more properly, rubber tubing, since there is no rope-like texture visible, had been dropped upon it, and hastily removed—­but see, here are Osborne and Allen looking for all the world as if they were prepared to demonstrate a fourth dimension of space.  Now we shall see the suicide theory proved—­to their own satisfaction, at least.  But, whatever they say, don’t forget we are to keep our own work to ourselves.”

The two officers were alone.  M. Godin had apparently decided to work by himself.  This did not in the least surprise me, since I could easily see that he had nothing to gain by working with these two officers.

“We’ve solved the matter,” was the first thing Osborne said after passing the time of day.  “Indeed?” replied Maitland in a tone which was decidedly ambiguous; “you make it suicide, I suppose?” “That’s just what we make it,” returned the other.  “We hadn’t much doubt of it last night, but there were some things, such as the motive, for example, not quite clear to us; but it is all as plain as daylight now.”

“And what says M. Godin?” asked Maitland.

Mr. Osborne burst into a loud guffaw.

“Oho, but that’s good!  What says M. Godin?  I say, Allen, Maitland wants to know what ‘Frenchy’ says,” and the pair laughed boisterously.  “It’s plain enough you don’t know,” he continued, addressing Maitland.  “He’s tighter ’n any champagne bottle you ever saw.  The corkscrew ain’t invented that’ll draw a word out of M. Godin.  You saw him making notes here last night.  Well, the chances are that if this were a murder case, which it isn’t, you’d see no more of M. Godin till he bobbed up some day, perhaps on the other side of the earth, with a pair of twisters on the culprit.  He’s a ‘wiz,’ is M. Godin.  What does he think?  He knows what he thinks, and he’s the only individual on the planet that enjoys that distinction.  I say, Allen, do you pump ‘Frenchy’ for the gentleman’s enlightenment,” and again the pair laughed long and heartily.

“Well, then,” said Maitland, “since we can’t have M. Godin’s views we shall have to content ourselves with those of your more confiding selves.  Let’s hear all about the suicide theory.”

“I think,” said Osborne in an undertone, “you had better ask Miss Darrow to withdraw for a few moments, as there are some details likely to pain her.”  This suggestion was intended only for Maitland, but the officer, used to talking in the open air, spoke so loudly that we all overheard him.  “I thank you for your consideration,” Gwen said to him, “but I would much prefer to remain.  There can be nothing connected with this matter which I cannot bear to hear, or should not know.  Pray proceed.”

Osborne, anxious to narrate his triumph, needed no further urging.  “We felt sure,” he began, “that it was a case of suicide, but were perplexed to know why Mr. Darrow should wish to make it appear a murder.  Of course, we thought he might wish to spare his daughter the shame such an act would visit upon her, but when this was exchanged for the horrible notoriety of murder, the motive didn’t seem quite sufficient, so we looked for a stronger one—­and found it.”  “Ah! you are getting interesting,” Maitland observed.