“Without a doubt,” the detective replied.  “It was given by a Miss Clara Bultiwell.  She happens to remember urging Miss Hyslop to come on as early as possible.”

“So that’s that,” Francis observed.

“Just so, Mr. Ledsam,” the detective murmured.

They were walking along the Mall now, eastwards.  The detective, who seemed to have been just a saunterer, had accommodated himself to Francis’ destination.

“Let me see, there was nothing stolen from the young man’s person, was there?” Francis asked presently.

“Apparently nothing at all, sir.”

“And I gather that you have made every possible enquiry as to the young man’s relations with his friends?”

“So far as one can learn, sir, they seem to have been perfectly amicable.”

“Of course,” Francis remarked presently, “this may have been quite a purposeless affair.  The deed may have been committed by a man who was practically a lunatic, without any motive or reason whatever.”

“Precisely so, sir,” the detective agreed.

“But, all the same, I don’t think it was.”

“Neither do I, sir.”

Francis smiled slightly.

“Shopland,” he said, “if there is no further external evidence to be collected, I suggest that there is only one person likely to prove of assistance to you.”

“And that one person, sir?”

“Miss Daisy Hyslop.”

“The young lady whom I have already seen?”

Francis nodded.

“The young lady whom you have already seen,” he assented.  “At the same time, Mr. Shopland, we must remember this.  If Miss Hyslop has any knowledge of the facts which are behind Mr. Bidlake’s murder, it is more likely to be to her interest to keep them to herself, than to give them away to the police free gratis and for nothing.  Do you follow me?”

“Precisely, sir.”

“That being so,” Francis continued, “I am going to make a proposition to you for what it is worth.  Where were you going when I met you this morning, Shopland?”

“To call upon you in Clarges Street, sir.”

“What for?”

“I was going to ask you if you would be so kind as to call upon Miss Daisy Hyslop, sir.”

Francis smiled.

“Great minds,” he murmured.  “I will see the young lady this afternoon, Shopland.”

The detective raised his hat.  They had reached the spot where his companion turned off by the Horse Guards Parade.

“I may hope to hear from you, then, sir?”

“Within the course of a day or two, perhaps earlier,” Francis promised.

Francis continued his walk along the Embankment to his chambers in the Temple.  He glanced in the outer office as he passed to his consulting room.

“Anything fresh, Angrave?” he asked his head-clerk.

“Nothing whatever, sir,” was the quiet reply.

He passed on to his own den—­a bare room with long windows looking out over the gardens.  He glanced at the two or three letters which lay on his desk, none of them of the least interest, and leaning back in his chair commenced to fill his pipe.  There was a knock at the door.  Fawsitt, a young beginner at the bar, in whom he had taken some interest and who deviled for him, presented himself.