"I wonder," he said, "did you know the man Guest—Douglas Guest?"

Douglas shook his head.

"Very slightly," he said. "I lived some distance away, and they were not sociable people."

"Murders as a rule," Rice continued, leaning back in his chair, "do not interest me. This one did. Why? I don't know. I hate to have reasons for everything. But to me there were many interesting points about this one. First, now—"

He rattled on until his voice seemed like a far distant echo to Douglas, who sat with white face and averted eyes, struggling hard for composure. From the murder he passed on to the tragedy on the railway train.

"You know," he said, "I cannot help thinking that the police were a little hasty in assuming that the man was Douglas Guest."

"An envelope was found upon him a. . . Read More