“You may dismiss the police from your mind,” he said. “You’re in no danger from the law of this land.”

“Great Scot!” I cried. “Have they got the murderer?”

“No. But for the last fortnight they have dropped you from the list of possibles.”

“Why?” I asked in amazement.

“Principally because I received a letter from Scudder. I knew something of the man, and he did several jobs for me. He was half crank, half genius, but he was wholly honest. The trouble about him was his partiality for playing a lone hand. That made him pretty well useless in any Secret Service⁠—a pity, for he had uncommon gifts. I think he was the bravest man in the world, for he was always shivering with fright, and yet nothing would choke him off. I had a letter from him on the 31st of May .”

“But he had been dead a week by then.”