a mere story, in case his servants started talking about it."
"But you yourself seemed just now to think that it might not be a mere story."
"Oh, that was just a kind o' idea," said the Superintendent easily. "It only came in my mind when the ring was never recovered."
"What were the exact facts?" demanded Carrington.
"Oh," said the Superintendent vaguely, "there was something about a window looking as if it had been entered, but really, sir, Mr. Rattar paid so little attention to it himself, and we were that taken up by the Keldale case that I made no special note of it."
"Did the servants ever speak of it again?"
"Everybody was that taken up about the murder that I doubt if they've minded on it any further."
Carrington was silent for a few moments.
"Are the servants intelligent girls?" he enquired.
"Oh, quite average intelligent. In fact, the housemaid is a particular decent sort of a girl."
At this point, Mr. Carrington's interest in the subject seemed to wane, and after a few pleasant generalities, he thanked the Superintendent for his courtesy, and strolled down to the hotel for lunch. This time his air as he walked was noticeably brisker and his eye decidedly brighter.
About three o'clock that afternoon came a ring at the front door bell of Mr. Simon Rattar's
