"You don't fly yourself, Mr. Laurance."
"As you see," was the calm reply, as Curberry's enmity was too paltry to trouble about. "Well, Miss Moon, we can't see anything more, so I suppose you will go home."
"Miss Moon is coming to luncheon with me," said Lord Curberry, "and Mrs. Bolstreath also."
"I am very hungry," said that lady pensively, "so I don't say----"
"Hallo!" interrupted Laurance, as a clamor arose on the outskirts of the now fast diminishing crowd, "what's the matter? In the interests of my paper I must see what is taking place," and with a hasty raising of his hat to the ladies he left them to the care of Lord Curberry. As he pushed his way toward the commotion he heard a voice asking if the man was quite dead, and fancied that someone must have fallen down in a fit. But when he broke through the ring of policemen, and beheld Durwin lying on the ground, with staring eyes and a ghastly, expressionless face, the sight so startled him that he caught a constable's arm. "What's all this?" he demanded hoarsely. "Is Mr. Durwin dead?" "Durwin," echoed the policeman sharply, "do you know the gentleman?"
"Of course. He is Mr. Durwin, one of the Scotland Yard officials. I wonder you don't know that."
"I never heard of him, sir. He must belong to the detective department." "What's the matter with him; has he had a fit?"
"He's been murdered," said the constable shortly. "Murdered?" Laurance stared at the man in a horrified manner, and his thoughts flew to the gang which he and Dan and Durwin were trying to root out. Was this another crime similar to that committed at Hampstead, when Sir Charles was killed for knowing too much? "Is there a fly on him?" asked the reporter hastily; "see if there's a fly."
"A fly!" The policeman evidently thought the speaker was crazy. "What has a fly to do with the matter? Here's the Inspector, who was sent for some time ago. You had better speak to him, sir." Laurance did so, and advanced toward the soldierly-looking official who made his appearance. In a low and rapid voice, Laurance hastily explained that the prone man was Mr. Durwin, of Scotland Yard, and also handed the Inspector his own card. Meanwhile a doctor was examining the body, and found that the deceased had been murdered by having a dagger thrust under his left shoulder-blade. He was quite dead, and must have passed away almost immediately the blow was delivered. The Inspector received this uncompromising statement with natural surprise, and knelt down beside the corpse to verify the declaration. There was no doubt that the medical man spoke the truth, for a stream of blood stained the back of Durwin's coat, and had soaked into the ground. The thrust must have been made with a very sharp instrument, and was undoubtedly delivered with great force. "Who knows anything of this?" demanded the Inspector, rising and looking at the awestruck faces of the crowd sharply. A slim lady-like girl stepped forward. "I was standing close to the gentleman," she explained nervously, "and we were all looking at the airships as they went away. I heard him give a gasp, and when I turned at the sound, he was slipping to the ground. That's all I know."
"Did you see any one strike him?"