A young fellow who had been hovering in the background at once
stepped forward. He was the plain-faced detective who had spoken
to George.

"Will you take my arm, sir?"

Mr. Gryce's whole face brightened. This Sweetwater, as they called
him, was, I have since understood, one of his proteges and more or
less of a favourite.

"Have you had a chance at this thing?" he asked. "Been over the
ground--studied the affair carefully?"

"Yes, sir; they were good enough to allow it."

"Very well, then, you're in a position to pioneer me. You've seen
it all and won't be in a hurry."

"No; I'm at the end of my rope. I haven't an idea, sir."

"Well, well, that's honest at all events." Then, as he slowly rose
with the other's careful assistance, "There's no crime without its
clew. The thing is to recognise that clew when seen. But I'm in no
position, to make promises. Old days don't return for the asking."

Nevertheless, he looked ten years younger than when he came in, or
so thought those who knew him.

The mezzanine was guarded from all visitors save such as had
official sanction. Consequently, the two remained quite