"But who would take it from her and use it?"
"That's what I've got to find out. She must have met some one in Jermyn Street who killed her with it."
"It can't be suicide?"
"Hardly. The wound is in the jugular vein in the neck, so it could hardly have been self-inflicted. Besides, she would not choose a public street to die in."
"When shall I see you again?"
"After I have found out what took place in the Piccadilly chambers on Monday last."
And Dowker departed, very well satisfied with the result of his inquiries.
[CHAPTER V]
THE PICCADILLY ROOMS.
Calliston occupied a suite of rooms in a side street leading off Piccadilly; and very comfortable apartments they were, being luxuriously furnished in the prevailing fashion of the day. His sitting-room was hung with dark red curtains and carpet to match, and the furniture being of a kind designed to promote ease and comfort, it looked very snug, particularly at night. There was a desk in one corner of the room piled up with a disorderly heap of papers. Over this were fencing foils and boxing gloves, arranged against the wall, and the pictures mostly consisted of photographs of pretty women and paintings of celebrated horses. There was a small table near the fireplace on which lay pipes, cigar-boxes and tobacco jars, and on the sideboard a spirit stand, which was much in favour with Calliston's friends A small book-case contained an assortment of French novels, principally of the Zola and Mendes school, and, judging from the shabby appearance of the books, must have been pretty well read. The whole apartment had a dissipated air, and the atmosphere was still impregnated with a faint odour of stale tobacco smoke. Opening off this apartment were a dressing-room and bed-room, and though the whole ménage was somewhat limited, yet it made up in quality what it lacked in quantity.