from the house.

On Tuesday the unfortunate woman was decently buried, at Jimmie
Drexell's expense, and on the following day a more formal inquiry was
held at Great Marlborough street. Jack was there, and he had a brief and
affecting interview with Sir Lucius and Jimmie; he had previously seen
his solicitor at Holloway. He repeated to the magistrate the story he
had told before, and he was compelled to admit, by the Crown lawyers,
that the murdered woman had been his wife, that they had lived apart for
nearly six years, and that she had recently prevented him from marrying
another woman. What prompted these damaging questions, or how the
prosecution got hold of the lost letter, did not appear. Mrs. Rickett
positively identified the prisoner, and medical evidence was taken. The
police stated that they had been unable as yet to find the missing man,
concerning whose existence they suggested some doubt, and that they had
discovered nothing bearing on the case in the apartments occupied by
either the accused or Diane Merode. Mr. Tenby, who was suffering from
a headache, did little but watch the proceedings. The inquiry was
adjourned, and John Vernon was remanded in custody for a week.

But much was destined to occur in the interval. The solicitor had a
formidable rival in the person of Jimmie Drexell. The shrewd American,
keeping eyes and ears open, had formed suspicions in regard to the
principal witness for the Crown. And he lost no time in making the most
of his clew, wild and improbable as it seemed.

CHAPTER XXVII.

AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE.

On the day of the inquiry at Great Marlborough street, about five
o'clock in the afternoon, Jimmie Drexell walked slowly and thoughtfully
up the Quadrant. The weather had turned cold, and his top hat and
fur-lined coat gave him the appearance of an actor in luck. He was bound
on a peculiar errand, and though he hoped to succeed, he was not blind
to the fact that the odds were very much against him.

"I shall probably put my foot in it somehow," he reflected dolefully,
"and make a mess of the thing. But if I fail, it won't convince me that
I am wrong. I had my eye on that woman in court, and she was certainly
keeping something back. She seemed confused--in dread of some question
that was never asked. And once or twice I thought she was on the point
of making some startling revelation. I must play a cunning game, for
poor old Jack's sake. If Mrs. Rickett can't save him, an