fessional cricketer, or a young commercial traveller, or anything but an expert criminal catcher.
"Only just got here, and a bit tired, miss," continued Polke, waving his hand again at the detective. "So I'm just giving him a refresher to liven his brains up. He'll want 'em—before we've done."
Betty took the chair which Polke offered her, and looked at the stranger with interest. She knew nothing about Starmidge, and she thought him quite different to any preconceived notion which she had ever had of men of his calling.
"I hope you'll be able to help us," she said politely, as Starmidge, murmuring something about his best respects to his host, took a whisky-and-soda from Polke's hand. "Do you think you will—and has Mr. Polke told you all about it?"
"Given him a mere outline, miss," remarked Polke. "I'll prime him before he goes to bed. Yes—he knows the main facts."
"And what do you propose to do—first?" demanded Betty.
Starmidge smiled and set down his glass.
"Why, first," he answered, "first, I think I should like to see a photograph of Mr. Horbury."
Polke moved to a bureau in the corner of his dining-room.
"I can fit you up," he said. "I've a portrait here that Mr. Horbury gave me not so long ago. There you are!"
He produced a cabinet photograph and handed it to Starmidge, who looked at it and laid it down on the table without comment.
