That was just what Gerald was unable to do.

He knew Todd was dead. His suspicions about Loide were in a measure confirmed.

He was convinced now that the lawyer was involved in this crime—but how far? To know that was what troubled him.

The red haired man was the mystery—a mystery which looked clueless.

Loide had booked a passage after Todd had done so. Todd was found in a parcel, and the other man in the berth with his throat cut, and yet the lawyer was alive!

It was a problem which needed a deal of thought.

Gerald gave it that. He thought all the time.

So far, he still filled the rÔle of clerk, but he got no nearer a solution. He waded through the evidence again and again in the hope of spotting a hole which the lawyer would fit.

To run through the disguise shops of London in the hope of tracing a man who had bought a red wig, he knew would be as sensible a task as endeavoring to find the needle in the proverbial stack of hay.

He read again and again the description of the spruce, smartly dressed, jaunty looking, raucous voiced, red haired missing man, and for the life of him, he could not make it fit in with the present appearance of the lawyer.

He started rehearsing his bogus detective from New York idea. Thought how best he could so surprise the lawyer as to force the truth from him.

He knew him to be a cute old fox, and that if he gleaned anything it would be at a time when the lawyer's shrewdness was overclouded by fear.

His business was to bring on that cloud—to inspire that fear.

It took him a long while to formulate his scheme. He knew that a false move in it would upset everything—that the lawyer would snap it up in a moment, and save himself.

When he had got his idea as near perfection as he thought he could get, he walked into Loide's private room, ostentatiously turned the key in the door, and seated himself opposite the astonished lawyer.

"What the devil does this mean, sir?"

"It means, Mr. Loide, that the game is up."

As he spoke, he drew from his pocket a pair of handcuffs he had hired for a shilling at a theatrical costumer's in the neighboring Houndsditch.

Even yet, so surprised was he, the lawyer did not understand the situation. He spluttered out:

"What does this play acting business mean in office hours?"

"I'm afraid your office hours, Mr. Loide, are all over. I throw off the disguise of clerk, and appear as Detective Crayle of the New York police."

"Detective!"

"There is a warrant out for your arrest in connection with the murder on the Europia."

The livid face of the lawyer told Gerald all he wanted to know—he had hit the right nail on the head, despite the red hair.

He continued:

"There's been a little trouble in trailing this scent, Mr. Loide, but we've got it all mapped out from the moment of your entrance of the Eldon Street agent's office, and your subsequent purchase of the other half of the berth, down to the present moment. You have been watched right through, Mr. Loide."

The lawyer groaned.

"The American system of police work is different from the English. Every man to his department. Now, mine is not to arrest you. There's a man on the Atlantic now, in response to my cable, on his way here to do that—no, don't look at the door; don't play at silly fools—you know I could put you in the custody of the first policeman we met."

"If not to arrest me, what is your business, then?"

The hoarse voice of the lawyer showed how deeply he was affected.

"Well, I've been deputed to hunt up that missing nineteen thousand pounds."

The lawyer looked up. Gerald continued:

"Oh, I know you don't know where it is, but if I heard the whole story from your lips, I might be able to find a clue. Now, bargain for bargain—I've told you my business isn't to arrest you.

"I don't personally care whether you go to eternity vi our recently invented electrocution chair, or whether you scoot. See? Just tell me the whole story from beginning to end without missing a single detail—and remember, I know the facts, so if you lie or attempt to deceive me, I shall consider the bargain off—do this, and you'll get three days start. I'll leave you to do what you like—go where you like."

"I can believe—rely—on that?"

"I'm no liar in straight business, Mr. Loide. Follow my example, tell me the truth, and we'll say good-bye. If we meet again, it will be your own fault."

"Very well, I will tell you, then."

"Good. I've my note-book here containing an account of every movement of yours since——"

"Oh, I'll tell the truth. On the day of the settlement with Depew, I handed him nineteen thousand pounds in notes. The numbers——"

"I know them," interposed Gerald—he had got them from the lawyer's letter book—"get on with the story."

"After that we went to the Great Eastern Hotel opposite and had lunch. He did not know where the passenger agent's was, so I showed him. It was the agent saying he had the other half berth which confirmed me in my idea of robbing him, which, as you know, I did not do."

"I know all about it," said Gerald, "but all the same, you tell me the whole thing complete."

"Well, after Depew had bought his ticket, we came outside, shook hands, and parted, and I never saw him again until I saw his cut up remains"—the lawyer shuddered at the recollection—"in the Europia's cabin."

"After you parted, you went back to the agent's, and got the other berth. Where did Depew go; do you know that?"

"No. I fancy to his hotel. He was staying during his visit to England at Armfield's."

"Did he go in that direction?"

"No. Now I come to think of it, I remember he spoke of an aching tooth, and said he was going to a dentist's in Finsbury Circus to have one—as he called it—'yanked out.'"

The lawyer faithfully detailed every other incident which had occurred, and with which the reader who has followed this narrative will be acquainted.

When he had finished, Gerald said:

"Just write me a letter to the Bank of England, withdrawing that stop on the notes, will you?"

"What?" inquired the lawyer eagerly. "Have you found the missing notes, then?"

"I came over to Europe for that purpose," answered Gerald shortly. "Give me that letter. That'll do, and now good-bye. You deserve a shove into Kingdom Come, but it's not my business to push you."

He put the handcuffs into his pockets and opened the door.

"Now put your hat on and mizzle. I'll take charge of this office. Don't set foot near it again, or you'll have yourself to blame for the consequences."

The lawyer gathered up a few letters, and cramming them into his pocket, walked to the hat rail.

"This isn't a trap," he inquired; "they are not waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs?"

"I've told you I'm not a liar. You can walk straight away and no soul will attempt to stop you."

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

Left to himself, Gerald locked the outer door, and sat down to think.

So far, he had arrived at very little. He knew now that Todd had stopped at Armfield's, that when he left the lawyer he had gone into a dentist's in Finsbury Circus, that when next seen he was unrolled from a newspaper parcel on the boat.

He took down the post-office directory from the shelf and turned up Finsbury Circus.

Surgeons and doctors abounded. That set Gerald thinking.

At the inquest, medical evidence had been given that only a medical expert could have dismembered the body so neatly. He went down the names in the directory carefully.

One thing struck him. There was a Mr. Charles Lennox, a dentist, and a door or two off a Mr. Arthur Lennox, surgeon. There might be nothing in it, but it was worth looking into. The combination was suggestive.

Gerald made up his mind to have his teeth seen to at one place, and to attend at the other with some imaginary complaint.

He then took the whole of the Depew papers from the tin box, and made them into a compact parcel. They might be useful to the farmer.

Then he put on his hat, and with the parcel under his arm left the building.