happened to be a charming girl of nineteen."

"It is possible."

"So she went off and got someone to kill her, and tie her body with a
rope, and arrange a dramatic setting whereby it would be patent to the
meanest intelligence that I was the criminal?"

Mr. Fowler smiled, and looked fixedly at P.C. Robinson.

"No, no," he said, quite good-humoredly. "That would be carrying realism
to extremes. Still, I am convinced, Mr. Grant, that this mystery is bound
up in some way with your romance of three years ago. At present, I admit,
I am working in the dark."

He rose. Apparently, the interview was at an end. But, while pocketing
his note-book, he said suddenly:--

"The inquest will open at three o'clock tomorrow. You will be present, of
course, Mr. Grant?"

"I suppose it is necessary."

"Oh, yes. You found the body, you know. Besides, you may be the only
person who can give evidence of identity. In fact, you and the doctor
will be the only witnesses called."

"Dr. Foxton?"

"Yes."