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 Department, attached at present to the Hunter Street Police Station.

Wedgwood listened quietly while the two medical men talked, but while he listened he was looking round the room in which they were all gathered, with the dead man at their feet. He nodded a silent approval when the inspector remarked that the next thing was to hear what the occupant of the flat had to say respecting the affair, and he slipped back into the hall where Miss Tandy was regaining her composure under the ministrations of her next door neighbour.

"You won't care about going in there, ma'am," said Wedgwood, with a significant nod at the parlour door. "Perhaps you'll be agreeable to tell us all about it out here. How did it come about, now, ma'am?" he went on, after signalling the other men to join him. "How came the man here in your flat, and who is he? Of course, some of us know you—you're Miss Tandy, a professional typist and stenographer, aren't you? Just so—and you carry on your business here? To be sure. But this man, now? Do you know him?"

Miss Tandy, whom the doctor now saw to be a middle-aged spinster of such well-regulated and decorous appearance that it seemed impossible to associate romance, tragedy, crime, or