ion and caught the funeral train which runs to Brookwood
cemetery. With Saint Anne's Chapel as my base, I made short excursions
hither and thither, and stood before a tombstone erected to the memory
of George Delany, late of the Criminal Investigation Department,
Scotland Yard. This was a clue which I could follow, so I hurried back
to town and called on the superintendent of the department.

Yes, I was told, Delany had belonged to the department. He had been a
very successful officer in ferreting out foreign Anarchists and
evil-doers. His last movement was to join a Society of harmless cranks
who met in Hanover Square. No importance was attached to this in the
department. It could not have been done in the way of business, although
Delany pretended that it was. He had dropped dead in the street as he
was leaving his cab to enter the office with information which must have
appeared to him important--to judge from the cabman's evidence as to his
intense excitement and repeated directions for faster driving. There was
an inquest and a post-mortem, but "death from natural causes" was the
verdict. That was all. It was enough for me.

I had now sufficient evidence, and was finally convinced that the
Society was as dangerous as it was demented.

CHAPTER IX.

CUI BONO?

When I arrived at the Society's rooms on the evening for which I had an
invitation, I found them pleasantly lighted. The various scientific
diagrams and instruments had been removed, and comfortable arm-chairs
were arranged so that a free passage was available, not merely to each
row, but to each chair. The place was full when I entered, and soon
afterwards the door was closed and locked. Natalie Brande and Edith
Metford were seated beside each other. An empty chair was on Miss
Metford's right. She saw me standing at the door and nodded toward the
empty seat which she had reserved for me. When I reached it she made a
movement as if to forestall me and leave me the middle chair. I
deprecated this by a look which was intentionally so severe that she
described it later as a malignant scowl.

I could not at the moment seat myself voluntarily beside Natalie Brande
with the exact and final knowledge which I had learnt at Scotland Yard
only one week old. I could not do it just then, although I did not mean
to draw back from what I had undertaken--to stand by her, innocent or
guilty. But I must have time to become accustomed to the sensation which
follow