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time in reminiscences, living over the past—somehow, it seemed to make her happy, just to remember. I was nervous about the time—I kept looking at my watch. Finally I said that I must go.”

He was silent. “And then———” Chan prompted.

“Well, it was odd,” Fyfe continued. “I’d got the impression over the telephone, and even more so after I saw her, that she wanted my advice about some terribly pressing matter. But when I told her I was going, she only stared at me in a sort of pitiful way. ‘Bob,’ she said, ‘you still care for me a little, don’t you?’ She was standing close to me, and I took her in my arms. ‘I adore you,’ I cried, and—but I needn’t go into that. I had that moment—no one can take it from me. Thoughts of the happy past came back—I was torn between my love for Shelah and that damn’ watch ticking in my very brain. I told her hurriedly that I would return after the play, that I would see her daily during her stay here, that we would swim together—I had a wild idea that perhaps I could win her all over again. And perhaps I could have done it—but now—now———” His voice broke. “Poor Shelah! Poor girl!”

Chan nodded gravely. “It has been well said, those who live too conspicuously tempt the notice of Fate.”

“And I suppose no one ever lived more conspicuously than Shelah,” Fyfe added. He gave Charlie a quick penetrating glance. “Look here, Inspector—you mustn’t fail me. You must find out who has done this awful thing.”

“Such is my aim,” Chan assured him. “You departed at once?”

“Yes, I left her standing there—standing there smil-