Arnold Calvert occupied rooms in Bloomsbury; pleasant old rooms in a house which had been fashioned in Georgian times. It stood in a quiet street undisturbed by the noise of traffic or the shrieking¹ of children at play. Even organ-grinders rarely came that way, as the neighbourhood was not remunerative². Consequently the house was mostly occupied by people of delicate health who disliked noise. Mrs. Varney, the landlady³, was a motherly old person with rather a hard eye. At one time she had been on the stage, and traces of that period appeared in her deliberate movements and slow voice. She always seemed as though she were reciting Shakespeare with appropriate gestures, although she had played but minor⁴ parts in the dramas of the bard⁵.  
Arnold was Mrs. Varney's pet lodger⁶. As he was on the stage she frequently gave him the benefit of her advice, and Calvert always received her stale instruction with good humour and attention. This obedience⁷ made her love him, and he benefited by having his rooms better looked after and his food better cooked than any of the other lodgers⁸. Calvert had two rooms on the second floor, a bedroom and a pleasant sitting-room⁹, the window of which afforded a view round the corner of the square out of which the street led. It was an oak-panelled room with a painted ceiling, and furnished in very good taste. Arnold detested¹⁰ the frippery with which many young men of the present day cram¹¹ their rooms, and his apartment was essentially¹² masculine. The carpet and hangings were of dull red, the chairs and sofa were upholstered in leather, and on two sides of the room were dwarf¹³ book-cases containing a well-selected library. Calvert was fond of reading--a taste he had contracted at college, and kept well abreast¹⁴ of the literature of the day. In one corner of the room stood a small piano. Over the mantel-piece was a collection of boxing-gloves, foils, masks, and suchlike things. Portraits of Magdalen College--which had been Calvert's Alma Mater--and of those men who had been his contemporaries, adorned¹⁵ the walls. Then there were many portraits of Calvert in cricketing costume, in boating dress, in cap and gown, and in some of his stage characters. Altogether a manly¹⁶, pleasant room, quite the place for a studious man to dream and work in. And as Arnold lived a quiet life, he indulged in literary pursuits, as the loose papers on his desk and the presence of a typewriter demonstrated.
 
He was fair and handsome, with a lean clean-shaven face of the classic type. His hair was curly, and well brushed back from a high white forehead, and his eyes were blue and deep. Most people have shallow eyes like those of a bird, but there was a depth in those of Calvert which betokened¹⁷ a man who thought. A handsome intellectual face on the whole, and usually bright with good health, good humour, and contentment. At present, however, it was rather clouded.
 
The cause of this dismal¹⁸ expression was to be found in the presence of two men who were seated near the window. Arnold himself, in riding-dress, stood on the hearth-rug with his hands in his pockets. He had come back from a ride that morning to find two gentlemen waiting for him. "Professor Bocaros," said Mrs. Varney in the hall, when she admitted him; "he's a gentleman though shabby. But the other, called Jasher, is as vulgar as his vulgar name."
 
"This was rather hard on Mr. Jasher, who was not so vulgar as the landlady made out. He was as stout¹⁹ as Bocaros was lean--a fair, complacent²⁰, well-fed, elderly man of the Falstaff tribe. Mr. Jasher looked as though he knew a good dinner when he sat down to one, and was quite able to appreciate delicate cookery and good wines. His round fat face was red and freckled²¹, with rather full lips, twinkling grey eyes, humorous in expression, and his hair was plentiful²² if rather grey. With his fat hands folded sleepily on his rotund stomach, Mr. Jasher looked anything but an inquiry-agent. Yet that was his profession, as announced by Professor Bocaros. Arnold had received the intimation calmly, though with some astonishment²³.
 
"Why do you bring this man to me?" he asked curtly²⁴.
 
"Do you know who I am?" asked Bocaros in his turn.
 
Arnold nodded. "I do. There was a certain relative of ours who sometimes spoke²⁵ of you."
 
"Flora²⁶ Brand?"
 
Arnold nodded again. "Mrs. Brand," said he; "she was Flora Calvert, the daughter of my uncle. Your aunt, professor, was, I understand, her mother. But you doubtless know of the relationship, since she told me that you had seen her."
 
"Twice," interposed Bocaros quickly, and then wiped his mouth. "I saw her five or six years ago, and then shortly before her murder."
 
Jasher looked directly at Calvert as the professor made this statement, hoping to discern some emotion. But Arnold's face, doubtless owing to his stage training, betrayed nothing of his feelings. It looked as cold as the face of a Greek god, which he rather resembled in his looks. "I am aware that Mrs. Brand was murdered," he said; "my lawyers, Messrs. Laing and Merry, told me so the other day."
 
"Did they tell you about the money?" asked Bocaros, his big black eyes fastened eagerly on the face of his cousin.
 
This time Calvert coloured a trifle, and shifted his rather direct gaze. "Yes," he answered; "though I do not know by what right you ask me such a question."
 
"I am your cousin----"
 
"Even that does not entitle you to take such a liberty."
 
"Bocaros looked annoyed. I am the last man to take a liberty with any one," said he coldly, while Jasher's twinkling eyes watched his face and the face of Calvert alternately; "but Flora, when I saw her a week before she was murdered, told me that she had made a will in my favour. When I went to see Merry I was informed that she had changed her mind and had constituted you her heir."
 
"Quite so," assented²⁷ the young man. "Mr. Merry told me all this, and of your visit. I rather expected a visit from you, professor. You want me to help you with money----"
 
"I want you to offer a reward in order to learn who killed your--our cousin," burst out Bocaros swiftly.
 
Calvert bit his lip, and the blood rushed to his fair face. "You may be sure that I will leave no stone unturned to learn the truth," he said, and walked in a rather agitated²⁸ manner up and down the room. At length he came to a halt opposite Jasher. "You are a private inquiry-agent," said he. "Mr. Merry informed me that the professor, under the impression that he had inherited the money, employed you to hunt for the assassin of poor Mrs. Brand."
 
"Yes--yes," cried Bocaros, shifting his chair in great excitement. "And I bring him to you that you may employ him. I am poor--yes, I am very poor, but I do not want money. Spend what you would give me in paying Jasher to discover the assassin."
 
"Is this why you bring Mr. Jasher to me?" asked Arnold.
 
"What else?" said Bocaros. "I only saw Flora twice, but I liked her--she was good to me. I want to know who killed her."
 
"All the world wants to know that, professor."
 
"Pardon me," said Jasher, in his unctuous²⁹ voice. "I do not think the world in general cares very much, Mr. Calvert. The world has grown tired of its nine days' wonder, and now is occupying itself in other matters. I pointed³⁰ this out to the professor, and proposed that you should remunerate me for what I have done, seeing that he cannot pay me, and let sleeping dogs lie."
 
"Arnold looked up sharply. What do you mean by that expression?" he asked quickly. "Have you discovered anything?"
 
"Jasher produced a small note-book. I have set down one or two things. At present I am collecting evidence. When I have sufficient I will know how to move. But"--he closed the book--"if you would like me to destroy these pages----"
 
"Why the devil should I, man?" demanded Calvert, frowning. "As the cousin and the legatee of Mrs. Brand, I am doubly conc............