was at the hotel six weeks or perhaps two months, and had then left and had not taken her trunks with her. Had confided in Mrs Gummidge that she was going to be married to Mr Northbrook, and asked to have her luggage kept until she could have it sent to her new address. Had been sent by Carter Paterson a fortnight later addressed to Mrs John Northbrook, 17 J. Azalea Mansions, S.W. 1. She had not seen Mrs Northbrook after her wedding. "Holmes, you are wonderful," Mr Peabody meekly entered the cab and gave the address. His course lay through familiar streets, and after a short drive the taxi drew up before a block of flats which he knew well by sight, situated not two hundred yards from his own abode in Victoria Street. "Sold, by Gad!" thought Mr Peabody as he paid the cabman. "I might just as well have walked across the Park." He entered the portals of the lofty building, and knocked at a door on his left which bore the legendESTATE OFFICE, AZALEA MANSIONS. So illuminating to his mind was this simple inscription that he did not hear the command, over it. command, "Come in," until it was repeated in a loud and angry voice from inside. Mr Peabody started, turned the handle, and went in. Mr Peabody produced the ring and showed it to her. Had she seen that ring before? Of course she had. Common little thing it was, too, for a lady like that, but she had made a great fuss over it. Was very disappointed when she found that it was too big for her to wear it safely, and had had it altered. Taking leave of the voluble Mrs Gummidge, Mr Peabody proceeded to his club, and spent the rest of the morning searching through guide-books and directories for Azalea Mansions, S.W. This form of sport was new to him, and he wearied of it, and presently decided that he would fortify himself with a glass of sherry and lunch, and then consult the hall porter. He would have saved time if he had done so in the first instance. In reply to the query, Smith, how do you get to Azalea Mansions, S.W. ?" the porter answered simply, "Take a taxi, sir," and blew his whistle. Murmuring to himself, "Sorry," he said to the redfaced gentleman who scowled from a chair in front of the fire. "I had no idea you spelt it with a Z. No wonder I couldn't find it in the Directory." "What the devil are you driving at?" said the redfaced man without altering his position. Mr Peabody liked neither his scowling face nor his brusque manner. He was never unnecessarily rude himself, and he disliked the habit in others. "You would not understand if I told you," he said calmly, and added, Are you the manager here?" 66 "No, I'm not," replied the red-faced man. "I'm waiting to see him.” "Then perhaps you would prefer to wait alone," said Mr Peabody, and went out, closing the door behind him. The Feeling that he had done enough for one day he returned to his flat, changed, and spent the afternoon practising mashie shots at Walton Heath. next morning, at the respectable hour of 11 A.M., he visited Azalea Mansions again. This time the manager was alone in his office, and received him with the courtly deference of one who scents a possible tenant. Mr Peabody undeceived him, and stated his business in a few words. "Now this is very interesting," said the manager, placing the tips of his fingers together in a judicial manner. "Mr Northbrook and his wife left here in September, and I have heard nothing of them since, yet in the last few days I have had three people here inquiring for them-you are the third." "Really," said Mr Peabody with a smile. Evidently his two rivals were ahead of him. "Yes," said the manager. "The first came three days ago, I think. He looked like a policeman in plain clothes, and so indeed he proved to be. I asked him if there was anything wrong, and he said no, that he was merely trying to trace Northbrook in connection with a ring which had been found and which was thought to be his. Then yesterday I had a visit from a most unpleasant person." "Not a red-faced fellow with a bluster?" asked Mr Peabody. "Yes; do you know him? replied the manager, surprised. "No, but I saw him," answered Mr Peabody. "And what did he want of Northbrook? ?" "He wanted money apparently," said the other. "It seemed that Northbrook owed him some on account of a bet on a race. He had been trying to trace him for weeks, he said." "Oh, a bookie," said Mr Peabody. Apparently," replied the manager, "or a tout of some kind. I was delighted to be able to tell him truthfully that I had no idea as to the whereabouts of his victim. And may I ask what you want with my late tenant? went on the manager, looking at Mr Peabody curiously. "Oh, I am merely the finder of the ring," replied that gentleman. "I was anxious to trace Northbrook to tell him the story of my find. It was a curious coincidence," and he told the manager the main points of the tale. "Very interesting, very," said the manager. "I do really regret that I can give you no assistance. Mr Northbrook came to us without any reference, but he gave us the best possible one by paying a quarter's rent in advance. He and his wife seemed quiet people, and they gave no trouble. They paid their bills in cash, and tipped the servants liberally. The maid who looked after them has left since their departure, but the hall-porter is still with us, and he may be able to tell you more than I can." But in this conjecture the manager proved to be mistaken, for the hall-porter was unable to add anything to the sum of Mr Peabody's knowledge, except that Mr Northbrook had been a great one for betting on horse races, always stopped on his way in and out to chat about the prospects for the day, or to tell the results of his speculations. He seemed to be a very unlucky gentleman, but was generally full of hope for better fortune next time. Mr Peabody, foiled once more, retired in disorder to his flat. He did not know where to turn next for information, but decided that his best chance lay in hunting up the record of Northbrook's marriage. In pursuit of this doubtful clue, he acquired a hitherto undreamt-of knowledge of the churches and Registry Offices of the Metropolis, and finally came upon the record of the union of John Northbrook, bachelor, aged thirty-nine, landowner, of Windsor, Ontario (temporary residence, Savoy Hotel, Strand, W.C.), to Coralie Mae Jobling, widow, of San Francisco, U.S.A., residing at Filbert's Hotel, S.W., on 10th May 1906. And this was the sum of Mr Peabody's knowledge of the case when the time arrived for his adjourned interview with Inspector Thesiger. "Oh, self this morning when you rang me up. Let's hear what it was you had to crow about." "You tell your story first," answered Inspector Thesiger, with a crafty look. Thesiger with a laugh. don't blame me," he continued, as he heard Mr Peabody give a growl. "I didn't know anything about it until this morning. It was their own idea entirely. Professionals will be professionals, you know. But I want to see you and hear all about it. Can you dine with me to-night at the 'Chough and Crow 'in Islington? You don't know it, eh? Well, get into a taxi at 7.30 and tell the driver to go there." Inspector Thesiger chuckled as he hung up the receiver. Mr Peabody blushed. The "Chough and Crow" proved to be a comfortable house, and the inspector an excellent host. The walls of the private room in which they dined were adorned with sporting prints, on the subject of which the police officer chatted pleasantly. He regretted that cock-fighting was no longer legal, for the sport was a pretty one; the birds seemed to enjoy it, and a man might learn a lot by watching a plucky fighter. Not I," cried Mr Peabody. You are the challenger, so I have choice of ground, and I'll take my stand on my story until I have heard yours. You've done the dirty on me already in having me watched, and how am I to know that you aren't just bluffing me now?" "All right,” replied the inspector with apparent resignation, but with a twinkle in his eye. "I'll begin by telling you what you have found out for yourself, then I will read the boys' reports, and finally top off with my own observations." He pushed his chair back from the table, produced two fat cigars with gorgeous bands, gave one to his guest, bit the end off the other, and after a few luxurious puffs proceeded to give the astonished Mr Peabody a neat and accurate account of his month's work. "Well," he said when he had finished, "that's about the lot. Is there anything that I have forgotten? "How should I know?" answered Mr Peabody warily. The inspector laughed. "Good," he said. "Well, that's all they told me, anyway." "They didn't tell you about the red-faced bookmaker, then?" replied the other. "No," said the inspector. meetings, and would sometimes "What about him?" be absent for days on end. Mr Peabody related the inci- Ascertained from Canada that dent. 66 "No good," said Inspector Thesiger, shaking his head. We know already that Northbrook was a betting man, and, personally, I know several hundred red-faced bookmakers. In fact, I only know five who aren't red-faced." "I think I should recognise him if I saw him again," said Mr Peabody. "Very likely," answered the inspector, "but I doubt if you could get much out of him. Well," he continued, "it hasn't been such an easy case after all, and you have not done badly for an amateur. read the boys' reports now. They did fairly well, I think." I'll there had been a John Northbrook, a landowner in Windsor, Ontario, but he had sold out his holdings and left for England some years ago. There had been rumours of a legacy. From Gower Street John Northbrook had moved in April to Savoy Hotel. Appeared suddenly affluent. Patronised tailor in Savile Row. Faid all bills in cash.' Nothing very startling so far," said Inspector Thesiger, pausing for a moment. "The other facts are already known to you. They were trying to trace Northbrook from Canada to Gower Street, when the time limit put an end to their inquiries." 66 Interesting," said Mr Peabody, "but nothing very suspicious. It seems as if he was just an ordinary adventurerif that." "That's what it looks like, certainly," answered the inspector. "But now I will tell you of my own results. I got a bit worked up over the case after you left me, and I thought I would ask a few questions on my own account, so I telegraphed to New York asking them to find out what had become of our man. It seems that he stayed at the Panhandle Hotel in Fifth Avenue for a week or two after he landed. Lived quietly, and excited no attention. Then he left for Saratoga Springs, and from that moment all trace of him has been lost. Saratoga |