with his desk paraphernalia. His rumbling voice was abnormally mild.
Garth appreciated these portents. They connoted favoritism, but he traced that to the inspector's love for his daughter, because he was too modest to place in the scales his own conspicuous virtues.
"Come over here and sit down, Garth."
Garth obeyed.
"Thanks, inspector."
The inspector's eyes twinkled.
"Boys tell me you're a little sore on the jobs you've had since you smashed Slim and George and their favourites."
Garth grew red.
"There are old women everywhere," he said. "Nothing to do but talk."
The inspector guffawed.
"Ain't it so?"
"Incriminating question, chief."
The other leaned forward.
"I can't take chances with such a valuable man."
He cleared his throat.
"Were you thinking of paying your party call to-night? Because I've got to disappoint you. But I don't want to do that two ways. I can't see anything particularly dangerous about this job, but I'd like you to look it over this afternoon. It's the Elmford murder. Suppose you've read about it."
"I glanced it over in the morning papers," Garth answered. "They were short on details."
"There doesn't seem much to clear up," the in-
