The Borough Treasurer. J. S. Fletcher

that's serious? You needn't be afraid to speak, Mr. Bent—there's naught can upset or frighten me, let me tell you—I'm past all that!"

      "I'm afraid Mr. Kitely's past everything, too, then," said Bent. He looked steadily at her for a moment, and seeing that she understood, went on. "They're bringing him up, Miss Pett—you'd better make ready. You won't be alarmed—I don't think there's any doubt that he's been murdered."

      The woman gazed silently at her visitors; then, nodding her turbaned head, she drew back into the cottage.

      "It's what I expected," she muttered. "I warned him—more than once. Well—let them bring him, then."

      She vanished into a side-room, and Bent and Brereton went down the garden and met the others, carrying the dead man. Cotherstone followed behind the police, and as he approached Bent he pulled him by the sleeve and drew him aside.

      "There's a clue!" he whispered. "A clue, d'ye hear—a strong clue!"