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“You are so extremely kind,” bowed Chan, and returned to his car.

The front lawn of Shelah Fane’s house, when Charlie arrived there, lay peaceful and serene in the shade of its ancient banyan tree. Jessop answered the door, perfect in manner and attire, as always.

“How-are you, Constable?” he said. “The morning is rather on the gorgeous side, is it not?”

“Presume so,” agreed Chan. “It is matter we do not notice here. All mornings much the same.”

“Which must, if I may say so, sir, grow a trifle monotonous in time.” The butler followed Chan into the living-room. “Now in England, Constable, drawing back the curtains of a morning is something of a sporting proposition.”

Charlie stood looking about the great room, where so much had happened the night before. It was calm, quiet and sunny now.

“Miss Julie and Mr. Bradshaw are in the neighborhood of the beach, sir,” Jessop remarked. “One of your officers—a Mr. Hettick, I believe—is busily engaged in the pavilion.”

“Ah, yes—Hettick is our finger-print expert,” Charlie explained. “I will go outside at once.” On the lawn he encountered the two young people, who greeted him warmly. “So sorry to develop into pest,” he said to Julie. “But path of duty is often rocky one.”

“Why, you could never be that,” she smiled. “We've been expecting you.”

He glanced at her, so fresh and lovely, her blue eyes wide and innocent. He thought of the emerald ring.

“Well, how did you like my story in the paper this morning?” Bradshaw wanted to know.