Meanwhile Dollops, obedient to Cleek's behest, had been patrolling round Cheyne Court, and was getting exceedingly tired of that proceeding.

He had been two or three times round the building when he saw the figure of Constable Roberts travelling swiftly away from the house, but receiving no signal, like the faithful watchdog he was, he remained at his post, facing the back of the house. Five minutes passed, and there was no sound of any kind save the rustling of the branches swayed by the wind, and the soft drip of moisture from the trees. Still he stood there, watchful, keen, with every nerve alert for sight or sound.

Five minutes became ten—fifteen—twenty, then, of a sudden, Dollops' nerves gave a sort of jump and a swift prickle flashed down through the soft down of hair upon his neck. For a sound had come at last, a quick, grating sound as of a window being opened. He stood on tiptoe and flashed the light of his latest and most treasured possession, a powerful electric torch, all round him.

As the light streamed forth and he flung a shifting circle before him, there moved across it the figure of a woman, clad in scarlet, her hair floating over her shoulders and over the intervening space there stole a strange sweet smell of jasmine.

A woman here, at this hour, and under such strange circumstances! The thing was so startling that it was little wonder Dollops stood as if turned to stone. She was gone so soon, just glimmering across the circle of light and then vanishing into the darkness as suddenly as she had appeared, that for a brief second he lost his nerve, believing that he had seen the apparition said by the superstitious villagers to haunt the grounds. Indeed, as if to make this illusion even more real, there came an unearthly wailing moan from the earth beneath his feet, a sound that would have chilled even stronger nerves than Dollops', tired with the strain of waiting.

With a yell the lad turned and fled down the lane in pursuit of the speeding figure.

At the end of the path, however, winded and spent, he stopped short, and as his eyes pierced the gloom in search of his prey, for the second time that night, his limbs shook beneath him. Looking in all directions he had turned back and had caught a glimpse of the windows of Cheyne Court. Here he saw a sight that caused his strained nerves to tremble like live wires. Something was happening in the old house at last! Over the low-lying porch half covered with ivy was a great landing window, one of those which had been kept religiously closed, but was now wide open, and on the sill of it there appeared the startlingly clear figure of a woman. She was young, fair-haired, and clad in white with a gold lace scarf round her head. Lightly and cautiously she balanced herself on the sill and as lightly let herself down till she reached the ground.

But the terrible sound of a few minutes before had startled others besides poor Dollops. Mr. Narkom, unable to find him, had returned to Cleek, whereupon Constable Roberts, who had found the house empty as regards any human being, had been duly dispatched to the village in the opposite direction to find Dr. Verrall.

Left to themselves once more, Cleek and Mr. Narkom proceeded to investigate. The Constable had been gone about ten minutes or so when the sound of that unearthly wail caused both men to falter in their work.

"What, in Heaven's name, is it? Supernatural or human?" exclaimed the Superintendent.

"Neither," rapped out Cleek. "I'll look into that next, but at present I——" he threw up his head and sniffed violently at the air. "Yes, it's as I thought. That woman's been here again."

Switching on his heel, he walked over to the dead woman, made a thorough examination, and the queer little smile fluttered for a moment up his cheek. Suddenly he bent down and sniffed at her dress, the lace ruffles on her sleeves, even the dead fingertips, all of which he subjected also to the closest scrutiny.

Suddenly, too, he rose to his feet, and stood looking down, first at the body itself, and then at a little shining object that lay near by.

"Hmn," he said musingly, "as I thought, two people at least and one of them a woman at that——"

"Cleek, my dear fellow!" murmured Mr. Narkom, who had at last succeeded in lighting a couple of lamps and some wax candles which made the room a little less gloomy.

"The scent first," flung back that gentleman quickly. "The place reeks of Huile de jasmin, while this," he pointed to the silent figure, "is a speaking witness, even though dead." A grim smile flickered over his mobile features as he stood, his lower lip sucked in, his chin pinched hard between his finger and thumb. "If there isn't a very great surprise in store for the good people of Hampton shortly I'll miss my guess."

"Cleek!" Mr. Narkom was in a very tremour of excitement. "You have discovered something. Tell me; what is it?"

"All in good time, my dear friend, remember the old proverb 'set a thief to catch a thief'! We'll see what our good friend Dr. Verrall has to say, and if I am not mistaken, here he comes."

And come he did, for a sound of voices and hurried footsteps introduced him to their presence.

"What is this?" said Dr. Verrall to the Superintendent, whose identity had evidently been impressed on him by Roberts who hovered obsequiously in the background. Of Cleek he took no notice, having apparently taken an unaccountable dislike to the man who had tried so hard to pump him, on the excuse of a servant's fit of indigestion but a night or two ago.

"What is this the man tells me? Miss Cheyne, the Honourable Miss Cheyne," he corrected himself as if the dead lady herself had reproved him for thus forgetting her title, "has been murdered. It is impossible!"

"Not so impossible," interposed Cleek smoothly, his eyes narrowing down to mere slits as he noted the doctor's white face and unconsciously trembling fingers, "as not to be the actual fact, Doctor." He made mental comment of the doctor's agitation. It was strange to find the man so upset over the death of an eccentric stranger even if she had been a patient of his. And how was it he was so quickly on the spot? Aloud, however, he continued blandly: "She has been murdered some time, too, Doctor——"

With a little cry of horror, Dr. Verrall passed to the body and bent over it for a minute. "Humm," he said, meditatingly. "Dead, but within a couple of hours, I should say."

But Mr. Narkom struck in upon him.

"Impossible," said he, involuntarily, looking over at Cleek, "why, we heard the shot—you and I, not half an hour ago."

"The doctor is quite right, Mr. Narkom," Cleek replied, an undercurrent of mockery in his voice. "The corpse——" Dr. Verrall started a little.

"This is the Honourable Miss Cheyne, sir," he said with a quick look of contempt at the policeman.

"Pardon me, Doctor," was the smooth reply. "The Honourable Miss Cheyne has been dead nearly a month. I said she had been dead a long time. This," he flung out his foot in scorn, "well, don't you think you had better remove the wig first?"

"What do you mean?" gasped the Superintendent. Then, without waiting for a reply, he bent down and touched almost fearfully the mass of golden hair. It moved under his fingers and with one twitch came away in his shaking hand, revealing the sleek, close-cropped head of a man, of which the particularly noticeable feature was a narrow, sloping forehead.

A sudden smile looped up the corner of Cleek's mouth as he turned to the astonished group about him with a little theatrical gesture. There was a sort of triumph in his eyes.

"As I thought," he said. He turned suddenly round on the horrified constable, his voice and features those of the young Lieutenant Deland. "It was not such a wild-goose chase that night a month ago, after all, eh?" he said briskly. "Lieutenant Deland, you know, Constable. Miss Cheyne was lying dead in that room, and this rascal took her clothes and her place. Heaven help that poor girl!" he added gravely, while both Mr. Narkom and the constable gazed from him to the grotesque figure, almost dazed by the sudden turn of events.

Almost as startled as his companions, the doctor tore away the clothes, revealing the slim body of a man about forty years of age, revealing, too, something that caused Mr. Narkom to lay a shaking hand upon Cleek's arm.

"You see what that is, don't you?" he gasped. "Look at his arm. It bears the sign of the pentacle. He's a member of the gang, at any rate."

Cleek stood still a moment, thinking.

"Yes," Cleek replied in a low voice. "The Purple Emperor has much to answer for."

"There is something clenched in his hand," said the doctor, who had proceeded with his task. "Bring the light nearer, please."

As the stiff-ringed fingers were bent back, a little glittering fragment was displayed.

Cleek grasped it, and twitching back his head sniffed violently two or three times.

The doctor started in amazement.

"Good Lord, man," said he testily, "you can't tell who it belongs to by smelling it."

"I'm not so sure of that," responded Cleek smiling. "At any rate, find me the person who scents himself or herself with Huile de Jasmin, and you will be on the right road."

"Huile de Jasmin!" interjected the doctor suddenly. "Huile de Jas—no, no, it is not possible. I will not believe that." He had risen to his feet and was gazing across at Cleek, his face drawn and white.

"You know some one who uses that scent?" said Cleek quietly. "Come, Doctor, in her interests, clear the ground first of all; do not delay matters. There may be nothing in it, but——" His tones were fraught with significance, and the other man realized their value.

"I have known Miss Jennifer Wynne to use it. She is very fond of the scent," he said, grudgingly. "But that does not mean she had anything to do with this," he pointed to the floor. "It is rarely that a woman fires a revolver, and as this wound has clearly been caused by this weapon here the first thing we have to do is to find the owner of it."

"True," said Cleek, quietly, bending as he spoke and pulling the dead man's lips down.

"Unfortunately for that theory, my dear Doctor, though the man has undoubtedly been shot, he was dead before ever that bullet reached him: killed with prussic acid. See. Here are the remnants of a little pellet, and I rather fancy if you have it analyzed, you will find it consists of nearly pure solidified prussic acid. Then again, look at the neck, there are the marks of long, slender fingers, showing that someone must have grasped the man by the neck, and forced the pellet into his mouth. Do you see?"

The doctor did see, and stood frowning heavily at these signs so easily read by this stranger.

Bending down again, he picked up the revolver which lay at the side. It bore an initial, that of the letter B.

"Brenton," muttered Mr. Narkom almost involuntarily, seeing one more link in the chain of fatal evidence against Sir Edgar. "Good lud, Brenton!"

Cleek apparently took no heed either of the remark or the revolver.

"Come," he said suddenly. "We have had enough of this gruesome spot, and there is nothing to be learned from it. Let us lock it up and have a look at some of those interesting footprints outside."

They had almost reached the outer gate when the silence was broken by a babble of angry voices, mingled with the sound of a scuffle, and there rang out the shrill tones of Dollops.

"No, you don't, my beauty! I've copped yer, and I'm going to keep you till my guv'nor's seen you. None of your larks, now! None of your larks!"