The Yellow Holly. Hume Fergus

every one was in bed by eleven, that every one had slept soundly more or less, and that all were astonished and shocked when the tragedy came to light next morning. Train could have created a sensation by stating that he had heard the front door open after eleven; but, true to his promise to George, he said nothing about this. Miss Bull, on the other hand, declared that the front door was locked as usual, and that she had taken the key from the dead woman's pocket to open it when the police entered. It would appear that Mrs. Jersey had been murdered by some one in the house. Yet not one scrap of evidence could be found to show that any one in the house could possibly be guilty. The boarders were all old, the servants all ordinary human beings, and no motive could be assigned to any one person for the committal of so cruel a crime. Moreover, the fact that the instrument used was a stiletto (and the doctor held to that) showed that the crime must have been committed by a foreigner. The only foreign person in the house on the night in question was Fritz, the Swiss waiter. But he would not have killed a fly, and, moreover, exculpated himself entirely with the aid of Jarvey, in whose room he slept. The jury brought in a verdict of murder against some person or persons unknown, and that was all that could be done toward the elucidation of the Amelia Square crime.

      "There's only one thing that wasn't spoken of," said Quex, when he saw the boarders in the drawing-room for the last time; "it seems that Mrs. Jersey always put out the light above the door at eleven, or when the guests departed. On this occasion it burned all night, and, as it shines behind crimson glass, such a red window might be a guide to any one who did not know the house, but who had been given that sign whereby to distinguish it."

      "I can explain that," said Granger, who was present. "When Madame was bidding farewell to her guests she thought that some of them might be lost in the fog. Therefore she called out after them that she would let the light burn later so that any might be able to retrace their steps."

      "Well," said Quex, scratching his head, "that explanation is clear."

      "And there is no use for it," put in Miss Bull, "since the front door was locked and no one entered the house on that night."

      "That's just it," said the inspector, sagaciously. "As all you ladies and gentlemen are clearly innocent the crime must have been committed by some one from outside. Now, is there any one to whom Madame gave a latch-key?"

      "None of us had latch-keys," said Harmer. "Madame would not allow such a thing."

      "Oh, I don't mean you, or those like you, Mr. Harmer. At your age a latch-key is not necessary. But Mrs. Jersey may have given one to a friend of hers who came to see her on that night. Had she any friend in whom she would place such confidence?"

      "No," said Miss Bull, decisively. "She trusted no one that far. And I don't think she had a single friend outside this house."

      "And very few in it," muttered Mrs. Taine, who on various occasions had suffered from Madame's tongue.

      "In that case," said Quex, rising to take his leave, "there is nothing more to be discussed. Who killed Mrs. Jersey, or why she was killed, will probably never be known. Ladies and gentlemen, good-day," and the inspector bowed himself stiffly out of the room, with the air of a man who washed his hands of the whole concern.

      And, after all, what could he do? There was no proof likely to indicate any one as the assassin, and since Leonard kept silent on the point of the front door having been opened after eleven, it was impossible to say that the criminal had entered the house. Had Mr. Inspector known of this he might have made further inquiries; but he knew nothing and departed extremely perplexed. The Amelia Square crime was one of those mysterious murders which would have to be relegated to obscurity for sheer want of evidence.

      "When are you going back to Duke Street?" asked Brendon as he took his leave of Train.

      "This very day," replied the young man, gloomily. "I don't want to stop a moment longer than I can help in this awful house."

      "I expect many of the others are of your way of thinking, Train. But, so far as I can see, there is no hope of learning who killed the woman."

      "If you had only allowed me to tell Quex about the door being opened he might have traced the assassin."

      "I don't think so." Brendon shook his head. "It was a foggy night, and whosoever entered would be able to slink away without being seen."

      "I am not so sure of that. There is only one outlet to the square, and there stands a policeman on guard."

      "The policeman would not be there all the time," argued Brendon, "to say nothing of the fog, which would hide any one desirous of evading recognition, as the assassin assuredly must have wished."

      "All the same, I wish I had told Quex."

      "Well, then, tell him if you like," said George, vexed with this pertinacity.

      "But you asked me not to."

      "Only because I fear, with your weak nature, that one question will lead to another, until the whole of my private affairs will come to light. I don't want those to be known at Scotland Yard, let alone the chance that I might be accused of the crime."

      "Oh, that's ridiculous! You could not have left the sitting-room unless I had let you out, and there is no door from your bedroom."

      "That is true enough," answered Brendon, with an ironical smile, the significance of which was lost on Train. "But if the whole of my story came to light you might be accused of helping me to get rid of the woman."

      "I?" Leonard's hair almost rose on end. "How could I be mixed up in it?"

      "Well, see here," argued Brendon, who thought it just as well to make Train's own safety depend upon the discretion of too free a tongue. "I tell you about this house, and on my recommendation you come here. I come to stop with you and reveal my reasons for coming. These have to do with the possession of a secret by the murdered woman. All that, to a policeman, would be suspicious. What would be easier than for me to go down the stairs and, when the woman refused to confess as to my legitimacy, to stab her? Then I could return to my bed, and you could prove an alibi on my behalf by your tale of having locked the sitting-room door."

      Train shuddered. "I see how easily we can get into trouble. I shall say nothing. I wish I had not come here. I shall go abroad until all blows over."

      "Why," said Brendon, in scorn, "what is there to blow over? No more will be heard of this matter if you hold your tongue. The inquest is at an end, the woman will be buried shortly, and you will be back leading your own life. So far as I am concerned you know that I am not guilty, and that I could not have left my room since you locked that special door. Then, as to hearing the front door open, that may have been a hallucination on your part."

      "No. I am sure it wasn't. I heard distinctly."

      "Well-" Brendon shrugged his shoulders, but seemed uncomfortable-"I dare say the assassin came and went in that way. But if he, or she, did, the door was found fast locked in the morning, unless Miss Bull is telling a lie."

      "She might be."

      "I don't see what she has to gain. But there's no use talking any further. The matter is ended so far as I am concerned."

      "What will you do now?"

      "I am going to see Dorothy," said Brendon, "and tell her that there is no chance of our marriage. Nor is there, for I cannot see my way to prove my legitimacy. We must part, and I shall probably go down the country for six months or so, to finish my novel and to get rid of my heartache."

      Train remained silent, looking at the ground. Then he glanced at his friend in a doubtful way. "What has become of your yellow holly?"

      Brendon produced it from his pocket. "It withered, so I took it out of my coat and put it into this envelope."

      "Do you know if Miss Ward gave any one else a piece of yellow holly?"

      Brendon stared at this strange question. "Not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?"

      Train shuffled his feet and looked down again. "It is an exceptionally rare sort of thing," he said uneasily, "and its effect on Mrs. Jersey was so strange that I wondered if she connected it with any trouble or disaster."

      "You made the same remark before," said Brendon, dryly, "and