circumstances which youth generally describes as "a clean cop."

"How on earth do you know I looked out?" he almost gasped.

"I'll tell you willingly. The discovery was Mr. Furneaux's, not mine.
When we came here this morning, and ascertained that you had been out
at a late hour last night, we asked your man if he could enlighten us
as to your movements. He did so. To the best of his belief you dined
at a club, and occupied a stall at Daly's Theater subsequently. He was
sure, too, you had not walked home through the rain, so it was easy to
draw the conclusion that you returned in a covered vehicle. Mr.
Furneaux requested Bates to produce the clothes you had worn, which,
owing to the uproar created by the news of the murder, had not been
brushed and put away. As a consequence the silk collar and part of the
back of your dress-coat bore the marks of raindrops. How had they got
there? The only logical deduction was that you had thrust your head
and shoulders through a window, and the time of the action is
established almost beyond doubt, because you had changed the coat when
Bates came from the pillar-box. It was either directly after you came
in, or while Bates was absent. Of course you may have looked out
twice. Did you? Whether once or twice, why did you do it?"

Theydon's feelings changed rapidly while Winter was delivering this
very convincing analysis of a few simple facts. He had passed at a
bound from the detected schoolboy stage to that of a man forcing his
way through a thicket who finds himself on the very lip of a
precipice.

He remembered hazily that Bates had said something at Waterloo with
regard to the manner in which the detectives, especially Furneaux, had