o'clock on the evening of Tuesday, the 29th September-that is, last month."

"Why so?"

"Because candles were lighted, and supper was spread. It was dark, and yet not too dark, because the man who stepped in the garden ground outside had carefully avoided the flowers."

"It was a man, then," said Mr Horton.

"Here," continued Old Daylight, "is the exact size of his shoe or boot. It is the left boot. Here is that of his right boot. You see, they are lefts and rights, not the old-fashioned straights, as I wear mine."

Mr Forster was quite right. Rights and lefts, well known at the time of the Crusaders, and down to George II.'s time, had somehow disappeared from English shoes until some ten years previously, and old-fashioned people wore old-fashioned shoes.

"Why exactly half-past nine?"

"Because it rained a little at that hour; and yet the shoes of the man were dusty, as we see by the carpet in the diningroom. The poor woman knew the man very well, for she was not quite dressed; or, rather, had begun to undress when she heard his knock, first at the door, and then at both shutters." "How's that?" asked Mr Horton.

"I have proofs," said the old man quietly, but severely. "She had pulled an old shawl over her shoulders, and had left off suddenly when winding-up her old French alarum; for somehow the pendulum was stopped, and it points to the hour. Her stays are unlaced

The Inspector looked with triumph at the magistrate, as much as to say, "You see how Old Daylight can work.” Mr Horton looked up with a very satisfied glance. "But although in this hurry, she was glad to welcome this young gentleman,"

"Was he her lover?"

"I don't know. She got him her best to welcome himbrandy and claret. Common people don't drink claret.

let him smoke in her parlour, and a very fine Havannah the man smoked."

Here Old Daylight took up the butt-end of a cigar, and shook a few more grains of dust from it.

"You see," said he, "that the young man-active, and strong, and well made, I take it-was possibly in the army, certainly of a high class. He wore moustaches, which no one under an officer or a baronet indulges in; because "

"Because why?" said the Inspector, hurriedly. "Ain't you going too fast, Daddy Daylight?"

Tom Forster looked at the police officer with ineffable scorn, and continued

"Because the cigar is not bitten nor wetted by the lips, but has been cut in a transverse way, and has been pressed into probably a silver pipe or tube, such as they use in Spain. The young gentleman has, therefore, probably travelled on the Continent. He's young and active, for he fences; thus he has been able to commit this crime with a broken foil. He is most likely a pupil of Jackson, and boxes; for round one end of the foil has been wrapped the wash leather, and some little-very little-remains of horsehair of an old boxing glove."

"By jingo!" cried the Inspector.

"Your circumstantial evidence looks well at present," said Mr Horton. "Wait till a barrister pulls it to pieces."

"Oh! that's not all," said Daddy Daylight, very quietly. "He was young and active, as I said; for, without opening the gate, he leapt the garden wall, and clearing four feet of grass on the other side, came down in the centre bed. The footmarks correspond with the others, but are more deeply impressed. He had been abroad, since the Widow Martin had hurried to cook him an omelet—a dish for which here we don't much care. There are the broken eggs, the pan, and the beaten-up yolks on the dresser. As she bent over the pan, he sprang hurriedly from the dining-room through the door, and stabbed her in the back. She fell, but not without some struggle. Half turning round, she caught him by the glove, but caught short at him. He wore thin gloves-opera gloves -probably put on to prevent his hands being soiled by blood; for here, caught by her long nail, is a fragment of grey, thin

kid leather, scratched and torn off the glove. This also proves that the murderer was no common man."

The magistrate was delighted with the business-like manner of Old Daylight.

"Pray go on," he said.

"There is little more.

Now comes the motive; and this, too, points to our previous assertion, that the assassin was well born and bred."

"His breeding has come to a bad end," said Inspector Stevenson.

"Alas!" murmured Old Daylight, "what can we say ? Do what we will, our best laid schemes, as Bobby Burns has said, 'gang aft a-gey.' The motive, I have said, is not money. We might guess that from the fact of the young man being a gentleman; but here is proof. Mrs Martin's pocket was unrifled. Here is her purse; here are also some notes found in her drawers, although, from counting the spoons and forks, some are gone. But that's a mere blind: they will be found near here, I fancy. But there is yet more proof. The grate is full of ashes of papers. Some of these are letters, and are written on thicker paper than others; and may, perhaps, be legal documents. But here is a proof. Look upon that fragment. In a little whiter line than the surrounding paper, you will find the words, dear Lord!'"

Mr Horton started.

“Can we find any more evidence like this?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, no," answered the Bow Street runner. "That stupid fellow, who is so fond of a personal clue, had no mind for intricacies, and has put the kettle on the fireplace, and crushed all the ashes of the letters. However, we have enough. Let me sum up. The murder was committed by a young, active man, dressed in a top coat, light town boots, a beaver hat-if the round mark where the dust is removed from the top of the Japanese cabinet is to be trusted-light dress kid gloves, as if he had come from a theatre. This man is a gentleman who has travelled abroad--probably in Spainis a good fencer, and belongs to some good family. Now, then, for our search. We have the basis of it already. The Inspector, whom we will leave here with the constable, knows

my ways, and will bring me word to-morrow as to whether Coach, waggon, carter, even barge

such a man was seen.

might have brought him."

As he said this, the detective packed up his shreds of evidence very carefully, and gave them into the hands of Mr Horton.

"You will call for me to-morrow, Mr Stevenson."

"At Homer Street?" asked the Inspector.

"No, at Queen Anne Street, if you please. You will find me there with an old friend, whose advice is worth something." "Are you going back to town, Mr Forster?" asked Mr Horton. (6 Will you share my cab? I want to have a few words with you."

"At your service, sir," said Old Daylight, with deferential respect. "Allow me a moment or so to refresh myself."

He pointed to his dirty hands, and hurried away. A halfdozen moments passed, and the old detective walked out into the garden, quite ready to join Mr Horton.

In a few minutes the yellow-bodied cab and its black-eyed driver were swinging back to town at a sharp trot, the driver sitting in his little separate seat next to Mr Forster, and popping his head round every minute, with an ardent desire to talk to him. But Old Daylight was in close confab with the magistrate, and the driver was disappointed.

"Well, they've got down two bloodhounds of the law agin that job already. I wonder whether they'll scent him out. Brownjohn's off one way, Old Daylight is on another. Woa-a, mare!" here he flicked his horse, which shied a little in the glare of the setting sun. Country air and a good feed has given her no end of pluck. If they wasn't so busy, they'd be half afraid of a wheel coming off; but there they are-talk, talk, talk. A gentleman can't get a word in edgeways."

And so Sam Smiles, the black-eyed, sleeve-waistcoated driver as he was, went on with his grumble. Soon he deposited the magistrate at his door in Wimpole Street, and was paid; for Mr Tom Forster got down as well, and trotted off to his home. And there, out in the country, in the quiet little cockney Acacia Villa, with the cold starlight twinkling

down through the uncurtained window, lay the dead body of Madame Martin, under the eternal heavens.

But murder will speak out, "with most miraculous organ," even though it has no tongue. Two good men and true were after the murderer. One held a clue; the other had an inductive process of his own. Were either of them on the

track?

Let us bury the woman, and hide the crime. Why haunt the bodies of the dead with prying curiosity? Inspector Stevenson, let us add, took the proper steps. The coroner for Middlesex sat upon the body next day, with a sapient jury, and returned a verdict of "Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown;" for, in spite of the evidence of the Inspector and others, the foreman would insist that more than one was engaged in the perpetration of the dark deed.

CHAPTER IV.

INTRODUCES MR EDGAR WADE.

WHEN the cock-tailed mare was rattling the magistrate and Mr Tom Forster up to London at the rate of ten miles an hour, although the cabman could get no word of our old friend, Mr Horton had him all to himself; and was not sorry for it.

"You've had some curious experiences," said the magistrate; "and," he added, with real admiration, "you must know something of mankind, and of literature too."

"Mine

"You are very good to say so," said Old Daylight. is a varied experience, and a bitter one. I was once a silversmith and watchmaker, and had a capital business; but somehow or other I was not happy. I wanted to marry, but I could not, for my old father and mother came and quartered themselves on me, and totally prevented that. I couldn't marry when they were with me, and I couldn't have the heart to send them away. Well, the consequence was, I and my pretty one waited and waited, till she died. I wished the old couple anywhere-in heaven, for what I cared."

Mr Horton was astonished at the old man's heartlessness.