the pavement beyond; the door of the car opened too, and a girl stepped
out, and for a second or two stood in the full glare of the lamps. She
was a slender, lissome young creature, gowned in white, and muffled to
the throat in an opera cloak out of which a fresh, girlish face, bright
in colour, sparkling of eye, crowned by a mass of hair of the tint of
dead gold, showed clearly ere she rapidly crossed to the open door.
After her came an elderly, well-preserved woman in an elaborate evening
toilette, the personification of the precise and conventional chaperon.
The door closed; the car drove away; the Inspector turned to Viner with
a shake of his head.

"Just home from the theatre!" he said. "And--to hear this! Well, it's got
to be done, Mr. Viner, anyhow."

Viner, who had often observed the girl whom they had just seen with an
interest for which he had never troubled to account, found himself
wishing that Miss Penkridge was there in his place. He did not know what
part he was to play, what he was to do or say; worse than that, he did
not know if the girl in whose presence he would certainly find himself
within a minute or two was very fond of the man whom he had just found
done to death. In that case--but here his musings were cut short by the
fact that the Inspector had touched the bell in the portico of number
seven, and that the door had opened, to reveal a smart and wondering
parlour-maid, who glanced with surprise at the inspector's uniform.

"Hush! This is Mr. Ashton's?" said the Inspector. "Yes--well, now, what
is the name of the lady--the elderly lady--I saw come in just now? Keep
quiet, there's a good girl,--the fact is, Mr. Ashton's had an accident,
and I want to see that lady."