that Arthur Bridwell, M.P., had been found dead under suspicious
circumstances in his flat at Duke's Mansions, Knightsbridge. I went there
at once and found a constable in possession. It was barely half-past
nine now, and the Italian manservant said he had last seen his master
alive at seven o'clock.

"He dined early to-night?" I said.

"Yes, at six. He was going to the House afterwards. It was important, I
heard him say so to his guests."

"And you went out at seven?"

"About seven. It is my custom to go for a walk after serving my master,"
was the answer. "I came back just before nine. I looked into this room,
not expecting to find any one here, but to put the wine away and take the
glasses, and I find this. I have moved nothing, I have touched nothing. I
called to the porter, and he fetched the police, and the policeman used
the telephone to call you."

The Italian, whose name was Masini, was the only servant. Duke's
Mansions, as you probably know, is a set of flats, varying in
accommodation, with a central service. There is a general dining-room,
and there are smoking rooms and lounges which all the tenants may use;
or meals are served in the various flats from the central kitchen.
To-night Mr. Bridwell had had dinner served for three at an early hour
in his flat.

The telephone was in the corner of the room, and I was going to it to
call up Christopher Quarles, convinced this was a case in which I should