir--he'd got the whiskers."

"Why, Owd Ben's whiskers, of course. How dense you are, Jack!" put in
Hart.

Now, this was the first Robinson had heard of whiskers in connection
with the crime. He remembered Elkin's make-up as Svengali, of course, and
could have kicked himself for not associating earlier a set of sable
whiskers with the black wig and the bullet-torn hat.

But, Owd Ben! What figure did that redoubtable ghost cut in the mystery?

"There are certain _lacunae_ in your otherwise vigorous and thrilling
story, constable," went on Hart.

"Very likely, sir," agreed Robinson, much to the surprise of his
hearers. He had not the slightest notion what a _lacuna_, or its
plural, signified. He was only adopting Furneaux's advice, and trying
to be civil.

"Ah, you see that, do you?" said Hart. "Well, fill 'em in. When, where,
and how did the midget sleuth obtain the specter's hairy adornments?"

The policeman, whose wits were thoroughly on the alert, realized that he
had scored a point, though he knew not how.

"He did not tell me, sir," he answered. "It's a rum business, that's what
it is, no matter what way you look at it."

Grant, agreeably aware of the village constable's change of front,
accepted the olive branch readily.

"We're just going for a walk," he said. "If you have ten minutes to
spare, Mrs. Bates will find you some luncheon, I have no doubt."

"Well, sir, meals are a trifle irregular during a busy time like this,"
admitted Robinson, feeling that his luck was in, because tongues would
surely be loosened in the kitchen to an official guest introduced by the
master of the establishment. He was right. No member of the Bates family
dreamed of reticence, now that the household was restored to favor with
"the force." Before Robinson departed, he was full of information and
good food.

What more natural, then, an hour later, than that he should contrive to
meet Elkin as the horse-dealer was taking home a lively two-year-old pony
he had been "lungeing" on a strip of common opposite his house?

Each was eager to question the other, but Elkin opened fire.

"Anything fresh?" he cried. "You have a fair course