The last peace Sunday London was to know in many weary months went by,
a tense and anxious day. Early on Monday the fifth letter from the young
man of the Agony Column arrived, and when the girl from Texas read it
she knew that under no circumstances could she leave London now.

It ran: DEAR LADY FROM HOME: I call you that because the word home has for me,
this hot afternoon in London, about the sweetest sound word ever had. I
can see, when I close my eyes, Broadway at midday; Fifth Avenue, gay and
colorful, even with all the best people away; Washington Square, cool
under the trees, lovely and desirable despite the presence everywhere of
alien neighbors from the district to the South. I long for home with an
ardent longing; never was London so cruel, so hopeless, so drab, in my
eyes. For, as I write this, a constable sits at my elbow, and he and
I are shortly to start for Scotland Yard. I have been arrested as a
suspect in the case of Captain Fraser-Freer's murder!

I predicted last night that this was to be a red-letter day in the
history of that case, and I also saw myself an unwilling actor in the
drama. But little did I suspect the series of astonishing events that
was to come with the morning; little did I dream that the net I have
been dreading would to-day engulf me. I can scarcely blame Inspector
Bray for holding me; what I can not understand is why Colonel Hughes-But you want, of course, the whole story from the beginning; and I shall
give it to you. At eleven o'clock this morning a constable called on
me at my rooms and informed me that I was wanted at once by the Chief
Inspector at the Yard.