Scobbs," he smiled.

"Who is Scobbs?"

"He is a proprietor of a series of hotels in Western Canada, and is, I should imagine, a most praiseworthy and inoffensive captain of minor industry, but Miss Cresswell is rather interested in him," he laughed.

"She found the name occurring in Canadian guide-books and was struck by its quaintness."

"Scobbs," said the lawyer slowly. "I seem to know that name."

"You had better know it if I am going to introduce you as Scobbs himself," laughed Beale.

"Shall I be in the way?" asked the superintendent.

"No, please stay," said Beale. "I would like you to see this lady. We may want your official assistance one of these days to get her out of a scrape."

Mr. Beale passed out of the flat and pressed the bell of the door next to his. There was no response. He pressed it again after an interval, and stepped back to look at the fanlight. No light showed and he took out his watch. It was nine o'clock. He had not seen the girl all day, having been present at the inquest, but he had heard her door close two hours before. No reply came to his second ring, and he went back to his flat.

"She's out," he said. "I don't quite understand it. I particularly requested her yesterday not to go out after dark for a day or two."

He walked into his bedroom and opened the window. The light of day was still in the sky, but he took a small electric lamp to guide him along the narrow steel balcony which connected all the flats with the fire-escape. He found her window closed and bolted, but with the skill of a professional burglar he unfastened the catch and stepped inside.

The room was in darkness. He switched on the light and glanced round. It was Oliva's bedroom, and her workday hat and coat were lying on the bed.

He opened the long cupboard where she kept her limited wardrobe. He knew, because it was his business to know, every dress she possessed.

They were all there as, also, were the three hats which she kept on a shelf. All the drawers of the bureau were closed and there was no sign of any disorder such as might be expected if she had changed and gone out. He opened the door of the bedroom and walked into the sitting-room, lighting his way across to the electric switch by means of his lamp.

The moment the light flooded the room he realized that something was wrong. There was no disorder, but the room conveyed in some indescribable manner a suggestion of violence. An object on the floor attracted his attention and he stooped and picked it up. It was a shoe, and the strap which had held it in place was broken. He looked at it, slipped it in his pocket and passed rapidly through the other rooms to the little kitchen and the tiny bath-room, put on the light in the hall and made a careful scrutiny of the walls and the floor.

The mat was twisted out of its place, and on the left side of the wall there were two long scratches. There was a faint sickly odour.

"Ether," he noted mentally.

He went quickly into the dining-room. The little bureau-desk was open and a letter half-finished was lying on the pad, and it was addressed to him and ran:

"DEAR MR. BEALE,--

Circumstances beyond my control make it necessary for me to leave to-night for Liverpool."

That was all. It was obviously half finished. He picked it up, folded it carefully and slipped it in his pocket. Then he returned to the hall, opened the door and passed out.

He explained briefly what had happened and crossed to the doctor's flat, and rang the bell.

CHAPTER X

A FRUITLESS SEARCH

A light glowed in the hall, the door was opened and the doctor, in slippers and velvet coat, stood in the entrance. He showed no resentment nor did he have time to show it.

"I want a word with you," said Beale.

"Twenty if you wish," said the doctor cheerfully. "Won't you come in?"

Beale was half-way in before the invitation was issued and followed the doctor to his study.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

"Quite alone. I have very few visitors. In fact, my last visitor was that unhappy man Jackson."

"When did you see Miss Cresswell last?"

The doctor raised his eyebrows.

"By what right----?" he began.

"Cut all that out," said Beale roughly. "When did you see Miss Cresswell last?"

"I have not seen her to-day," said the doctor. "I have not been out of my flat since I came back from the inquest."

"I should like to search your flat," said Beale.

"Policeman, eh?" smiled the doctor. "Certainly you can search the flat if you have a warrant."

"I have no warrant, but I shall search your flat."

The doctor's face went dull red.

"I suppose you know you are liable to an action for trespass?"

"I know all about that," said Beale, "but if you have nothing to conceal, Dr. van Heerden, I don't see why you should object."

"I don't object," shrugged the doctor, "search by all means. Where would you like to start? Here?"

He pointed to three upright cases which stood at the end of the room nearest the door.

"You will see nothing very pleasant here, they are anatomical models which have just arrived from Berlin. In fact, I have been trading with the enemy," he smiled. "They are screwed up, but I have a screwdriver here."

Beale hesitated.

"There is only another room," the doctor went on, "my bedroom, but you will not find her there."

Beale twisted round like lightning.

"Her?" he asked. "Who said Her?"

"I gather you are looking for Miss Cresswell," said the doctor coolly.