know his name, either."

"Have you heard of the murder in Lonsdale Passage?" asked Viner.

"Markendale Square way? Yes," answered the landlord, with awakening
interest. "Why, is it anything to do--"

Viner saw an illustrated paper lying on a side-table and caught it
up. There was a portrait of Ashton in it, and he held it up before
the landlord.

"Don't you recognize that?" he asked.

The landlord started and stared.

"Bless my life and soul!" he exclaimed. "Why, surely that's very like the
gentleman I just referred to--I should say it was the very man!"

"It is the very man!" said Viner with emphasis, "the man for whom your
customer who's just gone out left the envelope. Now, this man who was
murdered in Lonsdale Passage was here in your parlour for some time on
the evening of the night on which he was murdered, and he was then in
conversation with the man who has just gone out. Naturally, therefore, I
should like to know that man's name."

"You're not a detective?" suggested the landlord.

"Not at all!" replied Viner. "I was a neighbour of Mr. Ashton's, and I am
interested--deeply interested--in an attempt to clear up the mystery of
his death. Things keep coming out. I didn't know until this evening that