On arriving at the inquiry office, Sutherland was at once shown in to the chief of the establishment, who looked truly concerned and anxious.

‘Glad you’ve come, sir,’ he said at once; ‘for perhaps you can help me out of my quandary. You got my little note? Well, the fact is, I think—I’m almost sure, in fact—that we’ve discovered the lady.’

‘So you wrote; but how? Where? 9 ‘Well, it’s a sad case!’ murmured the chief with a shake of the head. ‘How we’re to break it to the husband, who is half mad with grief and anxiety, is a puzzler. My great fear is that the news may get to him before we’ve time to break it.’

‘Explain!’ cried Sutherland impatiently.

The chief opened his desk, and took out a large handbill, which he unfolded.

‘Just look at this, sir,’ he said, while the young man read it with a shudder. ‘This is only a copy of the bill which the police will have all over London to-morrow, and perhaps in some of the papers. I’ve already been down to Chelsea to make an inspection, and I don’t think there’s any mistake about it. What makes it quite clear is the bracelets. Her Christian name—Madeline—is graven inside.—But you’re not well, sir. I don’t wonder it has turned you sick. Shall I give you a drop of brandy? I have it handy.’

Sutherland, who had turned faint and deadly pale, recovered himself with an effort.

‘Never mind me. Think of him, her husband. You say you haven’t communicated with him?’

‘No, sir. It was only found early this morning, and the moment I heard of the discovery I sent straight to you.’ ‘But the police——’

‘I’ve squared that. They won’t send to him to-night without communicating with me.’

‘The shock will be frightful—enough to kill him.’

‘No doubt of that, but there’s no help for it—he must know.’

‘The first thing to do is to make certain of the identity. The description may be misleading. I suppose I can see her?’

‘Yes, sir, returned the chief with alacrity. ‘If you like I’ll go down with you at once.’

A few minutes later Sutherland and the inquiry officer were rattling down towards Putney in a hansom cab. It was a dark and dismal afternoon in autumn, and as they rapidly passed the gates of Hyde Park the leafless trees looked desolate through a thin mist of rain. To the eye of Edgar Sutherland everything was sombre and dreadful, dark with tragic shadows of sin and death.

They drove through Knightsbridge to Hammersmith, then crossing Hammersmith Bridge, beneath which the river rolled black and sinister, came into the gloomy purlieus of a desolate waterside suburb. It was now growing dark, and the street lamps, which were few and far between, flashed dismally on cheerless brand-new villas, for the most part untenanted and faced with boards ‘To Let,’ gloomy gardens, dark brickfields, and spaces of damp meadow stretching down to the river side. Here and there a tavern opened its bloodshot eyes, and attracted one or two dreary moths to its dingy gleam.

After passing through a mile or more of this gloomy neighbourhood, the cab turned down a narrow street running at right angles to the river banks, and pulled up before a desolate stone building with the inscription—‘Police Station.’

The officer alighted and led the way into a whitewashed room, lit by a solitary gas jet, and occupied by a policeman in uniform, who stood............