beer for those who were willing to talk. Mild mannered Mr. Giles learned of the Cranwell affiliation order, which proved that Mr. Dougal was not himself on the soundest ground to start divorce proceedings against his wife. And Giles so re- ported. And just before he left the district, he had a quiet little chat with Police Constable James Drew of the Essex County Police. Drew of course had heard something of the current gossip surrounding Moat Farm, and Giles was able to add a little more. Something Fishy at Moat Farm Drew put in a report that there seemed to be something fishy going on at Moat Farm; that a Miss Holland had been absent from the premises for nearly three years, leaving a good deal of clothing and jewelry behind her, and her mail was still being accepted by Dougal. The report eventually landed on the desk of Captain Showers, the Chief Constable of Essex, at Chelms- ford. Showers, a lean, graying, ex-army officer, had a singular faculty for reading between the lines of anything he happened to read. And when he read Drew’s report, with its lengthy sentences and doubtful punctuation, he didn’t immediately dismiss the matter as pointless local gossip. In- stead he summoned into his office Supt. Charles E. Pryke, the chief of his Criminal Investigation Department. “Got a job just in your line, Pryke,” grinned the angular chief constable as he tossed over the report. “Wouldn’t be surprised if it was a murder.” He eyed Pryke with a genial twinkle, as the superintendent read the report. “Sounds like a lot of local gossip,” remarked Pryke as he folded up the report and wedged it between pages of his notebook. “You never can tell,” said his chief, half seriously. “I know Drew. He doesn’t pay much attention to local gossip. Better see him, then scout around and see what you can pick up.” Pryke thought for a moment. “Do you want me to see Dougal?” he queried. “By all means!” said Showers. “See what he’s got to say, after you take a turn around. And, in the meantime I'll get in touch with the Yard, and see what they can tell us about Miss Whatshername—er—Holland.” And so word was despatched to Scotland Yard to investigate the background of Miss Holland, and Superintendent Pryke made his methodical way to Clavering. When he got there he called on Const. Drew in the village, and then wandered around by himself. After a day or so he hired a conveyance and drove out TWENTY-THIRD EDITION to Moat Farm. The driver of course added his quota of gossip about Dougal. At the farm, Pryke saw no signs of life. He mounted the front step and knocked. In a moment Dougal answered the door. “Tm Supt. Pryke of the County Police,” quietly announced the police officer, at the same time taking in everything about Dougal. “Come in, superintendent,” came Dougal’s gusty welcome. “Always glad to see the police.” “I wonder,” thought Pryke, as he shed his coat and hat in the hall. Dougal led the way into a sitting- room and motioned Pryke to a chair. “T’ve been instructed by my chief constable,” said the precise Pryke, getting right to the point, “to make some enquiries regarding some talk in the village about a Miss Holland. She is supposed to be missing. Perhaps you ” have heard something of these rumours?” “Indeed I have,” said Dougal vigorously, “and the talk has caused me a great deal of annoyance. A great deal of annoyance,” he repeated. “Vicious Unfounded Gossip” “Have you any idea how the gossip started?” quizzed Pryke. “It’s all been started by my di- vorced wife,” heatedly replied Dougal, “and a girl called Cranwell who used to work here. Just vicious unfounded gossip I assure you!” He certainly pre- sents the picture of outraged dignity, thought Pryke. “Can you give me any information about Miss Holland?” asked Pryke, not to be put off by Dougal’s indigna- tion. Dougal helped himself to a cigar out of a box on the table, and pushed the open box towards his visitor. Striking a match the bearded man lit his cigar, studied the lighted match for a moment, then blew it out. “T know nothing whatever about her,” he remarked at last, in a steady considered tone. “And,” he went on, “T haven’t seen her since I left her at the Stansted railway station nearly four years ago.” Pryke slipped out his notebook, and fished for his pencil. “You don’t mind down?” he suggested. “Not at all, not at all,” said Dougal, but there was just a hint of lack of conviction in his answer. And then briefly, in answer to the if I take this COMPLIMENTS OF McCULLOCH’S AERATED WATERS * British Columbia VERNON Capitol Motors (Vernon) Ltd. 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