now, Robinson. That
little London 'tec has bunked home."

"Has he?" In the language of the ring, Robinson thought fit to spar for
an opening.

"Oh, none of your kiddin'," said Elkin, stroking the nervous colt's neck.
"You know he has. You don't miss much that's going on. Bet you half a
thick 'un you'd have put someone in clink before this if the murder at
The Hollies had been left in your hands."

"That's as may be, Mr. Elkin. But this affair seems to have gripped you
for fair. You look thoroughly run down. Sleepin' badly?"

"Rotten! Hardly got a wink last night."

"You shouldn't be out so late. Why, on'y a week ago you were in bed
regular at 10.15."

"That inquest broke up the day yesterday, so I was delayed at
Knoleworth."

"What time did you reach home?"

"Dashed if I know. After twelve before I was in bed. By the way, what's
this about things missing from a box owned by the Amateur Dramatic
Society? That silly josser of a detective--What's his name?"

"Furneaux," said Robinson, who was clever enough not to appear too
secretive, and was thanking his stars that Elkin had introduced the very
topic he wanted to discuss.

"Ay, Furneaux. I remember now. He worried old Tomlin last night about
that box, which is kept in the loft over the club-room. So Tomlin and I,
and Hobbs, just to satisfy ourselves, went up there as soon as Furneaux
left to-day. And, what do you think? The box was unlocked, though I
locked it myself, and have the key; and a hat and wig and whiskers I
wore when we played a skit on 'Trilby' were missing. If that isn't a
clew, what is?"

"A clew!" repeated the bewildered Robinson.

"Yes. I'm telling you, though I kept dark before the other fellows.
Didn't you say Grant's cheek was bleeding on Tuesday morning?"

"I did."

"Well, the whiskers were held on by wires that slip over the ears. One
wire was sharp as a needle. I know, because it stuck into a finger more
than once. Why shouldn't it scratch a man's cheek, and the cut open again
next morning?"

"By jing, you've got your knife into Mr. Grant, an' no mistake,"
commented Robinson.

"You yourself gave him a nasty jab at the inquest," sneered Elkin.

"I was just tellin' the facts."

"So am I. I think you ought to know about that hat and the other things.
I would recognize them anywhere. Furneaux had something up his sleeve,
too, or he wouldn't have pumped Tomlin... Woa, boy! So long, Robinson! I
must put this youngster into his sta