flip, having a wonderfully tenacious memory, did not forget the conversation he had overheard between myles and miss penfold; so going to his patron's office, he repeated it in due course to dowker. the result was that the detective became much exercised in his mind over the whole affair. he could not understand desmond's refusal to tell the name of the woman he saw on the night of the murder. true, desmond denied it was lena sarschine, but then his denial went for nothing, as he would do so to save himself from suspicion. mrs. povy said lena sarschine had been there between eleven and twelve, and it was unlikely she would be wrong, seeing how well acquainted she was with the appearance of the dead woman. but then, judging from the drift of desmond's remarks, his refusal to speak was dictated by a desire to screen the honour of a woman. if so, it could not have been lena sarschine, for she had no honour to lose, and his refusal to speak would be a piece of quixotism, which he, as a man of the world, would be one of the first to recognize. at this moment, a sudden thought flashed across dowker's mind--could it have been lady balscombe herself who had the interview with desmond? here, indeed, would be a strong motive for desmond to keep silence, as the visit of a lady to a bachelor's rooms at night would endanger her reputation. lady balscombe had, it is true, flung reputation to the winds, but on monday night it would not have been too late to save her, so if she had seen desmond, he might have tried to persuade her to give up the elopement, and failed.

"i think i see it all," said dowker, musingly. "she was to have met lord calliston on that night to go down by the nine train, but went to the ball first to avoid suspicion. he got tired of waiting for her, and went off to the pink 'un.' she would have let him know her plans by telegram, and called at his rooms after the ball to explain. he was away and did not get the telegram, so when she arrived at the rooms she found desmond. he tried to persuade her to go back; she refuses, and after some angry words goes out in a rage, stays all night somewhere, and goes down to shoreham in the morning, but all this does not explain lena sarschine's death. it can't be possible that lady balscombe killed her--no, it can't be that--there is no connection between the two."

he ran over in his mind the principal items of the conversation as reported by flip, and his thoughts took a new turn.

"lady balscombe did not leave her house in park lane till after midnight, so that would not have given her time to be at lord calliston's chambers and have an interview with desmond, therefore it cannot have been her. i wish i could find out the name of the woman who saw desmond, and i'd also like to know the name of the woman who saw lady balscombe on that night, and discover what was the exact time lady balscombe left the house--let me see."

he took out his note-book, and wrote the following memoranda:

1. to find out name of woman who called at calliston's chambers on monday (night of murder) between eleven and twelve.

this could only be proved by myles desmond himself, as mrs. povy asserted it was lena sarschine, and desmond denied it; therefore there was a dead-lock--affirmation and denial.

memo.--to see desmond and find out name of visitor.

2. to ascertain appearance and, if possible, name of woman who visited lady balscombe on night of murder, as it might possibly have some bearing on case.

a servant in lady balscombe's house could probably furnish this information.

memo--to try and find out said servant.

3. to discover exact time lady balscombe left her house on tuesday morning, also ascertain subsequent movements. this would also have to be discovered through a servant--as to finding out subsequent movements, discover, if possible, train she left london by, and what she did between time of leaving her house and leaving by train.

memo.--these discoveries must be left to future developments of case.

4. to find out what has become of missing dagger.

possibly this might be discovered in desmond's possession.

mem.--search his room--secretly--employ agent--say flip.

5. to search out early life of lena sarschine!

might be discovered in a small measure from lydia fenny, who, being confidential maid, might possibly have gathered information from casual remarks.

mem.--to see lydia fenny.

having thus arranged his plan of action satisfactorily, dowker turned his attention to number four of his memoranda, and proceeded to tell flip what he wanted him to do.

"you see this?" asked dowker, showing flip the dagger he had abstracted from cleopatra villa.

flip intimated by a vigorous nod of his head that he did.

"i've got an idea," explained dowker smoothly, "that a dagger very similar to this is to be found in the possession of mr. myles desmond, the gentleman you saw to-day, so i want you by some means to get into his rooms and find out if it's there."

flip screwed his face into a look of profound thought, and then smiled in a satisfied manner.

"i'll do it, guv'nor," he said, sagaciously.

"how?" asked dowker, curious to learn how this juvenile detective proposed to deal with the problem.

"i'll doss on his doorstep to-night," said flip, "and when he comes 'ome do a 'perish'--you knows"--in an explanatory tone--"say i'm dyin' for victuals--'e'll take me inside, and when i gits there you leave me alone, guv'nor, i'm fly!"

"well, you can manage it as you please," said dowker. "but don't you prick yourself with it, as it's poisoned, and flip, if you bring me this dagger without him knowing about it, i'll give you half a sov."

"done, guv'nor!" said flip, joyfully, and bidding adieu to his patron, went off to get something to eat and prepare his plan of action.

it was now about six o'clock and very dark, the sky being overcast with clouds. soon it began to rain steadily, and the streets became sloppy and dismal. flip drew his rags round him, shivered a little in a professional manner, and then, going off to a cook-shop he patronised in drury lane, had a hunch of bread and a steaming cup of coffee for a small sum.

being thus prepared for his work, flip wiped his mouth, and, sallying forth into the dirty lane, took his way up to bloomsbury, combining business with pleasure by begging on the road.

turning into primrose crescent, he soon found the house he wanted, and curling himself up on the doorstep, waited patiently for chance to deliver myles into his designing hands.

the rain continued to pour down steadily, and as it was now dark flip could see the windows all along the street being lighted up. the gas-lamps also shone brightly through the rain, and were reflected in dull, blurred splashes on the pavements. occasionally a gentleman would hurry past with his umbrella up, and a ragged tramp would slouch along singing a dismal ditty. it was dreary waiting, but flip was used to such times, and sat quite contented, thinking how he could lay out his promised half-sovereign to the best advantage, till his quick ear caught the sound of footsteps inside.

this was his cue, so he immediately lay down on the wet stones, and commenced to moan dismally: myles opened the door, and would have stumbled over him, for he was right in front of the entrance after the fashion of the clown in the pantomime, only he caught sight of him in time.

"hullo," said myles crossly, "what the deuce is the matter?"

flip made no reply to this, but groaned with renewed vigour, upon which desmond, who was a kind-hearted man, bent down and touched the ragged little figure.

"are you ill?" he asked gently.

"oh, lor'--awful--my insides," groaned flip pressing his dirty hands on his stomach. "ain't 'ad a bit for days."

myles was doubtful as to the genuineness of this case as he knew how deceptive tramps are, but as the poor lad did seem in pain, and it was raining heavily, he determined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"can you rise?" he asked sharply, "if so get up and come inside. i'll give you something to do you good."

with many groans and asseverations of extreme pain flip struggled to his feet, and aided by myles went inside, up the stairs, and was at last safely deposited on the hearthrug in front of the fire, where he lay and groaned with great dramatic effect.

"i'll give you some hot port wine," said myles, going to the sideboard and taking out a glass and a bottle, "so i'll have to go downstairs and get some hot water--you wait here."

flip groaned again and gyrated on the floor like a young eel; but when the door had closed behind his benefactor, he sprang to his feet and took a survey of the room.

it was a large and lofty apartment, with a pair of folding doors on one side, which being half open showed flip that the other room was a bed-room.

there was a sideboard in the sitting-room and near this a writing-table, towards which flip darted and commenced to turn over the papers rapidly with the idea of finding the dagger hidden underneath.

nothing however rewarded his efforts, and though he looked into the sideboard, examined the book-case and lifted up the covers of the chairs, he found no sign of the weapon.

"must be in the bed-room," thought flip, scratching his head in perplexity and wondering how he could get in, when suddenly it occurred to him that he had not examined the mantel-piece.

there was not a moment to be lost, as myles might return at any moment, so in a second flip scrambled up on a chair, and was eagerly looking among the ornaments on the mantel-piece.

there was a mirror framed in tarnished gold, and in front of this a tawdry french clock under a glass shade, two dresden china figures simpering at one another, and two tall green vases at each end. flip saw nothing of what he wanted till he peered into one of these vases, when he saw something looking like steel, and drew forth a slender shining blade with no handle.

"wonder if this is what the guy'nor wants," he said to himself, turning it over gingerly, "tain't got no 'andle."

he thought for a moment, and then, as he had been so lucky with one vase looked into the other, and found a cross handle--he joined the two and they fitted perfectly. being certain this was what dowker wanted, he was thinking how he could take it, when he heard myles ascending the stairs. jumping down he hid the broken blade and the handle securely among his rags, being very careful not to prick himself as he remembered dowker's warning about the poison, then he lay down on the hearthrug again, and was groaning loudly when myles entered with the hot water.

"feeling bad?" asked myles sympathetically, pouring out some port wine.

"awful," groaned flip feeling not a bit of compunction at the treacherous part he was playing. "it's cold i think--cold and 'unger."

"here drink this," said desmond, kneeling down beside him, and giving him the steaming tumbler. "it will do you good."

"thanks, guv'nor," said flip gratefully, feeling if the broken blade was all safe, "it 'ull warm me up."

desmond lighted his pipe and sat watching the ragged little arab drinking the hot wine, never thinking for a moment that he was nourishing a viper--a viper that would turn and sting him. honest himself, he never suspected wrong-doing in others, and while succouring this outcast he did not know he was doing an evil thing for himself.

after flip had finished the wine he declared he felt better, and with many asseverations of gratitude took leave of his benefactor.

"poor little devil!" said desmond as he closed the door and saw the ragged little urchin scudding away into the darkness, "he seemed very bad--well i've done one good action, so perhaps it will bring me a reward."

it did, and the reward was that next morning myles desmond of bloomsbury, journalist, was arrested for the murder of lena sarschine.