representatives of the press a guarded statement for publication,
Inspector Gatton succeeded in wedging himself into my little
two-seater and ere long we were lurching and bumping along the
ill-paved East-end streets.

The late Sir Marcus's London address, which had been unknown to me, we
had learned from his cards, and it was with the keenest anticipation
of a notable discovery that I presently found myself with Gatton
mounting the stairs to the chambers of the murdered baronet.

At the very moment of our arrival the door was opened and a man--quite
obviously a constable in plain clothes--came out. Behind him I
observed one whom I took to be the late Sir Marcus's servant, a
pathetic and somewhat disheveled figure.

"Hello, Blythe!" said Gatton, "who instructed you to come here?"

"Sir Marcus's man--Morris--telephoned the Yard," was the reply, "as he
couldn't understand what had become of his master and I was sent along
to see him."

"Oh," said Gatton, "very good. Report to me in due course."

Blythe departed, and Gatton and I entered the hall. The man, Morris,
closed the door, and led us into a small library. Beside the telephone
stood a tray bearing decanter and glasses, and there was evidence that
Morris had partaken of a hurried breakfast consisting only of biscuits
and whisky and soda.

"I haven't been to bed all night, gentlemen," he began the moment that