It sounded silly, put like that. I wasn't surprised that the
inspector eyed me with scorn. But I rather wished he hadn't.

Bray began to walk about the room, ignoring me.

"White asters; scarab pin; Homburg hat," he detailed, pausing before
the table where those strange exhibits lay.

A constable came forward carrying newspapers in his hand.

"What is it?" Bray asked.

"The Daily Mail, sir," said the constable. "The issues of July
twenty-seventh, twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth and thirtieth."

Bray took the papers in his hand, glanced at them and tossed them
contemptuously into a waste-basket. He turned to Walters.

"Sorry, sir," said Walters; "but I was so taken aback! Nothing like
this has ever happened to me before. I'll go at once--"

"No," replied Bray sharply. "Never mind. I'll attend to it--"

There was a knock at the door. Bray called "Come!" and a slender
boy, frail but with a military bearing, entered.

"Hello, Walters!" he said, smiling. "What's up? I-"

He stopped suddenly as his eyes fell upon the divan where
Fraser-Freer lay. In an instant he was at the dead man's side.