friends and acquaintances, at any rate of those who were immediately available.  Consequently, Gifford concluded, it had been to himself she had turned in this trouble, influenced no doubt by the idea that a Londoner with legal training and experience of the world in its many aspects would be the best man she could enlist to help her.  That her confidence had been drawn by any particular personal liking he never for one moment admitted; that unfortunately was so far all on one side, whatever hopes the future might hold out to him.  Anyhow he blessed his luck that an accident had so quickly broken the ice and established a state of confidential relationship between them.  As to there being an adequate reason for alarm Gifford was not inclined to question, since he quite realized that this man Henshaw might easily constitute himself a grave annoyance to the Morristons.  A clever girl like Edith Morriston, more sensitive than to a casual observer would appear, had naturally recognized this danger and was anxious to have the man, with his, perhaps, none too scrupulous methods, held in check; and to this service Gifford was only too happy to devote himself, glad beyond measure that the opportunity had been given him by the girl who had filled his thoughts.

It was not until evening that he came across Henshaw, it being to his mind essential not to appear anxious or to seek out the criminologist with the obvious view of getting information as to his plans.

“So you are back again, Mr. Henshaw,” he said with a careless nod of greeting as they encountered in the hall of the hotel.  “I hear the police have not yet arrived at any satisfactory conclusion.”

Henshaw drew back his lips in a slight smile.  To Gifford the expression was an ugly one, and he wondered what it portended.

“There is a likelihood of our not being at a loss much longer,” Henshaw replied, speaking through his teeth with a certain grim satisfaction.

“What, you have made a discovery?” Gifford exclaimed.

Henshaw’s face hardened.  “I am not yet at liberty to say what I have found,” he returned in an uncompromising tone.  “But I think you may take it from me as absolutely certain that my brother did not take his own life.”

With pursed lips Gifford nodded acceptance of the statement.  “That makes the affair look serious, not to say sensational,” he responded.  “I suppose one must not ask you whether you have a clue to the perpetrator.”

“No, I can hardly say that yet,” Henshaw answered with a rather cunning look.  “You, as one of our profession, Mr. Gifford, will understand that and the unwisdom of premature statements.”

“Certainly I do,” Gifford agreed promptly.  “And am quite content to restrain my curiosity till I get information from the papers.”

Henshaw laughed intriguingly.  “There are certain things that don’t find their way into the Press,” he said meaningly.  “The real story in this case may turn out to be one of them.”