Inspector¹ Derrick called to see Fane with rather a downcast expression of countenance². The meaning of this was explained in his conversation.  
"I've done my best, sir, and there's nothing to be discovered."
 
"You mean as regards the murder of this woman Brand?" asked Walter.
 
"What else would I mean!" replied Derrick dismally³. "I have no call to see you about anything else, sir!"
 
"The two men were seated in the morning-room where Mrs. Fane had conversed⁴ with Laura. Walter, seated near the window, did not look well. There were dark circles under his pale eyes, which hinted at sleepless⁵ nights. Also there was a smell of ether in the room as though he had been taking drugs. Derrick delicately ascribed his looks to the fact of the unpleasant occurrence which had taken place in the house.
 
"I suppose you've come to think it haunted, sir?" he suggested.
 
"No, I don't like the idea of living in a house in which a murder has been committed. But I don't believe in the supernatural. For the sake of my wife and child I am giving up the villa⁶, and we intend to live abroad for a time. But I should like the mystery solved, and the assassin of that poor woman brought to justice before I go."
 
"Derrick shook his head. It's not to be done, sir."
 
"Suppose I offer a reward?"
 
"Not even then, Mr. Fane. I can't find a single clue. When I discovered that white room in the Hampstead house, I thought something would come of it. But the assassin was clever enough to go there and remove all evidence of the past life of Mrs. Brand--books, papers, photographs, and those sort of things. It is true I found a photograph of the dead woman, but we knew her looks already. Now had it been a portrait of the husband----"
 
"Ah! Do you suspect the husband?"
 
"Yes and no," replied Derrick thoughtfully. "Certainly I learned that the man went to Australia some time before the death. I found his name in a passenger-list of an Orient liner."
 
"Then he can have nothing to do with the crime."
 
"Well, I don't know. A man may start for another country to make things safe for himself, and then can come back secretly. Besides, if it was not the husband who removed the things, how did he enter the cottage? and why should he make such a point of destroying his own photographs had he no aim?"
 
"I can't guess. But it is equally mysterious how the woman managed to enter this house."
 
"Yes. I can't learn anything about the key being duplicated. Yet it must have been, seeing we have the second key which was dropped by the man who talked to Mulligan."
 
"Have you found him?"
 
"No; nor am I likely to. I tell you, Mr. Fane, the case is hopeless. I believe Mr. Calvert, who came in for the money, has placed the matter in the hands of a private inquiry-agent called Jasher. But if I can't learn the truth, Jasher can't."
 
"Is he a clever man?"
 
"Well, he is. I did work with him at one time, and he appears to have his wits about him. But this case will be beyond his wits as it is beyond mine. I dare say Mr. Calvert would offer a reward, and I should like to earn it. But"--Derrick rose and shook his head--"there's nothing to be done."
 
Fane thought for a few minutes, his eyes on the ground. Then he went to his wife's desk and wrote out a cheque. "You deserve something for your trouble," said he, handing this to Derrick. "All I ask in return is that you should give me the photograph of the dead woman. I have a fancy to try and learn the truth myself."
 
"Oh, I'll do that," replied the Inspector, taking the cheque with thanks; "and I'm sorry, sir, that nothing can be done. But you'll hear no more of the case. The woman is dead and buried, and the thing is forgotten. There is only one chance."
 
"What is that?" asked Fane curiously⁷.
 
"The husband may return to the Hampstead house from Australia. If so, we may learn something of Mrs. Brand's past, and in her past will be found some clue leading to the detection of the assassin."
 
"But if the husband is guilty, as you think, he will not return."
 
"True enough. Should he return, I will take it as a proof of his innocence⁹. Well, good-day, sir."
 
"Wait," said Fane, passing through the door along with his visitor, "I will walk a little way with you. Tell me if you intend to have the house watched."
 
"The house at Hampstead, sir?"
 
"Yes. Brand will come back there if he comes at all."
 
"If you like I can have it watched, Mr. Fane; but it will cost money."
 
"You can rely on me for the expense," said Fane eagerly. "I am most anxious that no stone should be left unturned. Watch the house, and when the man returns there let me know."
 
"You can depend upon my doing that, Mr. Fane."
 
"The two men were by this time at the door. As Fane opened it, he found a man on the step just raising his hand to ring the bell. The stranger was tall and dark, and unknown to Fane. Is there anything I can do for you?" asked the master of the house.
 
"I wish to see Mrs. Fane on business," said Bocaros, for it was he.
 
"Ah! something to do with the office, no doubt," replied Fane, and beckoned¹⁰ to the footman, who now stood ready to close the door. "Take this gentleman's card to your mistress. She is in the White Room."
 
The footman did as he was bidden, and Bocaros waited in the hall. Fane went out with the Inspector, and walked along Achilles Avenue talking eagerly. Bocaros sat down with rather a bewildered look, and passed his lean hand across his face. It seemed to him that he knew Fane's face, yet he was unaware¹¹ of having met him before.
 
"But his face seems familiar," muttered Bocaros. "Where can I have seen him?" And he searched his memory vainly.
 
Before his brain would respond to the demand on it, the footman returned with an intimation that Mrs. Fane would see him. Bocaros followed the man upstairs and into the White Room. Here sat Mrs. Fane, cold and statuesque as usual, and alone. Minnie was out with her nurse, and Laura was paying a visit to Gerty. Beside Mrs. Fane stood a small wicker table on which a book lay open. But she was as usual engaged in knitting, and apparently¹² preferred her own thoughts to those of the popular author whose book was beside her. When the professor entered, she rose gracefully¹³, and looked at him keenly.
 
"May I ask what you have to see me about?" said Mrs. Fane, putting her remark purposely in this way, so as to impress Bocaros with an idea that he was favoured.
 
The professor bowed, and took the chair she pointed¹⁴ to. He had never seen Mrs. Fane before, and thought her a singularly lovely woman, as she decidedly was. Also from her stern lips and piercing eyes he judged that she was a woman who would ruthlessly carry out any scheme which she had formed, and would press forward dauntlessly in the face of all dangers. A clever woman, a dangerous woman, and a foe¹⁵ worthy¹⁶ to be met and conquered. That he would conquer even this Amazon the professor did not doubt. He knew too much for her to deny, and since his interview with Emily Doon he had spent the time in getting certain proofs together.
 
Mrs. Fane might be clever, but she would not be able to defend herself in the face of the facts he proposed to place before her.
 
Bocaros, feeling his way carefully, did not reply at once to her question. "You will see my name on the card," he said quietly.
 
"Professor Bocaros," read Mrs. Fane. "I never heard of you."
 
"Did not Miss Mason mention me?"
 
"I don't recall her having done so."
 
"Strange," said the man. "I am a tenant¹⁷ of Mrs. Baldwin."
 
"My sister is a friend of Mrs. Baldwin," replied Mrs. Fane, "but it is not to be thought that she interests herself in Mrs. Baldwin's private affairs."
 
"I live in the little house across the fields."
 
"That is very interesting," said Mrs. Fane sarcastically¹⁸, and wondering why the man kept telling her things of no note; "and you are a foreigner--a Greek. Bocaros----"
 
"Constantine Bocaros." Then the Professor, feeling nettled¹⁹ by this behaviour, resolved to startle her. "I am the cousin of the woman who was murdered in this room," he said abruptly²⁰.
 
But Mrs. Fane merely raised her eyebrows²¹. "And you have no doubt come to gratify your morbid²² curiosity by seeing the place where she was struck down. Yonder it is, near the piano. Pray look, sir, and then leave me. I do not show my house for this purpose to chance visitors."
 
"Bocaros, meeting her on her own ground, sauntered to the piano with a kind of cool insolence²³ that made Mrs. Fane observe him attentively²⁴.
 
"I suppose you know that Mr. Calvert comes in for ten thousand a year by the death of Mrs. Brand?" said Bocaros, returning to his seat.
 
"I have heard so."
 
"And he is engaged to marry your sister?"
 
"Mrs. Fane could not stand any more of this intrusion into her private affairs, and rose. Will you please to state your business and go!"
 
"There is no need to speak to me like that, madame," said Bocaros, keeping his seat. "My cousin left me the money--afterwards she changed her mind and made a new will, leaving it to Calvert."
 
"Well, sir, and what has this to do with me?"
 
"A great deal, as you will find. I want to learn who killed this woman, Mrs. Fane."
 
"And you come to me. I fear I cannot assist you."
 
"Oh yes, I think you can."
 
"Sir, you are insolent²⁵!" Mrs. Fane, drawing herself up to her full height, was about to press the button of the bell. Bocaros stopped her.
 
"Wait a little," he said; "you can help me by explaining how you came to be in this room on the night of the murder."
 
Mrs. Fane's hand fell, and she stared at the man. "I was not."
 
"You were! Your voice was heard--you sang a favourite song."
 
"Indeed!" Mrs. Fane thought for a moment, but without losing her colour or self-possession in the face of this accusation²⁶. Then she returned to her seat, resolved to give this strange man a hearing. "I was at the seaside when the crime was committed."
 
"So I believe--your husband also?"
 
"My husband also," said Mrs. Fane calmly. "Will you be so kind as to tell me what you mean by these questions?"
 
"I want to prove the guilt⁸ of Calvert."
 
"I cannot help you to do so," she said impatiently.
 
"Yes, you can," persisted Bocaros. "Calvert was the young man who left this house while you were singing. You assisted him to escape. You met him here. He used the dagger²⁷ to kill Flora²⁸ Brand!"
 
"What dagger?"
 
"The stage weapon which the cook found in the dustbin, and which you said belonged to you."
 
Mrs. Fane leaned her chin on the tips of her fingers, thinking. "You are a gentleman," said she gravely.
 
"I am, madame. I am a Greek noble--the Baron²⁹ Bocaros."
 
"The curled lip of Mrs. Fane showed that she thought very little of a foreign title, but she went on quietly, watching the man all the time like a cat. And, indeed, she did not look unlike a magnificent white cat, sleek³⁰ and feline³¹ and treacherous³². Bocaros, hard as he was, winced³³ at the regard of her narrow eyes. Well, then, Baron Bocaros," said Mrs. Fane in her low sweet voice, "I will be plain with you. I said that the dagger was mine, to shield Mr. Calvert----"
&nb............