destined to figure as the _cause célèbre_ of the moment. I had more
than one reason for reticence and indeed I experienced no little
difficulty in preparing the requisite amount of copy without involving
Isobel and Eric Coverly. Half-way through my task I paused, laid down
my pen, and was on the point of tearing up the pages already written
and declining the commission at the eleventh hour.

A few minutes' reflection, however, enabled me to see that the best
service I could offer to the suspected man (always assuming that he
had no alibi to offer) was that of representing the facts as I saw
them to the vast public reached by this influential journal. In my own
mind I had never entertained a shadow of suspicion that Coverly was
the culprit. Underlying the horrible case I thought I could perceive
even darker things--a mystery within a mystery; a horror overtopping
horror.

I had just resumed work, then, when a boy came in to inform me that
Gatton had rung up and wished to speak to me.

Half fearful of what I should hear, I went to the adjoining room and
took up the receiver. Presently:

"Hullo! Is that Mr. Addison?" came Gatton's voice.

"Yes, speaking. What developments, Gatton?"

"Several. I've got the report of the estate-agent and I've seen the
stage-doorkeeper of the New Avenue! You mustn't write anything until I
see you, but in order to regularize things a bit I've spoken to the
Chief and formally asked his permission to consult you on the