affair than the detective knew himself? And was not his attitude of having already solved the problem of the murder, his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist simply an elaborate pose, to extract from the Chief information which had not been proffered? 

 The Chief glanced at his watch. 

 “Right,” he said, “I think I’d like to go along.” 

 “I have a good deal to do here still,” observed Mr. Marigold, “so, if you don’t mind, I won’t accompany you. But perhaps, sir, you would like to see me this afternoon?” 

 The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr. Marigold with a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The detective returned his gaze with an expression of supreme innocence. 

 “Why, Marigold,” answered the Chief, “I believe I should. Six o’clock suit you?” 

 “Certainly, sir,” said Mr. Marigold. 

 Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits. The Chief and Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond turned to open it and came face to face with a large framed photograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mackwayte’s bedroom. 

 “Why, Chief,” he cried, “you never told me you knew Miss Mackwayte!” 

 The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question. “Dear me, didn’t I, Okewood?” he answered with eyes laughing, “she’s my secretary!” 

 

CHAPTER VI. “NAME O’BARNEY”

 “Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see her,” said the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall, “Marigold gave me the message just as we were coming out. She asked if I could come this afternoon. I’m going to send you in my place, Okewood. I’ve got a conference with the head of the French Intelligence at three, and the Lord knows when I shall get away. I’ve a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte will work very well together.” 

 “Certainly,” said Desmond, “she struck me as being a very charming and clever girl. Now I know the source of your information about my movements last night!” 

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