uncomfortable with an antimacassar of Berlin wool-work. Having moistened a pencil with his tongue he proceeded to ask what questions occurred to his not over-clever brain.

"What is your name?"

"Angus Herries."

"Your occupation?"

"I am a doctor, a ship's doctor, and I came last night from Pierside, where the Arctic sealer 'Nansen' is lying."

"Why did you come to this almost unknown inn?"

"I walked from Pierside, intending to seek a friend at Tarhaven. My strength gave way, and I stayed here to eat and sleep."

Trent took down these answers thoughtfully, then looked in what he fondly thought was a piercing manner at the suspected man.

"You told me that you did not know the deceased?"

"I did. That is perfectly true. Until you showed me the corpse, I was quite ignorant that Sir Simon had been killed. I did not even know that he was in this house."

"You knew Sir Simon Tedder then?"

"Yes!" Herries hesitated, then looked boldly at the officer, "I have nothing to conceal," he declared loudly, "Sir Simon is my uncle."

Trent looked at the shabby prisoner with great surprise; the reply amazed him, as coming from such a tramp.

"It is impossible," he said, sharply. "Sir Simon was wealthy and much respected. He would not allow his nephew to go about in rags."

Herries looked sullen.

"My uncle and I quarrelled."

"Oh," said the Inspector in a peculiar tone.

"Do you take that admission as a sign of guilt?" inquired Herries, ironically.

"I take it to mean that you had bad feelings towards the deceased."

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