nature. But Giles interposed. "Let the gentleman alone, Mrs. Faith," he said gruffly; "I caught him, and I'll keep him till Warshaw comes. I daresay it's a mistake on my part, and I'm sorry if----"

"Oh, I don't blame you, Mr. Giles," I interposed easily, and lighted a cigarette to show my nonchalance. "I should have acted in the same way myself. So come along and take me to gaol."

A relieved smile made the man's rugged face quite pleasant to look at, as my exculpation of himself, and my ready offer to be searched, evidently reassured him greatly. In his eyes, at all events, I was not the desperate criminal he had taken me to be. But his fellow-villagers still looked dubious. "Mrs. Caldershaw had heaps of money hidden away," ventured one little rat of a man with a squeaky voice.

"Search my pockets then," I said again with open impatience. "All I have told you is correct. My name is Cyrus Vance, and if you send to the Artillery Barracks at Murchester, my friend Lord Cannington will have no difficulty in identifying me."

As I thought it would, the title acted like a charm, and the tension somewhat slackened. Giles, who appeared to be the most sensible of the lot, beckoned me into the dark shop, leaving his friends to guard the house and look after the corpse of the unfortunate woman. I walked beside him round the corner, and sure enough--as I expected--came upon the twinkling lights of quite a dozen houses. The late Mrs. Caldershaw had customers after all, it would seem.

"What's the name of this place?" I asked abruptly.

"Mootley," replied Giles, now less suspicious and more human. "It ain't a very large village, but we've more cottages than these here scattered along the road up yonder," and he jerked his thumb to the left where a lane ran from the high-road towards a woodland.

"It's too dark to see anything," I said idly, "but to-morrow you can show me round. I daresay I shall have to pass the night at your house, Mr. Giles, unless you think that I may rise in the night to kill you. By the way," I added with a bantering air, "you don't hold my arm. Aren't you afraid I'll bolt?"

"No, sir," said the man, now perfectly polite. "I see that I have made a mistake. I know your name, if you're the Mr. Vance who writes plays."

"I am; but that is odd knowledge for a villager in these out-of-the-way parts to possess."

"Oh, I haven't 

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