the identity of the person who committed the murder, and to the means
employed?"

Resting his pipe upon an ash-tray, the Inspector took up from my
writing-table the little image of Bâst and held it up between finger
and thumb.

"We always come back to the green cat," he said slowly. "I will
trouble you now, Mr. Addison, for the history of such a little image
as this."

"Yes," I replied abstractedly. "But there is a matter about which I
have not spoken to you hitherto because quite frankly I had doubted if
it had any existence outside my imagination; but every new development
of the case is so utterly fantastic that I no longer regard my
experience as being in the least degree outside the province of
possibility. Before we go further, therefore, into the purely
archæological side of the inquiry (and I have still serious doubt
respecting the usefulness of such a quest) let me relate a peculiar
experience which I had last night after I had left Bolton."

Gatton listened in silence whilst I gave him an account of that
evasive shadow which I had perceived behind me, and then of the great
cat's eyes which had looked in through the window.

His expression of naïve wonderment was almost funny; and when I had
concluded:

"Well, Mr. Addison," said he, "if you had told me this story before I
had taken up 'the _Oritoga_ mystery,' for so I observe--" drawing an