ich had to be solved. She had disappeared as th

ed that he may have gone a little before eleven that night, but even as to this he was not prepared to swear."In fact," said Whiteside afterwards, "his evidence would lead nowhere. At the very hour when somebody might have come into the flat--that is to say, between half-past ten and a quarter to eleven--he admits he was not on duty."Tarling nodded. He had made a diligent search of the floor of the basement corridor through the store-room into the courtyard, but had found no trace of blood. Nor did he expect to find any such trace, since it was clear that, if the murder had been committed in the flat and the night-dress which was wound about the dead man's body was Odette Rider's, there would be no bleeding."Of one thing I am satisfied," he said; "if Odette Rider committed this murder she had an accomplice. It was impossible that she could have carried or dragged this man into the open and put him into the car, carried him again from the car and laid him on the grass.""The daffodils puzzle me," said Whiteside. "Why should he be found with daffodils on his chest? And why, if he was murdered here, should she trouble to pay that tribute of her respect?"Tarling shook his head. He was nearer a solution to the latter mystery than either of them knew.His search of the flat completed, he drove to Hyde Park and, guided by Whiteside, made his way to the spot where the body was found. It was on a gravelled sidewalk, nearer to the grass than to the road, and Whiteside described the position of the body. Tarling looked round, and suddenly uttered an exclamation."I wonder," he said, pointing to a flower-bed.Whiteside stared, then laughed."That curious," he said. "We seem to see nothing but daffodils in this murder!"The big bed to which Tarling walked was smothered with great feathery bells that danced and swayed in the light spring breezes."Humph!" said Tarling. "Do you know anything about daffodils, Whiteside?"Whiteside shook his head with a laugh."All daffodils are daffodils to me. Is there any difference in them? I suppose there must be."Tarling nodded."These are known as Golden Spurs," he said, "a kind which is very common in England. The daffodils in Miss Rider's flat are the variety known as the Emperor.""Well?" said Whiteside."Well," said the other slowly, "the daffodils I saw this morning which were found on Lyne's chest were Golden Spurs."He knelt down by the side of the bed and began pushing aside the stems, examining the ground carefully."Here you are," he said.He pointed to a dozen jagged stems."That is where the daffodils were plucked, I'd like to swear to that. Look, they were all pulled together by one hand. Somebody leaned over and pulled a handful."Whiteside looked dubious."Mischievous boys sometimes do these things.""Only in single stalks," said Tarling, "and the regular flower thieves are careful to steal from various parts of the bed so that the loss should not be reported by the Park gardeners.""Then you suggest--""I suggest that whoever killed Thornton Lyne found it convenient, for some reason best known to himself or herself, to ornament the body as it was found, and the flowers were got from here.""Not from the girl's flat at all?""I'm sure of that," replied Tarling emphatically. "In fact, I knew that this morning when I'd seen the daffodils which you had taken to Scotland Yard."Whiteside scratched his nose in perplexity."The further this case goes, the more puzzled I am," he said. "Here is a man, a wealthy man, who has apparently no bitter enemies, discovered dead in Hyde Park, with a woman's silk night-dr