of drowsiness. Indeed, I used that word, and Tenson thought of some kind of chloroform used, perhaps, to stupefy the victim before killing him. But there was an odor about the mouth or nose."
"On the handkerchief, perhaps?" suggested the reporter. "No. Tenson smelt the handkerchief."
"Well, if this Mrs. Brown used this perfume, you and Miss Moon and Mrs. Bolstreath must have smelt it on her in the hall. I understand from Durwin that you all three saw the woman." "Yes. And Lillian, poor girl, persuaded her father to see the wretch. But we did not smell the perfume on the woman. Tenson or Durwin-I forget which-asked us the question."
"Humph!" said Laurance, after a pause; "it may be a kind of trade-mark, like the fly business." He took a note. "I shall use this evidence in my letter to the public. I suppose, Dan, you would recognize the scent again?"
"Oh, yes! I have a keen sense of smell, you know. But I don't expect I shall ever drop across this particular fragrance, Freddy."
"There's always Monsieur Chance, you know," remarked Laurance, tapping his white teeth with a pencil. "Perhaps the gang use this scent so as to identify one another-in the dark it may be-like cats. How does that strike you?"
"As purely theoretical," said Dan, with a shrug, and reached for another cigarette; "it's a case of perhaps, and perhaps not." Laurance assented. "But everything so far is theoretical in this case," he argued; "you have told me all you know?"
"Every bit, even to my year of probation. Do you know Curberry?"
"Yes. He was a slap-up barrister. A pity he got title and money, as he has left the Bar, and is a good man spoiled. Lucky chap all the same, as his uncle and cousin both died unexpectedly, to give him his chance of the House of Lords."
"How did they die?" "Motor accident. Car went over a cliff. Only the chauffeur was saved, and he broke both legs. Do you know the present Lord Curberry?"
"I have seen him, and think he's a dried-up, cruel-looking beast," said Dan, with considerable frankness. "I'd rather see Lillian dead than his wife."
"Hear, hear!" applauded Laurance, smiling. "The girl's too delightful to be wasted on Curberry. You have my blessing on the match, Dan."
"Thanks," said Halliday ruefully, "but I have to bring it off first. Sir John's infernally clever, and managed to get both Lillian and me to consent to let matters stand over for a year, during which time I guess he'll push Curberry's suit. But I can trust Lillian to be true to me, bless her, and Mrs. Bolstreath is quite on our side. After all," murmured the young man disconsolately, "it's only fair that Sir Charles should be avenged. Perhaps it would be selfish for Lillian and me to marry and live happy ever afterwards, without making some attempt to square things. The question is how to start. I'm hanged if I know, and so I came to you."
"Well," said Laurance thoughtfully, "there's a hope of Monsieur Chance you know. In many ways you may stumble on clues even without looking for them, since this gang-if it exists-must carry on an extensive business. All you can do, Dan, is to keep your eyes and ears and nose open-the last for that scent, you know. On my part I shall write the letter, and publish it in the annex of The Moment. Then we shall see what will happen."
"Yes, I think that's about the best way to begin. Stir up the muddy water, and we may find what is at the bottom of the pond. But there's one thing to be considered, and that is money. If I'm going to hunt for these scoundrels I need cash, and to own up, Freddy, I haven't very much." "You're so beastly extravagant," said Laurance grinning, "and your private income goes nowhere."
"Huh! what's five hundred a year?"
"Ten pounds a week, more or less. However, there's your aviation. I hear that you take people flights for money?" Dan nodded. "It's the latest fashionable folly, which is a good thing for me, old son. I get pretty well paid, and it means fun."
"With some risk of death," said Laurance drily. "Well, yes. But that is a peculiarity of present-day fun. People love to play with death-it thrills them. However, if I am to hunt for the assassin of Sir Charles, I can't give much attention to aviation, and I repeat that I want money. Oceans of it."
"Would two thousand pounds suit you?"
"Rather. Only I'm not going to borrow from you, old man, thank you."
"I haven't that amount to lend," said Freddy, drily; "but you must have seen, if you read our very interesting paper, that our proprietor has offered a prize of two thousand pounds for a successful flight from London to York."
"A kind of up-to-date Dick Turpin, I suppose," laughed Dan, rising and stretching his long limbs. "Good, I'll have a shot, I may win."
"You will, if you use a Vincent machine."
"Vincent, Vincent? Where have I heard that name?"
"Everywhere if you know anything of the aviation world," snapped Laurance rather crossly, for at times Dan's indolence in acquiring necessary information annoyed him. "Solomon Vincent, who has been inventing airships and new-fangled aeroplanes for ever so long."
"Yes, yes! I remember now. He's a genius. Every one knows him." "Every one knows of him, except yourself; but no one knows him personally. He lives a secluded life up in Hillshire, on the borders of the moors, where he can find wide space for his experiments in aerial craft. I interviewed him a year ago, and-and-" Laurance blushed red. "Hullo, what's this?" asked Dan shrewdly. "Can it be that the inventor has a daughter fair?"
"A niece," retorted Laurance, recovering; "why shouldn't I be in love as well as you, Halliday? However, that doesn't matter."
"It matters a great deal to you."
"Never mind. What you have to do is to secure one of Vincent's machines and try for this race. If you win the prize you will have heaps of money to search for the gang. But why doesn't Miss Moon-"
"I don't take Lillian's money," said Dan curtly, and blushed in his turn. "It is a good idea, Freddy. How can I get hold of the machine?"
"I shall take you up to Hillshire next week, and you can see Vincent for yourself. He can talk to you, and-"
"And you can talk to the niece. What's her name?"
"Oh, shut up and get out," said Laurance, turning away, "you're interrupting my work."
"Going to write a letter to the beloved," said Dan, leisurely making for the door. "All right, old son, I'll go. You know my address, so write me when you want me. I'd like to see Vincent's machines, as I hear he has made several good improvements, and everything tells in a race. Salaam!"
"Keep your eyes open," Laurance called after him; "remember Monsieur Chance may prove to be our best friend." Dan departed, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't believe in heaven-sent miracles," were his last words. But they were wasted on Freddy, for that alert young man was already buried in his work. It was painful to witness such industry, in Halliday's opinion. In an inquiring frame of mind, the amateur detective strolled along Fleet Street, thinking of Lillian instead of keeping his wits about him, as Freddy had requested. It seemed impossible that he should strike on a clue without deliberately searching for it, which he did not feel inclined to do at the moment. Monsieur Chance, indeed! He was a mythical personage in whom this sceptical young man did not believe. Besides love dominated his thoughts to the exclusion of minor matters, and he dreamed about his darling all along the Strand. Thus he did not look where he was going, and stumbled into the midst of a Charing Cross crowd, where a motor had broken down after colliding with a 'bus. A policeman was conversing with the chauffeur and the 'bus driver, who were conversing abusively with one another. The crowd
