hastened to let him in, and I could tell by the sigh of relief with
which he sank into a chair that he was thoroughly weary.

"It does me good to come in here occasionally and have a talk with
you, Lester," he said, accepting the cigar I offered him. "I find it
restful after a hard day," and he smiled across at me good-humouredly.

"How you keep it up I don't see," I said. "This one case has nearly
given me nervous prostration."

"Well, I don't often strike one as strenuous as this," and he settled
back comfortably. "As a matter of fact, I haven't had one for a long
time that even touches it. There is nothing really mysterious about
most crimes."

"This one is certainly mysterious enough," I remarked.

"What makes it mysterious," Godfrey explained, "is the apparent lack
of motive. As soon as one learns the motive for a crime, one learns
also who committed it. But where the motive can't be discovered, it
is mighty hard to make any progress."

"It isn't only lack of motive which makes it mysterious," I
commented; "it's everything about it. I can't understand either why
it was done or how it was done. When I get to thinking about it, I
feel as though I were wandering around and around in a maze, from
which I can never escape."

"Oh, yes, you'll escape, Lester," said Godfrey, quietly, "and that
before very long."