After hearing the revelations made by Lord Calliston and Myles Desmond, concerning the movements of Sir Rupert Balscombe on the night of the murder, Dowker had no doubt in his own mind that the baronet was guilty of the crime. Rumour speaking truly for once said they lived unhappily together owing to Lady Balscombe's numerous infidelities, and it was only the honour of his name that prevented Sir Rupert applying for a divorce. Now, however, he had done so, as his wife's apparent flight with Lard Calliston was of too glaring a character to be overlooked even by the most complacent husband.

Dowker, however, did not believe in the genuineness of the application, merely looking upon it as a clever piece of acting on the part of a wily scoundrel to cloak his crime. In the detective's opinion Sir Rupert had simulated rage on hearing of his wife's apparent iniquity--had applied for a divorce knowing she was dead--and had gone down to the yacht with a full knowledge that he would not see Lady Balscombe. In fact, all through he had acted a very clever part, in order to ward off suspicion that he was guilty of the crime of murder.

What Dowker now wanted to find was the locket which Sir Rupert had wrenched off his wife's neck, and also the weapon used in the committal of the crime. It had been clearly shown that the Malay kriss taken from Cleopatra Villa could not have been used by anyone, so the baronet must have had some dagger of his own, which was now doubtless in his possession. If these two things could be found, their discovery coupled with the evidence of Calliston and Desmond would be quite sufficient to prove Sir Rupert guilty, unless, indeed, he could prove himself innocent, of which there did not seem to be much chance.

Dowker did not go at once to Park Lane as he was anxious to know how Lena Sarschine, or rather Lady Calliston, was after her hysterical confession of guilt, so he drove down to Cleopatra Villa, and on being shown in to the drawing-room was confronted by Lord Calliston. That young nobleman looked haggard and worn out, so that in spite of his conduct, which had led to the murder of one woman and the self-accusation of another, the detective felt sorry for him.

"What do you want now?" he asked irritably. "Have you come to arrest my wife?"

"Your wife," said Dowker, pretending to have heard this for the first time.

"Yes," replied Calliston, boldly; "we were married in France and she is now my wife. I don't believe her guilty of this crime--do you?"

"I told you this morning I did not," said the detective, quietly. "It was only a statement made by her to save you, because she thought you were guilty."

"What do you say?" asked Calliston abruptly.

"If you had asked me this morning, I should have said the circumstances were suspicious," said Dowker smoothly, "but now I can say heartily that you are innocent."

"How do you know I am?" demanded Calliston ironically.

"Because I have found out the real criminal, at least, one I believe to be the real criminal."

"Sir Rupert Balscombe?"

"Yes, Sir Rupert Balscombe."

"I thought so," said Calliston bitterly. "I know he hated his wife."

"And had he not reason?" asked Dowker, significantly.

Calliston flushed and turned his face away.

"I'm not a saint," he said in a low voice, "and though my conduct may appear to you to have been wrong I could hardly help myself, it would have taken a stronger man than myself to withstand the temptation."

"And now?"

"Now," replied Calliston, turning towards the detective, "I have married the only woman I ever really cared about, and we are going a tour round the world as soon as she is well--that is, if she ever does get well."

"Is she then so ill?"

"Brain fever," replied Calliston curtly.

"I'm very sorry to hear it," said Dowker quietly, "for she is a noble woman."

Calliston made no reply, but flung himself down on a couch and buried his face in his hands, so, without saying another word, Dowker left the room and made his final exit from Cleopatra Villa.

It was now about four o'clock in the afternoon, so Dowker drove to the Park Lane mansion and asked for Sir Rupert Balscombe. The footman told him the baronet was out, but added, on hearing his name, that Miss Penfold had given orders if he called that he was to be shown into the library, as she wished to see him. Dowker was pleased at this as he wanted to ask May some questions, and followed the servant in a very pleased frame of mind.

May Penfold was seated by a small table talking eagerly to Mr. Norwood, who sat near her with a pocket-book open on his knee. When Dowker entered May arose and went forward in a curiously eager manner. Her face was very pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes, but her features wore a very hopeful expression, for she was now certain of saving her lover, though on the other hand she might lose her guardian.

"I'm so glad you've come, Mr. Dowker," she said quickly. "Mr. Norwood and myself have been talking over the position of the case and we want your assistance."

"I will be delighted to give it," answered Dowker gravely, taking a seat. "I am anxious to make Mr. Desmond all the reparation in my power, as I was the unconscious cause of all his trouble."

"You only acted according to your duty," said Norwood in a business-like tone, "the evidence against my client was very strong, but the evidence against Sir Rupert----"

"Is stronger still," finished the detective. "Exactly; but we have to find out that evidence. Lord Calliston and Mr. Desmond can swear they saw him in Piccadilly following his wife, and the latter saw him wrench the locket off his wife's neck; now I want to find that locket, and also--if possible--the dagger with which the crime was committed."

Norwood shrugged his shoulders.

"You may be certain he would not keep dangerous evidence like that about."

"Pardon me; I think he would, because, taking the case as a whole it would have been impossible to bring his guilt home to him but for the circumstance of his being recognised by Lord Calliston and Mr. Desmond; even if he did not keep the dagger he would certainly retain the locket."

"Why?" asked May.

"Because he would never dream that there would be any question of the locket being brought in evidence--had it not been for the mark on the neck of the wrenching off, no one would have ever known that Lady Balscombe wore a locket."

"Oh! but I knew," said May eagerly; "she had a large gold locket with a thin gold chain--she always wore it."

"Why did she attach such value to it?" asked Norwood.

"I don't know; but she wore it morn, noon and night."

"Can you describe it............