bicycled over yesterday evening, and have been at it since then.'

'Arising out of that reply,' said Trent inattentively, 'how is Mrs. Inspector
Murch?'

'Never better, thank you,' answered the inspector, 'and frequently speaks of
you and the games you used to have with our kids. But you'll excuse me saying,
Mr. Trent, that you needn't trouble to talk your nonsense to me while you're
using your eyes. I know your ways by now. I understand you've fallen on your
feet as usual, and have the lady's permission to go over the place and make
enquiries.'

'Such is the fact,' said Trent. 'I am going to cut you out again, inspector. I
owe you one for beating me over the Abinger case, you old fox. But if you
really mean that you're not inclined for the social amenities just now, let us
leave compliments and talk business.' He stepped to the table, glanced through
the papers arranged there in order, and then turned to the open roll-top desk.
He looked into the drawers swiftly. 'I see this has been cleared out. Well
now, inspector, I suppose we play the game as before.'

Trent had found himself on a number of occasions in the past thrown into the
company of Inspector Murch, who stood high in the councils of the Criminal
Investigation Department. He was a quiet, tactful, and very shrewd officer, a
man of great courage, with a vivid history in connection with the more
dangerous class of criminals. His humanity was as broad as his frame, which
was large even for a policeman. Trent and he, through some obscure working of
sympathy, had appreciated one another from the beginning, and had formed one
of those curious friendships with which it was the younger man's delight to
adorn his experience. The inspector would talk more freely to him than to any
one, under the rose, and they would discuss details and possibilities of every