ted
the mere notion of such a thing. But something must be done. Once the
murderer was laid by the heels his own troubles would vanish, and the
storm raised by the unhappy fate of Adelaide Melhuish would subside into
a sad memory.

He was wrestling with indecision when a newspaper reporter called. Grant
received the journalist promptly, and told him all the salient facts,
suppressing only the one-time prospect of a marriage between himself and
the famous actress.

The reporter went with him to the river, and scrutinized the marks, now
rapidly becoming obliterated, of the body having been drawn ashore.

"The rope and iron staple, I understand, were taken from the premises of
a man who lets boats for hire on the dam quarter of a mile away," he
said casually.

Grant was astounded at his own failure to make any inquiry whatsoever
concerning this vital matter. He laughed grimly.

"You can imagine the state of my mind," he said, "when I assure you
that, until this moment, it never occurred to me even to ask where these
articles came from or what had become of them."

"I can sympathize with you," said the journalist. "A brutal murder seems
horribly out of place in this environment. It is a mysterious business
altogether. I wonder if Scotland Yard will take it up."

Grant surprised him by clapping him on the back.

"By Jove, my friend, the very thing! Of course, such an investigation
requires bigger brains than our local police are endowed with. Scotland
Yard _must_ take it up. I'll wire there at once. If necessary, I'll pay
all expenses."

The newspaper man had his doubts. The "Yard," he said, acted in the
provinces only if appealed to by the authorities directly concerned. But
Grant was not to be stayed by a trifle like that. He hurried to the post
office, hoping that Doris Martin might walk back with him.

The girl and her father were busy behind the counter when he entered. He
noticed that Doris was rather pale. She was about to attend to him, but
Mr. Martin intervened. It struck Grant that the postmaster was purposely
preventing his daughter from speaking to him.

For some inexplicable reason, he felt miserably tongue-tied, and was
content to write a message to the Chief Commissioner of Police, London,
asking that a skilled detective should be sent forthwith to Steynholme.

Mr. Martin read it gravely, stated the cost, and procured the requisite
stamps. In the event, Grant quitted the place without exchanging