Perhaps among all his friends Myles had no warmer supporter than Spencer Ellersby. The young man appeared to be genuinely sorry that his evidence about meeting Desmond in St. James' Street should be used against him.

"Hang it!" he said to Marton, as they were seated at their club, "if I had only known how it would have been twisted, I'd not have said a word, but that detective fellow got it out of me somehow--brute of a fellow--killed my dog, you know, Pickles."

"Well, I hear they'll not be able to prove the dagger in Desmond's possession was the one used," said Marton, "good for poor old Myles--hey!"

"I think it's d--d rubbish, the whole thing," retorted Ellersby, hotly; "what the deuce should Myles kill this woman for, she was nothing to him; more likely Calliston knows more about it."

"Well, he'll soon be asked at all events," said Marton, with a chuckle. "The Seamew's back at Brighton."

"What!" cried Ellersby astonished. "And Lady Balscombe?"

"Oh, she's on board also," said Marton. "Sir Rupert has gone down, I hear, to see his wife--what a deuce of a row there'll be, hey!" and the old reprobate rubbed his hands.

"Well, there is one thing to be said," observed Ellersby ringing for a brandy and soda, "Calliston can't marry Miss Penfold now."

"All the better for Desmond, dear boy, hey?"

"I don't see that," retorted Ellersby coolly, "even if Desmond's acquitted, he'll have a stain on his name--she won't marry him."

"Hey!" said The Town-crier, all on the alert for news. "What do you mean?"

"Simply this, that I'm going to have a look in at the heiress myself."

"Bosh!"

"Fact, the matrimonial stakes are open to any one, and I don't see why Miss Penfold shouldn't marry me."

"She might if Desmond was out of the way, but as it is--pish!"

"Well, we'll see," retorted Ellersby, lighting a cigarette. "I've fallen in love with her, and I'm going to ask her to be my wife.

"Bet you a hundred to one she don't have you," said Marton, producing his pocket-book.

"Done," and the bet was booked immediately.

"Why hang it," said Marton, when this little transaction was concluded, "you're not fit to marry--drink, dear boy--bad thing, hey?"

"Oh, I'll give all that sort of thing up when I'm married," replied Ellersby, carelessly.

"You'll have to give up half your life then," retorted his friend rudely, "for you always seem to be at the brandy bottle."

Ellersby laughed, in nowise offended.

"If you had had as many agues and fevers as I have, you'd be at it too; but you needn't be afraid, when I become Benedict I'll take the pledge. By the way, come and see my new rooms, I've got 'em all done up."

"Right, dear boy, right," said Marton, and the two gentlemen left the club chatting about the Piccadilly murder and the possible result thereof.

While this interesting conversation was going on, Sir Rupert, Dowker, and Norwood were all in a first-class carriage on their way to Brighton. As Marton had informed Ellersby, the Seamew had returned to England the previous day, and now the trio were going down to see if Lady Balscombe could give them any information likely to solve the mystery of the murder of Lena Sarschine. Of course Sir Rupert fully recognised the truth of the proverb "Every man for himself," but now the guilty passion of his wife a............