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ories about who the murderer was. I think it will be all right."

"Well, I'll risk it, anyhow. You see, I know that the police, once they've caught a man, will always want to convict that man, merely so as to save themselves trouble, and save their own faces."

"That's my experience of them, certainly." Reeves had no experience in the matter whatsoever, but there was no harm in agreeing.

"Well, I'd better tell you about myself first of all, and how I come to be mixed up in the business. My name isn't, legally, Miss Rendall-Smith, although it was my maiden name. My legal name is Mrs. Brotherhood."

"You mean that you are———"

"His widow. It must be a wonderful thing to be a detective, Mr. Reeves."

Reeves was thrilled with the compliment, which a more introspective person might have suspected of irony. He suddenly remembered that a detective ought to have a note-book, and write down facts in it. He had no note-book, so he said, "Excuse me," and fetched a sheet of the club notepaper. On this he wrote down in pencil "Miss R.-S. = Mrs. B." It looked rather silly, somehow, when he had written it.

"I was brought up in these parts, Mr. Reeves. My father used to be Rector of Binver. When that photograph was taken⁠—those photographs were taken, my father was still alive, and I was still unmarried. The only person who'd ever asked me