Mr. Dowker was a long lean man of a drab colour. His hair was thin, of a neutral tint, his eyes a watery blue, and his somewhat large mouth drawn down at the corners betokened a lachrymose nature. He wore greyish clothes always a little threadbare, and large thick-soled boots chosen rather for utility than beauty. His head-gear consisted of a sad-coloured soft hat pulled well over his eyes, from under which his scanty hair hung in a depressing manner. In fact he had a somewhat sketchy appearance, as if he had been outlined and waited to be filled up with colour, but this stage of development which would have turned him into a thing of beauty, was never arrived at, and his general appearance was dismal in the extreme. He wore a beard, that is several tufts of straggly hair were planted in patches over his face but did not seem to flourish. He never smiled and frequently sighed, so that his manners as well as his appearance were not calculated to inculcate cheerful thoughts.

But notwithstanding this unprepossessing exterior, there was no cleverer man in London, and the most dexterous criminal would rather have had any other detective after him than this apparently unpromising thief-catcher. The outward resemblance of a man is not invariably the index of his mind, and the Puritan physiognomy of Mr. Dowker was a very serviceable mask to the acuteness and brilliancy of his intellect. Consequently, when the Piccadilly Puzzle case promised to be such a difficult one to unravel, it was placed in the hands of Mr. Dowker and the whole affair left entirely to him. Dowker was pleased at this tribute to his cleverness, and sighed in an approving manner as he rapidly reviewed all the evidence which had come under the eyes of the police.

In the first place it would be necessary to discover the name of the deceased, and then by finding out the manner of her life, the motive of the crime might be discovered, pointing to the criminal. The clothing was not marked in any way, but on examining the hat, Dowker found from a ticket on the inside that it had been purchased at the shop of Madame Rêne in Regent Street; so, wrapping up the hat in paper, he betook himself to the establishment of that lady, as the first step in the chain of evidence which he hoped to complete by the discovery of the assassin.

Madame Rêne's establishment was one of the smartest in London, and was well-known to the feminine world, who were accustomed to pay the exorbitant sums demanded there for goods which could have been bought much cheaper elsewhere, but then they would not have been stamped with Madame Rêne's approval, and that omission was to declare that the article was unfashionable. Madame Rêne's trade-mark being thus indispensable, ladies never ventured to go anywhere else if they could possibly manage it, and Madame Rêne flourished greatly.

Dowker entered the shop and asked to see Madame Rêne, to whose presence he was conducted at once, for the detective was well-known there, haying been frequently employed by Madame in missions of a delicate nature, principally concerning ladies of high rank and diamonds.

Madame herself was short and stout, with a thoroughly English face, and indeed, she had been born within the sound of Bow Bells, but took her French name for trade purposes. Her voice was sharp and shrill, and her black eyes bold and piercing--a thorough woman of business, who knew the value of money and time, so wasted neither.

"Well, Mr. Dowker," said Madame when the detective had taken his seat in her private office and closed the door, "what is the matter now? I was just going to send for you."

"What about?" asked Dowker with a sigh, "more trouble?"

"Yes--Lady Balscombe's run away with Lord Calliston, and she owes me a lot of money, so I want to know the chances of getting paid."

"Any security?" inquired the detective.

"Oh, yes--I'm not such a fool as to lend ladies money without security," said Madame with a shrill laugh. "I've got a diamond necklace, but I think it belongs to Sir Rupert Balscombe--part of the family jewels--I suppose I'd better go and see him."

"I think that would be the wisest plan."

"Humph!" sniffed the lady, frowning, "I don't know. On the one hand he may pay me my money and redeem the necklace, on the other he may kick up a row, and I don't want my dealings in this way made public. I'd have a whole army of husbands down on me--just like men--they go to the Jews themselves to get ready money, and when their wives do a bit of borrowing with their milliners, they make a fuss."

"Why not sell the necklace?"

"That's what I'm going to do as soon as I hear from Lady Balscombe. I suppose she'll be divorced, and marry Calliston--more fool she, for he's a scamp--then she'll want to redeem the necklace quietly, but I don't know where to write to her. Where have they gone to?"

"I hear in a yacht to the Azores," said Dowker, who knew everything; "they'll turn up again I've no doubt--then you can see her."

"What an idiot she was to give up such a fair position!" said Madame, who looked at the whole affair from a purely worldly point of view. "She was nobody when Sir Rupert picked her up, and he gave her everything--she made ducks and drakes of his money--they fought, and the result is she's gone off with Calliston--a man who is the biggest scamp in town."

"Yes, I know, got a little crib in St. John's Wood, said Dowker, who had no hesitation in talking plainly to this woman, who knew as much about fast life as he did.

"So I hear--never saw his mistress, but hear she's a beautiful woman--there will be a row when she hears his latest escapade; but he'll get tired of Lady Balscombe and go back to the St. John's Wood establishment--they always do."

"Well, the whole affair will end as usual," said the detective with a sigh, "in a public scandal and divorce; but I want to see you about this," and taking the hat out of the parcel, he laid it before Madame. It was rather striking-looking--black straw, with brown and blue velvets twisted together and caught on one side with a slender silver crescent.

"Yes, that's mine," said Madame, glancing at it. "Rather good style, I think. What do you want to know?"

"The name of the person you sold it to."

"Humph!--rather a difficult question to answer--some one might have bought it and taken it away with them, but if they left an address I'll soon find out."

She touched a bell, and a girl appeared.

"Send Miss Brail to me--she's invaluable," explained Madame to Dowker when the girl had vanished. "Such a wonderful memory, forgets nothing. I find her useful in my deals with ladies--a milliner's business is not all bonnets and hats, as we know."

"It's more than the world does," responded Dowker with as near an approach to a smile as he allowed himself.

Miss Brail made her appearance, and decided the question at once.

"It was sold to a lady about two months ago--somewhere in St. John's Wood."

"Was it a real lady?" asked Dowker.

"Well, she was more like a servant," responded Miss Brail doubtfully, "I should say a lady's maid."

"Was it sent?" asked Madame impatiently.

"Yes--the address is in the book," answered Miss Brail, and went out to get the book. In a few moments she returned, and announced:

"Lydia Fenny, Cleopatra Villa, St. John's Wood."

In spite of his habitual phlegm, Dowker started, on perceiving which, Madame dismissed Miss Brail at once.

"Why do you start?" she asked curiously, when the door had closed.

Dowker sighed in his usual manner, and taking out his handkerchief, twisted it up into a hard ball, a sure sign that he was impressed in some way.

"Cleopatra Villa is Lord Calliston's place."

"Oh!" said Madame in rather an amazed tone, "what a curious thing we should have been speaking about him! I suppose this Lydia Fenny is the lady's maid there."

"Was the lady's maid," corrected Dowker.

"What do you mean?"

"If this hat," touching it, "was sold by you to Lydia Fenny--she is dead."

"Dead!"

"Yes, the victim of the Jermyn Street murder."

"What?" Madame Rêne sprang to her feet, greatly agitated.

"I wanted to find out the name of the dead woman in order to get a clue to the perpetrator of the crime," explained Dowker rapidly, "this hat was on the head when the body was discovered. It had a mark inside showing it was bought here, so I came here to find out to whom it was sold--you tell me Lydia Fenny, so the logical conclusion is that Lydia Fenny is the victim."

"It's all very strange," said Madame, rapidly looking at him with keen eyes, "but it may not be Lydia Fenny at all. Other hats might have been made similar to this one, or Lydia Fenny might have lent or given the hat to another person."

"There is only one way of finding that out," said Dowker, wrapping up the hat and rising to his feet.

"And that is?"

"To make inquiries at Cleopatra Villa. Good-day," and the detective went out, leaving Madame transfixed with astonishment.

"Humph," she said at length. "I wonder if Lord Calliston's got anything to do with this murder."