"Oh, that's all rubbish. 'In the spring a young girl's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love'--not anarchy."

"But it isn't spring," said the literal Aldean, "and Miss Ostergaard isn't the girl to marry for rank."

"Then make love to her properly, and she'll marry you for love."

"I wish I could; but I'm not a clever chap like you, Mallow."

"My dear boy, I'm not clever; on the contrary, I'm a fool--a perfect fool, for do I not love Miss Bellairs like an idiot, when all the while I know well she is going to marry this Carson man from India?"

"So she is; that's queer," said Aldean, reflectively.

"Queer! how do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing, old man. I am thinking of this murder case; and the fact of both men coming from India struck me, that's all. You see Carson's just on his way home now."

"Is he? I didn't know that," said Mallow, alertly.

"Yes; Miss Slarge--you know, the Babylonian, mark-of-the-beast woman--told me that her sister in Bombay had written Carson was on his way home by the P. and O. liner Pharaoh."

"The Pharaoh arrived some time back," said Mallow, gloomily. "He must be at Casterwell by this time."

"He was not there two days ago when I ran up to town."

"Well, it must be quite two weeks since the Pharaoh arrived. What an ardent lover the chap must be. I wish I stood in his shoes, that's all. I wouldn't let the grass grow under them on the way to my 'own true love'--not that Miss Bellairs can strictly be said to stand in that relation to a man she has never set eyes upon. The very fact that she has to marry him should be sufficient to make her hate him."

"By Jove! What a rum go it would be if Carson turned out to be the man murdered in Athelstane Place!"

Mallow stared. "What on earth put such a wild idea into your head?" he said.

"I don't know; nor do I know why you should be so ready to call it wild. The man who was killed came from India--as you say----"

"I don't say 

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