"Still," he remarked, "the man was murdered."
"I suppose so," Wrayson admitted.
"And in a most mysterious manner," Heneage continued. "You have gathered, I dare say, from your knowledge of me, that these affairs always interest me immensely. I am almost as great a crank as the Colonel. I have been thinking over this case a great deal, but I must confess that up to to-night I have not been able to see a gleam of daylight. I had dismissed the young lady from my mind. Now, however, I cannot do so."
"Simply because you saw her with the Baroness de Sturm?" Wrayson asked.
"They are living together," Heneage reminded him, "a condition which naturally makes for a certain amount of intimacy."
"Do you know anything against the Baroness?" Wrayson demanded.
"Against her?" Heneage repeated thoughtfully. "Well, that depends."
"Do you mean to insinuate that she is an adventuress?" Wrayson asked bluntly.
"Certainly not," Heneage replied. "She is a representative of one of the oldest families in Europe, a persona grata at the Court of her country, and an intimate friend of Queen Helena's. She is by no means an adventuress."
"Then why," Wrayson asked, "should you attach such significance to the fact of her friendship with Miss Deveney?"
"Because," Heneage remarked, lighting another cigarette, "I happen to know that the Baroness is at present under the strictest police surveillance!"
Wrayson started. Heneage's first statement had re-
