WHAT MISS PHILPOT THOUGHTA fortnight after the inquest, Inspector Cranley sat on a bench on the Promenade gloomily gazing over the gray Septembrous ocean. A casual observer would have considered that he ought to be anything else than gloomy, seeing that he had by his side something much better worth gazing at than the sea in any mood: to wit, a very pretty girl, who surveyed his dejected profile with a whimsical smile. This young lady had cheeks of a comely plumpness, with real roses in them. Her eyes were brown, her lips finely shaped and sensitive. Everything about her, from the curls that peeped under the brim of her snug little hat to her silken ankles and dainty shoes, was as charming as femininity can be. It seems incredible that so beautiful a creature could be hired for three pound
