power. It was he who went into the question of the Sunday service from the neighboring market town, and proved, to the relief of Colonel Vane and Mr. Miles Handford, that they might leave in comfort before nightfall and catch a train to London.
"A car is going in later, to meet poor Tom's father," he said, "and if it's any convenience, it would take you both."
The pair thankfully agreed.
Then Colonel Vane interested Sir Walter in spite of himself. The latter had spoken of an inquiry, and Vane urged a distinguished name upon him.
"Do get Peter Hardcastle if you can," he said. "He's absolutely top hole at this sort of thing at present—an amazing beggar."
"I seem to have heard the name."
"Who hasn't? It was he who got to the bottom of that weird murder in Yorkshire."
"It was weird," said Handford. "I knew intimate friends of the murdered man."
"A crime for which no logical reason existed," continued the colonel. "It puzzled everybody, till Hardcastle succeeded where his superior officers at Scotland Yard had failed. I believe he's still young. But that was less amazing than the German spy—you remember now, Sir Walter? The spy had been too clever for England and France—thanks to a woman who helped him. Peter Hardcastle got to know her; then he actually disguised himself as the woman—of course without her knowledge—arrested her, and kept an ap-
