"Or brother and sister," suggested Francis.
"Or even lovers," I said, nodding my head. "Jealousy on the part of Strent might have spurred him on to killing Felix."
These, however, were all theories, and we parted for the night without coming to any decision as to who was the guilty party. In the morning I received a telegram from Merrick, and went off with it at once to the inspector. It ran thus:
"Have secured Strent. Am bringing him down with Rose. Arrive at noon. Hold over inquest if possible."
"By Jove, sir!" said the inspector, "that man is lost as a doctor. He ought to be a detective!"
CHAPTER XV.
[WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE FEN INN.]
"You see, I was right," said Merrick, when I met him at the station.
"You have been right in every instance," I answered; "the inspector, here, quite agrees with me that you should be a detective. Where are your prisoners?"
"No, no! Not prisoners!" replied Merrick, shocked at the word. "They are my guests, traveling companions, what you will, but not prisoners."