"Well, that theory is bosh anyhow," said Michael scornfully. That finger was cut off with a knife, and I would say it was cut off after death too, for the skin where it was cut wasn't curled up the way it would have been if the incision had been made during life."

"It's a detective you should have been - not a doctor," said Mr Costello admiringly. "Well now, Michael, who do you think it was cut it off, and what killed the poor woman?

The butcher winked knowingly at Mr Peabody.

wouldn't be sure whether it is the ring finger or the middle finger of the left or the right hand."

"Be God, you'll make a great doctor," said his uncle, with another wink at Mr Peabody.

"And nobody else could tell you either," finished Michael, without taking any notice of his relative.

"I confess it beats me completely," said Mr Peabody. "I am sorry that you think that the ring and the finger do not belong to each other, for I was going to use that in my story. I think I will do it anyhow, in spite of the apparent medicolegal difficulty."

"Oh, I wouldn't let that trouble you," said the butcher. "Michael here has not got much experience, and he may be wrong.'

"I may not have the experience," said that gentleman, "but I have common-sense, anyway."

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"Do you hear that," said his uncle. Common-sense! Did you ever know a young doctor to have common-sense? Now I'll tell you what I think," he continued, struck by a sudden brilliant idea. "Supposing that there was bad work at the back of this and some one killed the poor lady, then, maybe, he thought that the body would be recognised by the ring, and so, as he could not pull it off, the ring being small like, he cuts off the finger, pulls the ring over the

Mr Costello sat back, triumphant after this brilliant exposition. Michael laughed sardonically.

"I wish I was going with you," said Michael. "I'm sure there was bad work on that ship. I'm thinking of going for a few trips as a ship's surgeon myself before I settle down. Maybe I will see you in London when I come over. I would like to read your story when it is published."

Mr Peabody gave them his address in London. "Do come to see me," he said. ' And I will send you both copies of my book if it is published."

That night at about ten o'clock Mr Peabody, clinging to a stanchion on the deck of a wildly-pitching tender, watched with interest the approaching lights of a large liner. He had learned that afternoon on inquiring at the shipping office that the Casabianca was only going to call to land mails and would not enter the harbour, but would be met outside by the company's tug. Fortunately he was a good sailor, and the jerking movements of the little vessel did not trouble him.

The lights of the steamer drew near rapidly, and presently in the darkness her huge side loomed like a wall above him. The clang, clang of a bell sounded in the bowels of

the monster, and a moment later the little tender at her side danced more wildly than ever in the surge of the reversed propellers. A line of peering faces became apparent far above them. Shouts from the tug were answered by hoarse bellowings from on high; a snakelike rope came swishing through the darkness, and in a few minutes, over a swaying gangway, Mr Peabody entered the light and warmth of the main deck.

The common man, coming thus, a stranger, in ordinary clothes under the curious and half-contemptuous glances of a number of people in evening dress and secure in the intimacy engendered by a week at sea, feels, as a rule, very much of

A steward relieved him of his bag, and directed him to the purser's office. That busy gentleman received his visitor coldly, but melted a little at the sight of his friendly smile, and at the mention of Inspector Thesiger's name became quite cordial. He excused himself for the moment on the ground of press of business, but assured Mr Peabody that a cabin was at his disposal, and that if he would make himself comfortable in the smoking-room he would send the steward for him as soon as he was at liberty.

The month of October is a slack one for the North Atlantic passenger trade, and Mr Peabody had no difficulty in finding a seat in the smoking-room. A pipe and a whisky-and-soda in the comfortable warmth produced a pleasant feeling of drowsiness, and by the time the steward came to summon him he was almost asleep. He roused himself, however, and followed the guide.

The purser was not alone in his cabin, the ship's surgeon being in the act of leaving with a sheaf of papers.

"Don't go, Mac. Stay and have a drink," said the purser. "This gentleman is a friend of Inspector Thesiger; you remember him?

"I do well," said the doctor,

Mr Peabody sat down, and once more launched into his story. He was getting quite good at it by this time, and his hearers listened with interest.

"You ought to be able to make a good yarn out of it," said the purser when he finished. "It certainly is a queer business. The thing that puzzles me most is the matter of the distances." "How so?" asked Mr Peabody.

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Well," said the purser, "Northbrook didn't miss his wife until we were past the Fastnet. She was in the cabin with him about an hour before that, somewhere about eight o'clock or a little later, and yet you found this ring off Cork Harbour. About what time was it that you caught that fish, by the way?"

"Oh, ten o'clock or thereabouts," said Mr Peabody.

"You see," said the purser. "Now how the deuce could a mackerel swim that distance in the time?'

"By Jove! none of us thought of that," said Mr Peabody. "That makes it all the more curious. You know the doctor I was telling you about-young Costello-is sure that Mrs Northbrook must have been murdered."

"Who

The purser laughed. "That's ridiculous," he said. would have murdered her? Northbrook couldn't have. He was in the cabin all the time."

"But it's curious about the finger," said Mr Peabody doubtfully.

an

"It is curious-yes," swered the purser. But I don't see that you have any sort of proof that the finger was Mrs Northbrook's; the distance alone would make that impossible."

The ship's surgeon, who had kept silence up to this, now broke in. He spoke quietly, but he was obviously deeply moved.

"This suggestion of murder is outrageous," he said, with a he said, with a stern eye on Mr Peabody, "and I hope that it will be given the quietus. Poor Northbrook, it was tragic enough for him to lose his wife, but the thought of his hearing it whispered about that she was murdered is terrible. No, sir, Mrs Northbrook-poor ladywas in a highly nervous condition, she had not been sleeping well, she was no longer a young woman, and I fear that it is only too probable that her mind was temporarily deranged, and in a moment of desperation she threw herself overboard-this is, of course, strictly between ourselves."

"Of course," said Mr Peabody and the purser to gether.

"Poor Northbrook blamed himself terribly," continued the surgeon, "for not having kept a closer watch on her. I told him that he was morbid; that no one could have foreseen it. The lady seemed quite normal. Her husband asked me to see

her the afternoon we left Liverpool. She said that she was well, but that she was a bad sailor. She seemed to be all right physically, but Northbrook told me then, after she had gone to her cabin, that she had terrible fits of depression and that she slept very badly. I gave her a simple sleeping powder, telling her that it was a sure preventive for sea-sickness, and she took it that evening. Northbrook had a drink in the smoking-room after dinner, and when he turned in she was already asleep. He himself slept heavily, for he was dead tired after the fuss and worry of getting the packing done, and all the other preliminaries of setting out on a long trip. In the morning he woke to find his wife up and dressed. He was surprised, for he usually woke first. He asked her what time it was, and she said it was early; that she had slept well, but that her head was heavy after the medicine, and as it looked calm she was going up for a walk on deck before breakfast. He offered to go up with her if she would wait until he had shaved, but she answered that she wanted him to have a good rest after all his worry, and that she could manage quite well by herself. With that she kissed

him and went out, and that is the last time the poor fellow saw her. The next thing he remembered was that the steward came in and woke him at about ten o'clock to ask