Farrington—who did not?—both as a new neighbour and as the possessor of great wealth.

    "Your daughter——" he began.

    "My ward," corrected Mr. Farrington, as he switched on all the lights of his sitting-room, "she is out—in fact she is staying the night with my friend Lady Constance Dex—do you know her?"

    T. B. nodded.

    "I can only give you the most meagre information," said Mr. Farrington. He was white and shaky, a natural state for a law-abiding man who had witnessed wilful murder. "I heard voices and went down to the door, thinking I would find a policeman—then I heard two shots almost simultaneously, and opened the door and found the two men as they were found by the policeman."

    "What were they talking about?"

    Mr. Farrington hesitated.

    "I hope I am not going to be dragged into this case as a witness?" he asked, rather than asserted, but received no encouragement in the spoken hope from T. B. Smith.

    "They were discussing that notorious man, Montague Fallock," said the millionaire; "one was threatening to betray him to the police."

    "Yes," said T. B. It was one of those "yesses" which signified understanding and conviction.

    Then suddenly he asked:

    "Who was the third man?"

    Mr. Farrington's face went from white to red, and to white again.

    "The third man?" he stammered.

    "I mean the man who shot those two," said T. B., "because if there is one thing more obvious than another it is that they were both killed by a third person. You see," he went on, "though they had pistols neither had been discharged—that was evident, because on each the safety catch was raised. Also the lamp-post near which they stood was chipped by a bullet which neither could have fired. I suggest, Mr. Farrington, that there was a third man present. Do you object to my searching your house?"

    A little smile played across the face of the other.

    "I haven't the slightest objection," he said. "Where will you start?"

    "In the basement," said T. B.; "that is to say, in your kitchen."

    The millionaire led the way down the stairs, and descended the back stairway which led to the domain of the absent cook. He turned on the electric light as they entered.

    There was no sign of an intruder.

    "That is the cellar door," indicated Mr. Farrington, "this the larder, and this leads to the area passage. It is locked."

    T. B. tried the handle, and the door opened readily.

    "This at any rate is open," he said, and entered the dark passageway.

    "A mistake on the part of the butler," said the puzzled Mr. Farrington. "I have given the strictest orders that all these doors should be fastened. You will find the area door bolted and chained."

    T. B.