"Anyone about?" he hurriedly asked the sergeant who was making entries in
the charge-book.

"Yes, sir. I saw Flack here a moment ago."

"Get him at once and call a taxi. Scotland Yard's rung through to say
they've received a report that Sir Horace Fewbanks has been murdered."

"Murdered?" echoed the sergeant in a tone of keen interest. "Who told
Scotland Yard that?"

"I don't know. Who was on that beat last night?"

"Flack, sir. Was Sir Horace murdered in his own house? I thought he was
in Scotland."

"So did I, but he may have returned--ah, here's the taxi."

Inspector Seldon had been waiting on the steps for the appearance of a
cab from the rank round the corner in response to the shrill blast which
the sergeant had blown on his whistle. The sergeant went to the door of
the station leading into the yard and sharply called:

"Flack!"

In response a police-constable, without helmet or tunic, came running up
the steps from the basement, which was used as a gymnasium.

"Seldon wants you. Get on your tunic as quick as you can. He is in a