The Birmingham age-herald., 1923-04-01
CHAPTER Is

Good morning, sergeant"
 Good morning, Miss Maynard. What can I do for you?'
 It was seldom that Sergeant Westaway was so obliging as to make voluntary of- fer of his services, but then it was still more seldom that young lady of Miss Maynards social standing came to seek his advice or assistance at the police station. As the daughter of well-to-do lady, Miss Maynard was entitled to official respect.
 The sergeant had known Miss Maynard since her mother had first come to live at Ashlingsea 15 years ago. He had seen her grow up from little girl to young lady, but the years had increased the gulf between them. As a schoolgirl home from her holidays it was within the sergeant's official privilege to exchange a word or two when saluting her in the street. Her development into long dresses made any, thing more than bare saluation savor of familiarity, and the sergeant knew his place too well to be guilty of familiarity with those above him.
 With scrupulous care he had always ut tered the name Miss Maynard,' when sa- luting her in those days, so that she might recognize that he was one or the first to admit the claims of adolescence to the hon. ors of maturity. Then came time with the further lapse of years when she reached the threshold of womanhood, and to utter her name in sauation would have savored of familiarity. So the salute became si- lent one as indicative of Sergeant Vest away's recognition that his voice could not carry across the increased gulf between them.
 'I have something very important to tell you," said Miss Maynard, in reply to his intimation that the full extent of his off cial powers were at her disposal
 "Ahw
 The sergeant realized that matter of great personal importance to Miss Maynard might readily prove to be of minor conse- quence to him when viewed through off cial glasses; but there was no hint of this in the combination of poiteness and obse- quiousness with which he opened the door leading from the main room of the little police station to his private room behind it..
 He placed chair for her at the office table and then went around to his own chair and stood beside it. There was a pause, due to the desire to be helped with questions, but Sergeant Westaways social sense was greater than his sense of official importance, and he waited for her to begin.
 ''It is about the Cliff Farm murder" she said in low voice.
 "Oh!' It was an exclamation in which astonishment and anticipation of official de- light were blended. "And do you-do you know anything about it?" he asked
 'I am not sure that you will think of my story-whether there is any clue in it. I must leave that for you to judge But feel that l ought to tell you all that do know"
 Quite right" said the sergeant His official manner, rising like a tide, was sub- merging his social sense of inequality. "There is nothing like telling the police the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth It is always the best way" His social sense made last manifestation be- fore it threw up its arms and sank. 'Not that I suppose for one moment, Miss May hard, that you had anything to do with it. that is to say, that you acually participated in the crime.'
 He looked at her inquiringly and she shook her head, smiling sacly as she did so.
 'But there is no reason why, after all, you might not know who did it." said the sergeant in coaxing voice which repre- sented an appeal to her to do her best to justify his high hopes. "In~s respects it is mysterious crime, and although the police have their suspicions-and very strong suspicious, too-they are always