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 Selected Solutions for Chapter 2:
Getting Started

Solution to Exercise 2.2-2

S ELECTION -S ORT.A/
n D A:length
for j D 1 to n 1
smallest D j
for i D j C 1 to n
if AŒi < AŒsmallest
smallest D i
exchange AŒj  with AŒsmallest

The algorithm maintains the loop invariant that at the start of each iteration of the
outer for loop, the subarray AŒ1 : : j 1 consists of the j 1 smallest elements
in the array AŒ1 : : n, and this subarray is in sorted order. After the first n 1
elements, the subarray AŒ1 : : n 1 contains the smallest n 1 elements, sorted,
and therefore element AŒn must be the largest element.
The running time of the algorithm is ‚.n2 / for all cases.

Solution to Exercise 2.2-4

Modify the algorithm so it tests whether the input satisfies some special-case con-
dition and, if it does, output a pre-computed answer. The best-case running time is
generally not a good measure of an algorithm.

Solution to Exercise 2.3-5

Procedure B INARY-S EARCH takes a sorted array A, a value , and a range

Œlow : : high of the array, in which we search for the value . The procedure com-
pares  to the array entry at the midpoint of the range and decides to eliminate half
the range from further consideration. We give both iterative and recursive versions,
each of which returns either an index i such that AŒi D , or NIL if no entry of
2-2 Selected Solutions for Chapter 2: Getting Started

AŒlow : : high contains the value . The initial call to either version should have
the parameters A; ; 1; n.

I TERATIVE -B INARY-S EARCH.A; ; low; high/

while low  high
mid D b.low C high/=2c
if  == AŒmid
return mid
elseif  > AŒmid
low D mid C 1
else high D mid 1
return NIL

R ECURSIVE -B INARY-S EARCH.A; ; low; high/

if low > high
return NIL
mid D b.low C high/=2c
if  == AŒmid
return mid
elseif  > AŒmid
return R ECURSIVE -B INARY-S EARCH.A; ; mid C 1; high/
else return R ECURSIVE -B INARY-S EARCH.A; ; low; mid 1/

Both procedures terminate the search unsuccessfully when the range is empty (i.e.,
low > high) and terminate it successfully if the value  has been found. Based
on the comparison of  to the middle element in the searched range, the search
continues with the range halved. The recurrence for these procedures is therefore
T .n/ D T .n=2/ C ‚.1/, whose solution is T .n/ D ‚.lg n/.

Solution to Problem 2-4

a. The inversions are .1; 5/; .2; 5/; .3; 4/; .3; 5/; .4; 5/. (Remember that inversions
are specified by indices rather than by the values in the array.)
b. The array with elements from f1; 2; : : : ; ng with the most inversions is
hn; n 1; n 2; : : : ; 2; 1i. For all 1
 i < j  n, there is an inversion .i; j /.
The number of such inversions is n2 D n.n 1/=2.
c. Suppose that the array A starts out with an inversion .k; j /. Then k < j and
AŒk > AŒj . At the time that the outer for loop of lines 1–8 sets key D AŒj ,
the value that started in AŒk is still somewhere to the left of AŒj . That is,
it’s in AŒi, where 1  i < j , and so the inversion has become .i; j /. Some
iteration of the while loop of lines 5–7 moves AŒi one position to the right.
Line 8 will eventually drop key to the left of this element, thus eliminating the
inversion. Because line 5 moves only elements that are less than key, it moves
only elements that correspond to inversions. In other words, each iteration of
the while loop of lines 5–7 corresponds to the elimination of one inversion.
Selected Solutions for Chapter 2: Getting Started 2-3

d. We follow the hint and modify merge sort to count the number of inversions in
‚.n lg n/ time.
To start, let us define a merge-inversion as a situation within the execution of
merge sort in which the M ERGE procedure, after copying AŒp : : q to L and
AŒq C 1 : : r to R, has values x in L and y in R such that x > y. Consider
an inversion .i; j /, and let x D AŒi and y D AŒj , so that i < j and x > y.
We claim that if we were to run merge sort, there would be exactly one merge-
inversion involving x and y. To see why, observe that the only way in which
array elements change their positions is within the M ERGE procedure. More-
over, since M ERGE keeps elements within L in the same relative order to each
other, and correspondingly for R, the only way in which two elements can
change their ordering relative to each other is for the greater one to appear in L
and the lesser one to appear in R. Thus, there is at least one merge-inversion
involving x and y. To see that there is exactly one such merge-inversion, ob-
serve that after any call of M ERGE that involves both x and y, they are in the
same sorted subarray and will therefore both appear in L or both appear in R
in any given call thereafter. Thus, we have proven the claim.
We have shown that every inversion implies one merge-inversion. In fact, the
correspondence between inversions and merge-inversions is one-to-one. Sup-
pose we have a merge-inversion involving values x and y, where x originally
was AŒi and y was originally AŒj . Since we have a merge-inversion, x > y.
And since x is in L and y is in R, x must be within a subarray preceding the
subarray containing y. Therefore x started out in a position i preceding y’s
original position j , and so .i; j / is an inversion.
Having shown a one-to-one correspondence between inversions and merge-
inversions, it suffices for us to count merge-inversions.
Consider a merge-inversion involving y in R. Let ´ be the smallest value in L
that is greater than y. At some point during the merging process, ´ and y will
be the “exposed” values in L and R, i.e., we will have ´ D LŒi and y D RŒj 
in line 13 of M ERGE. At that time, there will be merge-inversions involving y
and LŒi; LŒi C 1; LŒi C 2; : : : ; LŒn1 , and these n1 i C 1 merge-inversions
will be the only ones involving y. Therefore, we need to detect the first time
that ´ and y become exposed during the M ERGE procedure and add the value
of n1 i C 1 at that time to our total count of merge-inversions.
The following pseudocode, modeled on merge sort, works as we have just de-
scribed. It also sorts the array A.

C OUNT-I NVERSIONS.A; p; r/
inersions D 0
if p < r
q D b.p C r/=2c
inersions D inersions C C OUNT-I NVERSIONS.A; p; q/
inersions D inersions C C OUNT-I NVERSIONS.A; q C 1; r/
inersions D inersions C M ERGE -I NVERSIONS.A; p; q; r/
return inersions
2-4 Selected Solutions for Chapter 2: Getting Started

M ERGE -I NVERSIONS.A; p; q; r/
n1 D q p C 1
n2 D r q
let LŒ1 : : n1 C 1 and RŒ1 : : n2 C 1 be new arrays
for i D 1 to n1
LŒi D AŒp C i 1
for j D 1 to n2
RŒj  D AŒq C j 
LŒn1 C 1 D 1
RŒn2 C 1 D 1
i D1
j D1
inersions D 0
counted D FALSE
for k D p to r
if counted == FALSE and RŒj  < LŒi
inersions D inersions C n1 i C 1
counted D TRUE
if LŒi  RŒj 
AŒk D LŒi
i D i C1
else AŒk D RŒj 
j D j C1
counted D FALSE
return inersions

The initial call is C OUNT-I NVERSIONS.A; 1; n/.

In M ERGE -I NVERSIONS, the boolean variable counted indicates whether we
have counted the merge-inversions involving RŒj . We count them the first time
that both RŒj  is exposed and a value greater than RŒj  becomes exposed in
the L array. We set counted to FALSE upon each time that a new value becomes
exposed in R. We don’t have to worry about merge-inversions involving the
sentinel 1 in R, since no value in L will be greater than 1.
Since we have added only a constant amount of additional work to each pro-
cedure call and to each iteration of the last for loop of the merging procedure,
the total running time of the above pseudocode is the same as for merge sort:
‚.n lg n/.
 Selected Solutions for Chapter 3:
Growth of Functions

Solution to Exercise 3.1-2

To show that .n C a/b D ‚.nb /, we want to find constants c1 ; c2 ; n0 > 0 such that
0  c1 nb  .n C a/b  c2 nb for all n  n0 .
Note that
n C a  n C jaj
 2n when jaj  n ,
and
n C a  n jaj
1
 n when jaj  12 n .
2
Thus, when n  2 jaj,
1
0 n  n C a  2n :
2
Since b > 0, the inequality still holds when all parts are raised to the power b:
 b
1
0 n  .n C a/b  .2n/b ;
2
 b
1
0 nb  .n C a/b  2b nb :
2
Thus, c1 D .1=2/b , c2 D 2b , and n0 D 2 jaj satisfy the definition.

Solution to Exercise 3.1-3

Let the running time be T .n/. T .n/  O.n2 / means that T .n/  f .n/ for some
function f .n/ in the set O.n2 /. This statement holds for any running time T .n/,
since the function g.n/ D 0 for all n is in O.n2 /, and running times are always
nonnegative. Thus, the statement tells us nothing about the running time.
3-2 Selected Solutions for Chapter 3: Growth of Functions

Solution to Exercise 3.1-4

2nC1 D O.2n /, but 22n ¤ O.2n /.

To show that 2nC1 D O.2n /, we must find constants c; n0 > 0 such that
0  2nC1  c
2n for all n  n0 :
Since 2nC1 D 2
2n for all n, we can satisfy the definition with c D 2 and n0 D 1.
To show that 22n 6D O.2n /, assume there exist constants c; n0 > 0 such that
0  22n  c
2n for all n  n0 :
Then 22n D 2n
2n  c
2n ) 2n  c. But no constant is greater than all 2n , and
so the assumption leads to a contradiction.

Solution to Exercise 3.2-4

dlg neŠ is not polynomially bounded, but dlg lg neŠ is.

Proving that a function f .n/ is polynomially bounded is equivalent to proving that
lg.f .n// D O.lg n/ for the following reasons.
 If f is polynomially bounded, then there exist constants c, k, n0 such that for
all n  n0 , f .n/  cnk . Hence, lg.f .n//  kc lg n, which, since c and k are
constants, means that lg.f .n// D O.lg n/.
 Similarly, if lg.f .n// D O.lg n/, then f is polynomially bounded.
In the following proofs, we will make use of the following two facts:
1. lg.nŠ/ D ‚.n lg n/ (by equation (3.19)).
2. dlg ne D ‚.lg n/, because
 dlg ne  lg n
 dlg ne < lg n C 1  2 lg n for all n  2

lg.dlg neŠ/ D ‚.dlg ne lg dlg ne/

D ‚.lg n lg lg n/
D !.lg n/ :
Therefore, lg.dlg neŠ/ ¤ O.lg n/, and so dlg neŠ is not polynomially bounded.

lg.dlg lg neŠ/ D ‚.dlg lg ne lg dlg lg ne/

D ‚.lg lg n lg lg lg n/
D o..lg lg n/2 /
D o.lg2 .lg n//
D o.lg n/ :
Selected Solutions for Chapter 3: Growth of Functions 3-3

The last step above follows from the property that any polylogarithmic function
grows more slowly than any positive polynomial function, i.e., that for constants
a; b > 0, we have lgb n D o.na /. Substitute lg n for n, 2 for b, and 1 for a, giving
lg2 .lg n/ D o.lg n/.
Therefore, lg.dlg lg neŠ/ D O.lg n/, and so dlg lg neŠ is polynomially bounded.
 Selected Solutions for Chapter 4:
Divide-and-Conquer

Solution to Exercise 4.2-4

If you can multiply 3  3 matrices using k multiplications, then you can multiply
n  n matrices by recursively multiplying n=3  n=3 matrices, in time T .n/ D
kT .n=3/ C ‚.n2 /.
Using the master method to solve this recurrence, consider the ratio of nlog3 k
and n2 :
 If log3 k D 2, case 2 applies and T .n/ D ‚.n2 lg n/. In this case, k D 9 and
T .n/ D o.nlg 7 /.
 If log3 k < 2, case 3 applies and T .n/ D ‚.n2 /. In this case, k < 9 and
T .n/ D o.nlg 7 /.
 If log3 k > 2, case 1 applies and T .n/ D ‚.nlog3 k /. In this case, k > 9.
T .n/ D o.nlg 7 / when log3 k < lg 7, i.e., when k < 3lg 7  21:85. The largest
such integer k is 21.
Thus, k D 21 and the running time is ‚.nlog3 k / D ‚.nlog3 21 / D O.n2:80 / (since
log3 21  2:77).

Solution to Exercise 4.4-6

The shortest path from the root to a leaf in the recursion tree is n ! .1=3/n !
.1=3/2 n !


! 1. Since .1=3/k n D 1 when k D log3 n, the height of the part
of the tree in which every node has two children is log3 n. Since the values at each
of these levels of the tree add up to cn, the solution to the recurrence is at least
cn log3 n D .n lg n/.

Solution to Exercise 4.4-9

T .n/ D T .˛ n/ C T ..1 ˛/n/ C cn

We saw the solution to the recurrence T .n/ D T .n=3/ C T .2n=3/ C cn in the text.
This recurrence can be similarly solved.
 Selected Solutions for Chapter 5:
Probabilistic Analysis and Randomized
Algorithms

Solution to Exercise 5.2-1

Since H IRE -A SSISTANT always hires candidate 1, it hires exactly once if and only
if no candidates other than candidate 1 are hired. This event occurs when candi-
date 1 is the best candidate of the n, which occurs with probability 1=n.
H IRE -A SSISTANT hires n times if each candidate is better than all those who were
interviewed (and hired) before. This event occurs precisely when the list of ranks
given to the algorithm is h1; 2; : : : ; ni, which occurs with probability 1=nŠ.

Solution to Exercise 5.2-4

Another way to think of the hat-check problem is that we want to determine the
expected number of fixed points in a random permutation. (A fixed point of a
permutation  is a value i for which .i/ D i.) We could enumerate all nŠ per-
mutations, count the total number of fixed points, and divide by nŠ to determine
the average number of fixed points per permutation. This would be a painstak-
ing process, and the answer would turn out to be 1. We can use indicator random
variables, however, to arrive at the same answer much more easily.
Define a random variable X that equals the number of customers that get back their
own hat, so that we want to compute E ŒX.
For i D 1; 2; : : : ; n, define the indicator random variable
Xi D I fcustomer i gets back his own hatg :
Then X D X1 C X2 C


C Xn .
Since the ordering of hats is random, each customer has a probability of 1=n of
getting back his or her own hat. In other words, Pr fXi D 1g D 1=n, which, by
Lemma 5.1, implies that E ŒXi  D 1=n.
5-2 Selected Solutions for Chapter 5: Probabilistic Analysis and Randomized Algorithms

Thus,
" n #
X
E ŒX D E Xi
i D1
n
X
D E ŒXi  (linearity of expectation)
i D1
X n
D 1=n
i D1
D 1;
and so we expect that exactly 1 customer gets back his own hat.
Note that this is a situation in which the indicator random variables are not inde-
pendent. For example, if n D 2 and X1 D 1, then X2 must also equal 1. Con-
versely, if n D 2 and X1 D 0, then X2 must also equal 0. Despite the dependence,
Pr fXi D 1g D 1=n for all i, and linearity of expectation holds. Thus, we can use
the technique of indicator random variables even in the presence of dependence.

Solution to Exercise 5.2-5

Let Xij be an indicator random variable for the event where the pair AŒi; AŒj 
for i < j is inverted, i.e., AŒi > AŒj . More precisely, we define Xij D
I fAŒi > AŒj g for 1  i < j  n. We have Pr fXij D 1g D 1=2, because
given two distinct random numbers, the probability that the first is bigger than the
second is 1=2. By Lemma 5.1, E ŒXij  D 1=2.
Let X be the the random variable denoting the total number of inverted pairs in the
array, so that
n 1 X
X n
XD Xij :
iD1 j DiC1

We want the expected number of inverted pairs, so we take the expectation of both
sides of the above equation to obtain
"n 1 n #
X X
E ŒX D E Xij :
iD1 j DiC1

We use linearity of expectation to get

"n 1 n #
X X
E ŒX D E Xij
i D1 j Di C1
n 1
X n
X
D E ŒXij 
i D1 j Di C1
n 1 X
X n
D 1=2
i D1 j Di C1
 Selected Solutions for Chapter 5: Probabilistic Analysis and Randomized Algorithms 5-3

!
n 1
D
2 2
n.n 1/ 1
D

2 2
n.n 1/
D :
4
Thus the expected number of inverted pairs is n.n 1/=4.

Solution to Exercise 5.3-2

Although P ERMUTE -W ITHOUT-I DENTITY will not produce the identity permuta-
tion, there are other permutations that it fails to produce. For example, consider
its operation when n D 3, when it should be able to produce the nŠ 1 D 5 non-
identity permutations. The for loop iterates for i D 1 and i D 2. When i D 1,
the call to R ANDOM returns one of two possible values (either 2 or 3), and when
i D 2, the call to R ANDOM returns just one value (3). Thus, P ERMUTE -W ITHOUT-
I DENTITY can produce only 2
1 D 2 possible permutations, rather than the 5 that
are required.

Solution to Exercise 5.3-4

P ERMUTE -B Y-C YCLIC chooses offset as a random integer in the range 1 

offset  n, and then it performs a cyclic rotation of the array. That is,
BŒ..i C offset 1/ mod n/ C 1 D AŒi for i D 1; 2; : : : ; n. (The subtraction
and addition of 1 in the index calculation is due to the 1-origin indexing. If we
had used 0-origin indexing instead, the index calculation would have simplied to
BŒ.i C offset/ mod n D AŒi for i D 0; 1; : : : ; n 1.)
Thus, once offset is determined, so is the entire permutation. Since each value of
offset occurs with probability 1=n, each element AŒi has a probability of ending
up in position BŒj  with probability 1=n.
This procedure does not produce a uniform random permutation, however, since
it can produce only n different permutations. Thus, n permutations occur with
probability 1=n, and the remaining nŠ n permutations occur with probability 0.
 Selected Solutions for Chapter 6:
Heapsort

Solution to Exercise 6.1-1

Since a heap is an almost-complete binary tree (complete at all levels except pos-
sibly the lowest), it has at most 2hC1 1 elements (if it is complete) and at least
2h 1 C 1 D 2h elements (if the lowest level has just 1 element and the other levels
are complete).

Solution to Exercise 6.1-2

Given an n-element heap of height h, we know from Exercise 6.1-1 that

2h  n  2hC1 1 < 2hC1 :

Thus, h  lg n < h C 1. Since h is an integer, h D blg nc (by definition of b c).

Solution to Exercise 6.2-6

If you put a value at the root that is less than every value in the left and right
subtrees, then M AX -H EAPIFY will be called recursively until a leaf is reached. To
make the recursive calls traverse the longest path to a leaf, choose values that make
M AX -H EAPIFY always recurse on the left child. It follows the left branch when
the left child is greater than or equal to the right child, so putting 0 at the root
and 1 at all the other nodes, for example, will accomplish that. With such values,
M AX -H EAPIFY will be called h times (where h is the heap height, which is the
number of edges in the longest path from the root to a leaf), so its running time
will be ‚.h/ (since each call does ‚.1/ work), which is ‚.lg n/. Since we have
a case in which M AX -H EAPIFY’s running time is ‚.lg n/, its worst-case running
time is .lg n/.
6-4 Selected Solutions for Chapter 6: Heapsort

of .n lg n/, consider the case in which the input array is given in strictly in-
creasing order. Each call to M AX -H EAP -I NSERT causes H EAP -I NCREASE -
K EY to go all the way up to the root. Since the depth of node i is blg ic, the
total time is
Xn X n
‚.blg ic/  ‚.blg dn=2ec/
iD1 iDdn=2e
n
X
 ‚.blg.n=2/c/
iDdn=2e
n
X
D ‚.blg n 1c/
iDdn=2e

 n=2
‚.lg n/
D .n lg n/ :
In the worst case, therefore, B UILD -M AX -H EAP0 requires ‚.n lg n/ time to
build an n-element heap.
 Selected Solutions for Chapter 7:
Quicksort

Solution to Exercise 7.2-3

PARTITION does a “worst-case partitioning” when the elements are in decreasing

order. It reduces the size of the subarray under consideration by only 1 at each step,
which we’ve seen has running time ‚.n2 /.
In particular, PARTITION, given a subarray AŒp : : r of distinct elements in de-
creasing order, produces an empty partition in AŒp : : q 1, puts the pivot (orig-
inally in AŒr) into AŒp, and produces a partition AŒp C 1 : : r with only one
fewer element than AŒp : : r. The recurrence for Q UICKSORT becomes T .n/ D
T .n 1/ C ‚.n/, which has the solution T .n/ D ‚.n2 /.

Solution to Exercise 7.2-5

The minimum depth follows a path that always takes the smaller part of the parti-
tion—i.e., that multiplies the number of elements by ˛. One iteration reduces the
number of elements from n to ˛n, and i iterations reduces the number of elements
to ˛ i n. At a leaf, there is just one remaining element, and so at a minimum-depth
leaf of depth m, we have ˛ m n D 1. Thus, ˛ m D 1=n. Taking logs, we get
m lg ˛ D lg n, or m D lg n= lg ˛.
Similarly, maximum depth corresponds to always taking the larger part of the par-
tition, i.e., keeping a fraction 1 ˛ of the elements each time. The maximum
depth M is reached when there is one element left, that is, when .1 ˛/M n D 1.
Thus, M D lg n= lg.1 ˛/.
All these equations are approximate because we are ignoring floors and ceilings.
 Selected Solutions for Chapter 8:
Sorting in Linear Time

Solution to Exercise 8.1-3

If the sort runs in linear time for m input permutations, then the height h of the
portion of the decision tree consisting of the m corresponding leaves and their
ancestors is linear.
Use the same argument as in the proof of Theorem 8.1 to show that this is impos-
sible for m D nŠ=2, nŠ=n, or nŠ=2n .
We have 2h  m, which gives us h  lg m. For all the possible m’s given here,
lg m D .n lg n/, hence h D .n lg n/.
In particular,
nŠ
lg D lg nŠ 1  n lg n n lg e 1;
2
nŠ
lg D lg nŠ lg n  n lg n n lg e lg n ;
n
nŠ
lg n D lg nŠ n  n lg n n lg e n:
2

Solution to Exercise 8.2-3

The following solution also answers Exercise 8.2-2.

Notice that the correctness argument in the text does not depend on the order in
which A is processed. The algorithm is correct no matter what order is used!
But the modified algorithm is not stable. As before, in the final for loop an element
equal to one taken from A earlier is placed before the earlier one (i.e., at a lower
index position) in the output arrray B. The original algorithm was stable because
an element taken from A later started out with a lower index than one taken earlier.
But in the modified algorithm, an element taken from A later started out with a
higher index than one taken earlier.
In particular, the algorithm still places the elements with value k in positions
C Œk 1 C 1 through C Œk, but in the reverse order of their appearance in A.
8-2 Selected Solutions for Chapter 8: Sorting in Linear Time

Solution to Exercise 8.3-3

Basis: If d D 1, there’s only one digit, so sorting on that digit sorts the array.
Inductive step: Assuming that radix sort works for d 1 digits, we’ll show that it
works for d digits.
Radix sort sorts separately on each digit, starting from digit 1. Thus, radix sort of
d digits, which sorts on digits 1; : : : ; d is equivalent to radix sort of the low-order
d 1 digits followed by a sort on digit d . By our induction hypothesis, the sort of
the low-order d 1 digits works, so just before the sort on digit d , the elements
are in order according to their low-order d 1 digits.
The sort on digit d will order the elements by their d th digit. Consider two ele-
ments, a and b, with d th digits ad and bd respectively.
 If ad < bd , the sort will put a before b, which is correct, since a < b regardless
of the low-order digits.
 If ad > bd , the sort will put a after b, which is correct, since a > b regardless
of the low-order digits.
 If ad D bd , the sort will leave a and b in the same order they were in, because
it is stable. But that order is already correct, since the correct order of a and b
is determined by the low-order d 1 digits when their d th digits are equal, and
the elements are already sorted by their low-order d 1 digits.

If the intermediate sort were not stable, it might rearrange elements whose d th
digits were equal—elements that were in the right order after the sort on their
lower-order digits.

Solution to Exercise 8.3-4

Treat the numbers as 3-digit numbers in radix n. Each digit ranges from 0 to n 1.
Sort these 3-digit numbers with radix sort.
There are 3 calls to counting sort, each taking ‚.n C n/ D ‚.n/ time, so that the
total time is ‚.n/.

Solution to Problem 8-1

a. For a comparison algorithm A to sort, no two input permutations can reach the
same leaf of the decision tree, so there must be at least nŠ leaves reached in TA ,
one for each possible input permutation. Since A is a deterministic algorithm, it
must always reach the same leaf when given a particular permutation as input,
so at most nŠ leaves are reached (one for each permutation). Therefore exactly
nŠ leaves are reached, one for each input permutation.
Selected Solutions for Chapter 8: Sorting in Linear Time 8-3

These nŠ leaves will each have probability 1=nŠ, since each of the nŠ possible
permutations is the input with the probability 1=nŠ. Any remaining leaves will
have probability 0, since they are not reached for any input.
Without loss of generality, we can assume for the rest of this problem that paths
leading only to 0-probability leaves aren’t in the tree, since they cannot affect
the running time of the sort. That is, we can assume that TA consists of only the
nŠ leaves labeled 1=nŠ and their ancestors.
b. If k > 1, then the root of T is not a leaf. This implies that all of T ’s leaves
are leaves in LT and RT . Since every leaf at depth h in LT or RT has depth
h C 1 in T , D.T / must be the sum of D.LT /, D.RT /, and k, the total number
of leaves. To prove this last assertion, let dT .x/ D depth of node x in tree T .
Then, X
D.T / D dT .x/
x2leaves.T /
X X
D dT .x/ C dT .x/
x2leaves.LT / x2leaves.RT /
X X
D .dLT .x/ C 1/ C .dRT .x/ C 1/
x2leaves.LT / x2leaves.RT /
X X X
D dLT .x/ C dRT .x/ C 1
x2leaves.LT / x2leaves.RT / x2leaves.T /

D D.LT / C D.RT / C k :
c. To show that d.k/ D min1i k 1 fd.i/ C d.k i/ C kg we will show sepa-
rately that
d.k/  min fd.i/ C d.k i / C kg
1i k 1

and
d.k/  min fd.i/ C d.k i / C kg :
1i k 1

 To show that d.k/  min1i k 1 fd.i/ C d.k i/ C kg, we need only show
that d.k/  d.i/ C d.k i/ C k, for i D 1; 2; : : : ; k 1. For any i from 1
to k 1 we can find trees RT with i leaves and LT with k i leaves such
that D.RT / D d.i / and D.LT / D d.k i/. Construct T such that RT and
LT are the right and left subtrees of T ’s root respectively. Then
d.k/  D.T / (by definition of d as min D.T / value)
D D.RT / C D.LT / C k (by part (b))
D d.i/ C d.k i/ C k (by choice of RT and LT ) .
 To show that d.k/  min1i k 1 fd.i/ C d.k i/ C kg, we need only show
that d.k/  d.i / C d.k i/ C k, for some i in f1; 2; : : : ; k 1g. Take the
tree T with k leaves such that D.T / D d.k/, let RT and LT be T ’s right
and left subtree, respecitvely, and let i be the number of leaves in RT . Then
k i is the number of leaves in LT and
d.k/ D D.T / (by choice of T )
D D.RT / C D.LT / C k (by part (b))
 d.i/ C d.k i/ C k (by defintion of d as min D.T / value) .
8-4 Selected Solutions for Chapter 8: Sorting in Linear Time

Neither i nor k i can be 0 (and hence 1  i  k 1), since if one of these

were 0, either RT or LT would contain all k leaves of T , and that k-leaf
subtree would have a D equal to D.T / k (by part (b)), contradicting the
choice of T as the k-leaf tree with the minimum D.

d. Let fk .i/ D i lg i C .k i/ lg.k i/. To find the value of i that minimizes fk ,

find the i for which the derivative of fk with respect to i is 0:
 
0 d i ln i C .k i/ ln.k i/
fk .i/ D
di ln 2
ln i C 1 ln.k i/ 1
D
ln 2
ln i ln.k i /
D
ln 2
is 0 at i D k=2. To verify this is indeed a minimum (not a maximum), check
that the second derivative of fk is positive at i D k=2:
 
00 d ln i ln.k i/
fk .i/ D
di ln 2
 
1 1 1
D C :
ln 2 i k i
 
1 2 2
fk00 .k=2/ D C
ln 2 k k
1 4
D

ln 2 k
> 0 since k > 1 .
Now we use substitution to prove d.k/ D .k lg k/. The base case of the
induction is satisfied because d.1/  0 D c
1
lg 1 for any constant c. For
the inductive step we assume that d.i/  ci lg i for 1  i  k 1, where c is
some constant to be determined.
d.k/ D min fd.i/ C d.k i/ C kg
1ik 1

 min fc.i lg i C .k i/ lg.k i// C kg

1ik 1

D min fcfk .i/ C kg

1ik 1
    
k k k k
D c lg k lg k Ck
2 2 2 2
 
k
D ck lg Ck
2
D c.k lg k k/ C k
D ck lg k C .k ck/
 ck lg k if c  1 ;
and so d.k/ D .k lg k/.
e. Using the result of part (d) and the fact that TA (as modified in our solution to
part (a)) has nŠ leaves, we can conclude that
D.TA /  d.nŠ/ D .nŠ lg.nŠ// :
Selected Solutions for Chapter 8: Sorting in Linear Time 8-5

D.TA / is the sum of the decision-tree path lengths for sorting all input per-
mutations, and the path lengths are proportional to the run time. Since the nŠ
permutations have equal probability 1=nŠ, the expected time to sort n random
elements (1 input permutation) is the total time for all permutations divided
by nŠ:
.nŠ lg.nŠ//
D .lg.nŠ// D .n lg n/ :
nŠ
f. We will show how to modify a randomized decision tree (algorithm) to define a
deterministic decision tree (algorithm) that is at least as good as the randomized
one in terms of the average number of comparisons.
At each randomized node, pick the child with the smallest subtree (the subtree
with the smallest average number of comparisons on a path to a leaf). Delete all
the other children of the randomized node and splice out the randomized node
itself.
The deterministic algorithm corresponding to this modified tree still works, be-
cause the randomized algorithm worked no matter which path was taken from
each randomized node.
The average number of comparisons for the modified algorithm is no larger
than the average number for the original randomized tree, since we discarded
the higher-average subtrees in each case. In particular, each time we splice out
a randomized node, we leave the overall average less than or equal to what it
was, because
 the same set of input permutations reaches the modified subtree as before, but
those inputs are handled in less than or equal to average time than before, and
 the rest of the tree is unmodified.

The randomized algorithm thus takes at least as much time on average as the
corresponding deterministic one. (We’ve shown that the expected running time
for a deterministic comparison sort is .n lg n/, hence the expected time for a
randomized comparison sort is also .n lg n/.)
 Selected Solutions for Chapter 9:
Medians and Order Statistics

Solution to Exercise 9.3-1

For groups of 7, the algorithm still works in linear time. The number of elements
greater than x (and similarly, the number less than x) is at least
 l m 
1 n 2n
4 2  8;
2 7 7
and the recurrence becomes
T .n/  T .dn=7e/ C T .5n=7 C 8/ C O.n/ ;
which can be shown to be O.n/ by substitution, as for the groups of 5 case in the
text.
For groups of 3, however, the algorithm no longer works in linear time. The number
of elements greater than x, and the number of elements less than x, is at least
 l m 
1 n n
2 2  4;
2 3 3
and the recurrence becomes
T .n/  T .dn=3e/ C T .2n=3 C 4/ C O.n/ ;
which does not have a linear solution.
We can prove that the worst-case time for groups of 3 is .n lg n/. We do so by
deriving a recurrence for a particular case that takes .n lg n/ time.
In counting up the number of elements greater than x (and similarly, the l lnum-
mm
ber less than x), consider the particular case in which there are exactly 12 n3
groups with medians  x and in which the “leftover” group does contribute 2
elements
l l mm greater than x. Then the number of elements greater than x is exactly
1 n
2 2 3 1 C 1 (the 1 discounts x’s group, as usual, and the C1 is con-
tributed by x’s group) D 2 dn=6e 1, and the recursive step for elements  x has
n .2 dn=6e 1/  n .2.n=6 C 1/ 1/ D 2n=3 1 elements. Observe also
that the O.n/ term in the recurrence is really ‚.n/, since the partitioning in step 4
takes ‚.n/ (not just O.n/) time. Thus, we get the recurrence
T .n/  T .dn=3e/ C T .2n=3 1/ C ‚.n/  T .n=3/ C T .2n=3 1/ C ‚.n/ ;
from which you can show that T .n/  cn lg n by substitution. You can also see
that T .n/ is nonlinear by noticing that each level of the recursion tree sums to n.
In fact, any odd group size  5 works in linear time.
9-2 Selected Solutions for Chapter 9: Medians and Order Statistics

Solution to Exercise 9.3-3

A modification to quicksort that allows it to run in O.n lg n/ time in the worst case
uses the deterministic PARTITION algorithm that was modified to take an element
to partition around as an input parameter.
S ELECT takes an array A, the bounds p and r of the subarray in A, and the rank i
of an order statistic, and in time linear in the size of the subarray AŒp : : r it returns
the ith smallest element in AŒp : : r.

B EST-C ASE -Q UICKSORT.A; p; r/

if p < r
i D b.r p C 1/=2c
x D S ELECT.A; p; r; i /
q D PARTITION.x/
B EST-C ASE -Q UICKSORT.A; p; q 1/
B EST-C ASE -Q UICKSORT.A; q C 1; r/

For an n-element array, the largest subarray that B EST-C ASE -Q UICKSORT re-
curses on has n=2 elements. This situation occurs when n D r p C 1 is even;
then the subarray AŒq C 1 : : r has n=2 elements, and the subarray AŒp : : q 1
has n=2 1 elements.
Because B EST-C ASE -Q UICKSORT always recurses on subarrays that are at most
half the size of the original array, the recurrence for the worst-case running time is
T .n/  2T .n=2/ C ‚.n/ D O.n lg n/.

Solution to Exercise 9.3-5

We assume that are given a procedure M EDIAN that takes as parameters an ar-
ray A and subarray indices p and r, and returns the value of the median element of
AŒp : : r in O.n/ time in the worst case.
Given M EDIAN, here is a linear-time algorithm S ELECT0 for finding the i th small-
est element in AŒp : : r. This algorithm uses the deterministic PARTITION algo-
rithm that was modified to take an element to partition around as an input parame-
ter.
 Selected Solutions for Chapter 9: Medians and Order Statistics 9-3

S ELECT0 .A; p; r; i/
if p == r
return AŒp
x D M EDIAN.A; p; r/
q D PARTITION.x/
k D q pC1
if i == k
return AŒq
elseif i < k
return S ELECT0 .A; p; q 1; i/
else return S ELECT0 .A; q C 1; r; i k/

Because x is the median of AŒp : : r, each of the subarrays AŒp : : q 1 and
AŒq C 1 : : r has at most half the number of elements of AŒp : : r. The recurrence
for the worst-case running time of S ELECT0 is T .n/  T .n=2/ C O.n/ D O.n/.

Solution to Problem 9-1

We assume that the numbers start out in an array.

a. Sort the numbers using merge sort or heapsort, which take ‚.n lg n/ worst-case
time. (Don’t use quicksort or insertion sort, which can take ‚.n2 / time.) Put
the i largest elements (directly accessible in the sorted array) into the output
array, taking ‚.i/ time.
Total worst-case running time: ‚.n lg n C i/ D ‚.n lg n/ (because i  n).
b. Implement the priority queue as a heap. Build the heap using B UILD -H EAP,
which takes ‚.n/ time, then call H EAP -E XTRACT-M AX i times to get the i
largest elements, in ‚.i lg n/ worst-case time, and store them in reverse order
of extraction in the output array. The worst-case extraction time is ‚.i lg n/
because
 i extractions from a heap with O.n/ elements takes i
O.lg n/ D O.i lg n/
time, and
 half of the i extractions are from a heap with  n=2 elements, so those i=2
extractions take .i=2/.lg.n=2// D .i lg n/ time in the worst case.
Total worst-case running time: ‚.n C i lg n/.
c. Use the S ELECT algorithm of Section 9.3 to find the ith largest number in ‚.n/
time. Partition around that number in ‚.n/ time. Sort the i largest numbers in
‚.i lg i/ worst-case time (with merge sort or heapsort).
Total worst-case running time: ‚.n C i lg i/.
Note that method (c) is always asymptotically at least as good as the other two
methods, and that method (b) is asymptotically at least as good as (a). (Com-
paring (c) to (b) is easy, but it is less obvious how to compare (c) and (b) to (a).
(c) and (b) are asymptotically at least as good as (a) because n, i lg i, and i lg n are
all O.n lg n/. The sum of two things that are O.n lg n/ is also O.n lg n/.)
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
Having no desire that they should know that I had returned
to the spot to efface those tell-tale marks, the only way to
avoid them was to spring over the wall again into the park,
which I did without a moment’s hesitation, crouching down
until they had passed, and then crossed the corner of the
park and entered the Monk’s Wood, a thick belt of forest
through which ran a footpath which joined the road about a
mile further down. The way I had taken to Sibberton was a
circuitous one, it was true, but at any rate I should avoid
being seen in the vicinity of the spot where the tragedy was
enacted.

Walking forward along the dim forest path covered with

moss and wild flowers, where the rising sun glinted upon
the grey trunks of the trees and the foliage above rustled
softly in the wind, I was sorely puzzled over the innkeeper’s
manner when I had put that direct question to him.

Notwithstanding his denial, I felt convinced that he had

recognised the dead man.

I had almost gained the outer edge of the wood, walking

noiselessly over the carpet of moss, when of a sudden the
sound of voices caused me to start and halt.

At first I saw nothing, but next moment through the tree

trunks twenty yards away I caught sight of two persons
strolling slowly in company—a man and a woman.

The man’s face I could not see, but the woman, whose hair,
beneath her navy blue Tam o’ Shanter cap showed
dishevelled as a ray of sunlight struck it, and whose white
silk dress showed muddy and bedraggled beneath her dark
cloak, I recognised in an instant—although her back was
turned towards me.
It was Lady Lolita, the goddess of my admiration. Lolita—
my queen—my love.
 Chapter Six.
For Love of Lolita.

I held my breath, open-mouthed, utterly dumbfounded.

Lolita’s appearance showed too plainly that she had been

out all the night. Her cloak was torn at the shoulder,
evidently by a bramble, and the weary manner in which she
walked was as though she were exhausted.

The man, bearded, broad-shouldered and athletic, seemed,

as far as I could judge from his back, to be of middle age.
He wore a rough tweed suit and a golf cap, and as he strode
by her side he spoke with her earnestly, emphasising his
words with gesture, as though giving her certain directions,
which she heard resignedly and in silence.

I noticed that when he stretched out his hand to add force

to his utterance that she shrank from him and shuddered.
She was probably very cold, for the early morning air was
chilly, and the dew was heavy on the ground.

Without betraying my presence, I crept on noiselessly after

them, hoping that I might overhear the words the fellow
uttered, but in this I was doomed to disappointment, for at
the edge of the wood, before I realised the man’s intention,
he suddenly raised his hat, and turning, left her,
disappearing by the narrow path that led through a small
spinney to Lowick village. Thus I was prevented from
obtaining a glance at his features and blamed myself for not
acting with more foresight and ingenuity.

After he had left her, she stood alone, gazing after him. No
word, however, escaped her. By his attitude I knew that he
had threatened her, and that she had no defence. She was
inert and helpless.

In a few moments, with a wild gesture, she sank upon her

knees in the grass, and throwing up her two half-bare arms
to heaven cried aloud for help, her wild beseeching words
reaching me where I stood.

My adored was in desperation. I heard the words of her

fervent prayer and stood with head uncovered. Long and
earnestly she besought help, forgiveness and protection;
then with a strange, determined calm she rose again, and
stood in hesitation which way to proceed.

For the first time she seemed to realise that the sun was
already shining, and that it was open day, for she glanced
at her clothes, and with feminine dexterity shook out her
bedraggled skirts and glanced at them dismayed.

I recognised her utter loneliness: therefore I walked forward

to her.

Slowly she recognised me, as through a veil, and starting,

she fell back, glaring at me as though she were witness of
some appalling apparition.

“You!” she gasped. “How did you find me here?”

“No matter how I found you, Lady Lolita,” I responded. “You

are in want of a friend, and I am here to give you help, as I
promised you last night. This is no time for words; we must
act, and act quickly. You must let me take you back to the
Hall.”

“But look at me!” she cried in dismay. “I can’t go back like

this! They would—they would suspect!”
“There must be no suspicion,” I said, thoroughly aroused to
the importance of secrecy now that the police were already
in the park making their investigations. “You cannot return
to the Hall like this, for the servants would see you and
know that you’ve been absent all night.”

“I’m afraid of Weston,” she said. “She is so very inquisitive.”

Weston was her maid.

“Then you must come with me to my house,” I suggested.

“We could reach it across the fields and enter by the back
way unobserved. I can send Mrs Dawson out on some
pretext, and you can remain locked in my sitting-room while
I go up to the Hall and fetch one of your walking-dresses. I
can slip up to your wardrobe and manage to steal
something without Weston suspecting. Then, when you
return, you can explain that you’ve merely been out for an
early walk.”

The suggestion, although a desperate one, commended

itself to her, and with a few words of heartfelt thanks she
announced her readiness to accompany me.

I longed to inquire the name of the male companion, but

feared to do so, seeing how pale and agitated she was. Her
face had changed sadly since the previous night, for she
was now white, wan and haggard, presenting a strange,
terrified appearance, dishevelled and bedraggled as she
was. She must certainly have been out in the park for fully
seven hours. Was she aware of the tragedy, I wondered?

I told her nothing of the discovery. How could I in those

circumstances? True, she was not wearing the ermine collar,
as I had suspected, yet the prints made by her shoes as she
now walked with me were assuredly the same as those I
had effaced.
We spoke but little as we hurried along, creeping always
beneath walls and behind trees, and often compelled to
make long détours in order to obtain cover and avoid
recognition by any of those working in the fields.

Compelled to scale the high wall of the park at last, I

assisted her over without much difficulty, for although she
preserved all her natural beauty, she was athletic, fond of
all games and a splendid rider to hounds.

“If I can only conceal the fact that I’ve been absent all
night, it will be of such very material assistance,” she said
after we had crossed the high road and gained the shelter
of a long narrow spinney. “I shall never be able to
sufficiently repay you for this,” she added.

“Remember the confession of my heart to you last night,

Lolita,” was my answer. “We will discuss it all later on—when
you are safe.” And we pushed forward, our eyes and ears on
the alert as we approached the village.

At last, by good fortune, I managed to get her unobserved

inside my house. Creeping noiselessly up the stairs I took
her to one of my dusty, disused attics in preference to my
sitting-room, and there she locked herself in. Not, however,
before I had pressed her hand in silence as assurance that
she might place her trust in me.

A few moments later I found my old housekeeper in the

kitchen, and having given her directions to go on an errand
for me to a farm about a mile and a half distant, I started
off up to the Hall upon as strange an errand as man has
ever gone, namely to steal a dress belonging to his love.

I had, of course, disregarded my appointment with Pink,

and not wishing to meet the searchers or the doctor
himself, I reached the Hall by the bypath that led from
Lowick, passing along the edge of the Monk’s Wood wherein
I had met Lolita.

On entering the mansion I found that the startling news of

the tragedy had just reached there, for the servants were
all greatly alarmed. They crowded about me to learn the
latest details, but I passed quickly on to my room and for a
few minutes pretended to be engrossed in correspondence,
although my real reason was to await an opportunity to
reach her ladyship’s room after the servants’ bell had
sounded and the faithful maid Weston had gone down to
breakfast.

At last the bell clanged, and I stole along the corridor in

order to watch the neat maid’s disappearance with the
others. She seemed longer than usual, but presently she
came, and after she had passed along to the servants’ hall I
quickly ascended the main staircase, and sped along the
two long corridors to my love’s room—a large, well-
furnished apartment with long mirrors and a dressing-table
heaped with silver-mounted toilet requisites.

Without a moment’s hesitation I opened the huge wardrobe,

and after a brief search discovered a dark tweed tailor-
made coat and skirt which I recognised as one she often
wore for walking, and these I hurriedly rolled up and
together with a pair of buttoned boots carried them off. I
noticed that the bed, with its pale blue silken hangings, was
fortunately tumbled as though it had been slept in,
therefore Weston evidently did not suspect that her young
mistress had been absent all night.

Not without risk of detection, I managed to convey the

dress and boots down to my own room, where I packed
them in a neat parcel and carried them with all speed back
to Sibberton.
Mrs Dawson, who was a somewhat decrepit person, had not
returned, therefore I carried the parcel up to the attic, and
ten minutes later her ladyship came down looking as fresh
and neat in her tweed gown as though she had only that
moment emerged from her room.

Leaving her cloak and muddy dinner-dress in my charge,

she escaped by the back and away down the garden,
expressing her intention of returning to the Hall as though
she had only been out an hour for a morning walk, as was
so frequently her habit. She had thanked me fervently for
my assistance, and in doing so uttered a sentence that
struck me as remarkably strange, knowing what I did.

“You have saved me, Willoughby. You can save my life, if

you will.”

“I will,” was my earnest reply. “You know my secret,” I

added, raising her fingers to my hot passionate lips before
we parted.

She made no mention of the tragedy, and what, indeed,

could I remark?

My journey to London I was compelled to postpone in view

of what had occurred. She had not referred to it, and to tell
the truth I felt that my presence beside her just then was of
greater need. Thus, after awaiting my housekeeper’s return
in order to preserve appearances, I ate my breakfast with
the air of a man entirely undisturbed.

Just before nine the doctor came in, ruddy and well-shaven,
and throwing himself into an armchair exclaimed—

“You didn’t keep your promise! I called and found nobody at

home. You were out.”
“I’d gone down the village,” I explained.

“Well, I’ve been up into the park with the police. They’ve
sent that blundering fool Redway—worse than useless!
We’ve been over the ground, but there’s so many footprints
that it’s impossible to distinguish any—save one.”

“And what’s that?”

“Well, strangely enough, my dear fellow, it’s a woman’s.”

“A woman’s!” I gasped, for I saw that all my work had been

in vain and in my hurry I must have unfortunately
overlooked one.

“Yes, it’s the print of a woman’s slipper with a French heel—

not the kind of shoe usually worn in Sibberton,” remarked
the doctor. “Funny, isn’t it?”

“Very,” I agreed with a sickly feeling. “What do the police

think?”

“Redway means to take a plaster cast of it—says it’s an

important clue. Got a cigarette?”

I pushed the box before him, with sinking heart, and at the
same time invited him to the table to have breakfast, for I
had not yet finished.

“Breakfast!” he cried. “Why, I had mine at six, and am

almost ready for lunch. I’m an early bird, you know.”

It was true. He had cultivated the habit of early rising by

going cub-hunting with the Stanchester hounds, and it was
his boast that he never breakfasted later than six either
summer or winter.
“Did they find anything else?” I inquired, fearing at the
same time to betray any undue curiosity.

“Found a lot of marks of men’s boots, but they might have

been ours,” he answered in his bluff way as he lit his
cigarette. “My theory is that the mark of the woman’s shoe
is a very strong clue. Some woman knows all about it—
that’s very certain, and she’s a person who wears thin
French shoes, size three.”

“Does Redway say that?”

“No, I say it. Redway’s a fool, you know. Look how he

blundered in that robbery in Northampton a year ago. I only
wish we could get a man from Scotland Yard. He’d nab the
murderer before the day is out.”

At heart I did not endorse this wish. On the contrary the

discovery of this footmark that had escaped me was
certainly a very serious contretemps. My endeavours must,
I saw, now all be directed towards arranging matters so
that, if necessary, Lolita could prove a complete alibi.

“Do you know,” went on the doctor, “there’s one feature in

the affair that’s strangest of all, and that is that there
seems to have been an attempt to efface certain marks, as
though the assassin boldly returned to the spot after the
removal of the body and scraped the ground in order to
wipe out his footprints. Redway won’t admit that, but I’m
certain of it—absolutely certain. I suppose the ass won’t
accept the theory because it isn’t his own.”

I tried to speak, but what could I say? The words I uttered

resolved themselves into a mere expression of blank
surprise, and perhaps it was as well, for the man before me
was as keen and shrewd as any member of the Criminal
Investigation Department. He was essentially a man of
action, who whether busy or idle could not remain in one
place five minutes together. He rushed all over the country-
side from early morning, or dashed up to London by the
express, spent the afternoon in Bond Street or the
Burlington, and was back at home, a hundred miles distant,
in time for dinner. He was perfectly tireless, possessing a
demeanour which no amount of offence could ruffle, and an
even temper and chaffing good-humour that was a most
remarkable characteristic. The very name of Pink in
Northamptonshire was synonymous of patient surgical skill
combined with a spontaneous gaiety and bluff good-
humour.

“I’ve given over that bit of white fur to Red way,” he went
on. “And I expect we shall find that the owner of it is also
owner of the small shoes. I know most of the girls of
Sibberton—in fact, I’ve attended all of them, I expect—but I
can’t suggest one who would, or even could, wear such a
shoe as that upon the woman who was present at the
tragedy, if not the actual assassin.”

“Redway will make inquiries, I suppose?” I remarked in a

faint hollow voice.

“At my suggestion he has wired for assistance, and I only

hope they’ll get a man down from London. If they don’t—by
Gad! I’ll pay for one myself. We must find this woman,
Woodhouse,” he added, rising and tossing his cigarette-end
into the grate. “We’ll find her—at all costs!”
 Chapter Seven.
Is Full of Mystery.

The doctor’s keen desire to solve the mystery caused me

most serious apprehension. His bluff good-humour, at other
times amusing, now irritated me, and I was glad when he
rose restlessly and went out, saying that he had wired to
Doctor Newman at Northampton, and that they intended to
make the post-mortem at two o’clock.

Presently, after a rest, which I so sorely needed, I walked

along to the Stanchester Arms and had a private
consultation with Warr in the little back parlour of the old-
fashioned inn. Standing back from the road with its high
swinging sign, it was a quaint, picturesque place, long and
rambling, with the attic windows peeping forth from
beneath the thatch. Half-hidden by climbing roses, clematis
and jessamine it was often the admiration of artists, and
many times had it been painted or sketched, for it was
certainly one of the most picturesque of any of the inns in
rural Northamptonshire, and well in keeping with the old-
world peace of the Sibberton village itself.

Having again impressed upon the landlord the necessity of

delivering the letter to Lolita in secret, as well as remaining
utterly dumb regarding the stranger’s visit, I was allowed to
view the body of the unknown victim. It lay stretched upon
some boards in the outhouse at rear of the inn, covered by
a sheet, which on being lifted revealed the cold white face.

We stood there together in silence. In the dim light of the

previous night and the uncertain glimmer of the lantern, I
had not obtained an adequate idea of the young man’s
features, and it was in order to do this that I revisited the
chamber of the dead.

For a long time I gazed upon that blanched countenance

and sightless eyes, a face that seemed in those few hours
to have altered greatly, having become shrunken, more
refined, more transparent. The closely-cropped hair, the
very even dark eyebrows, and the rather high cheek-bones
were the most prominent features, and all of them,
combined with the cut of his clothes and the shape of his
boots, went to suggest that he was not an Englishman.

In those moments every feature of that calm dead face

became photographed upon the tablets of my memory, and
as it did so I somehow became convinced that he was not
altogether a stranger. I had, I believed, met him previously
somewhere—but where I could not determine. I recollected
Warr’s evasion of my question. Was he also puzzled, like
myself?

Outside the inn half Sibberton had assembled to discuss the

terrible affair, many of the village women wearing their lilac
sun-bonnets, those old-world head-dresses that are, alas!
so fast disappearing from rural England. The other half of
the village had entered the park to see the spot where the
terrible tragedy had been enacted.

For a moment I halted talking with a couple of men who

made inquiry of me, knowing that I had first raised the
alarm. And then I heard a dozen different theories in as
many minutes. The rural mind is always quick to suggest
motive where tragedy is concerned.

At noon I walked up to the Hall again, wondering if my love

would show herself. I longed to get up to London and make
inquiries at that pawnbroker’s in the Westminster Bridge
Road, as well as to call at the address she had given me in
Chelsea. As she had said, only myself stood between her
and death. The situation all-round was one of great peril,
and I had, at all costs, to save her.

As I entered and crossed the hall, Slater, the old butler,

approached, saying—

“His lordship would like to see you, sir. He’s in the library.”

So I turned and walked up the corridor of the east wing to

that fine long old room with its thousands of rare volumes
that had been the chief delight of the white-headed old peer
who had spent the evening of his days in study.

“I say, Woodhouse!” cried the young Earl, springing from his

chair as I entered, “what does this murder in the park last
night mean?”

“It’s a profound mystery,” I replied. “The murdered man has

not yet been identified.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “I went down to the inn with Pink

this morning and saw him. And, do you know, he looks
suspiciously like a fellow who followed me about in town
several times last season.”

“That’s strange!” I exclaimed, much interested. “Yes, it is. I

can’t make it out at all. There’s a mystery somewhere—a
confounded mystery.” And the young Earl thrust his hands
deeply into his trousers pockets as he seated himself on the
arm of a chair.

Tall, dark, good-looking, and a good all-round athlete, he

was about thirty, the very picture of the well-bred
Englishman. A few years in the Army had set him up and
given him a soldierly bearing, while his face and hands,
tanned as they were, showed his fondness for out-door
sports. He kept up the Stanchester hounds, of which he was
master, to that high degree of efficiency which rendered
them one of the most popular packs in the country; he was
an excellent polo player, a splendid shot, and a thorough
all-round sportsman. In his well-worn grey flannels, and
with a straw hat stuck jauntily on his head, he presented
the picture of healthy manhood, wealthy almost beyond the
dreams of avarice, a careless, easy-going, good-humoured
man-of-the-world, whose leniency to his tenants was
proverbial, and whose good-nature gave him wide
popularity in Society, both in London and out of it.

By the man-in-the-street he was believed to be supremely

content in his great possessions, his magnificent mansions,
his princely bank balance, his steam yacht and his pack of
hounds, yet I, his confidential friend and secretary, knew
well the weariness and chagrin that was now eating out his
heart. Her ladyship, two years his junior, was one of the
three celebrated beauties known in London drawing-rooms
as “the giddy Gordons,” and who, notwithstanding her
marriage, still remained the leader of that ultra-smart set,
and always had one or two admirers in her train. She was
still marvellously beautiful; her portraits, representing her
yachting, motoring, shooting or riding to hounds, were
familiar to every one, and after her marriage it had become
the fashion to regard the Countess of Stanchester as one of
the leaders of the London mode.

All this caused her husband deep regret and worry. He was
unhappy, for with her flitting to and from the Continental
spas, to Rome, to Florence, to Scotland, to Paris and
elsewhere, he enjoyed little of her society, although he
loved her dearly and had married her purely on that
account.
Often in the silence of his room he sighed heavily when he
spoke of her to me, and more than once, old friends that we
were, he had unbosomed himself to me, so that, knowing
what I did, I honestly pitied him. There was, in fact,
affection just as strong in the heart of the millionaire
landowner as in that of his very humble secretary.

“I had the misfortune to be born a rich man, Willoughby,”

he had once declared to me. “If I had been poor and had
had to work for my living, I should probably have been far
happier.”

At the present moment, however, he seemed to have

forgotten his own sorrows in the startling occurrence that
had taken place within his own demesne, and his
declaration that the man now dead had followed him in
London was to me intensely interesting. It added more
mystery to the affair.

“Are you quite certain that you recognise him?” I inquired a

few moments later, wondering whether, if this were an
actual fact, I had not also seen him when walking with the
Earl in London.

“Well, not quite,” was my companion’s reply. “A dead man’s

face looks rather different to that of a living person.
Nevertheless, I feel almost positive that he’s the same. I
recollect that the first occasion I saw him was at Ranelagh,
when he came and sat close by me, and was apparently
watching my every movement. I took no notice, because
lots of people, when they ascertain who I am, stare at me
as though I were some extraordinary species. A few nights
later on, walking home from the Bachelors’, I passed him in
Piccadilly, and again on the next day he followed me
persistently through the Burlington. Don’t you remember,
too, when Marigold held that bazaar in the drawing-room in
aid of the Deep Sea Mission? Well, he came, and bought
several rather expensive things. I confess that his constant
presence grew very irritating, and although I said nothing to
you at the time, for fear you would laugh at my
apprehension, I grew quite timid, and didn’t care to walk
home from the club at night alone.”

“Rather a pity you didn’t point him out to me,” I remarked,

very much puzzled. “I, too, have a faint idea that I’ve seen
him somewhere. It may have been that when I’ve walked
with you he has followed us.”

“Most likely,” was the young Earl’s reply. “He evidently had
some fixed purpose in watching my movements, but what it
could be is an entire mystery. During the last fortnight I was
in town I always carried my little revolver, fearing—well, to
tell you the truth, fearing lest he should make an attack
upon me,” he admitted with a smile. “The fact was, I had
become thoroughly unnerved.”

This confession sounded strange from a resolute athletic

man of his stamp whom I had hitherto regarded as utterly
fearless and possessing nerves of iron.

“And now,” he went on, “the fellow is found murdered within

half a mile of the house! Most extraordinary, isn’t it?”

“Very remarkable—to say the least,” I said reflectively. “The

police will probably discover who and what he is.”

“Police!” he laughed. “What do you think such a fellow as

Redway could discover, except perhaps it were a mug of
beer hidden by a publican after closing-time? No, I agree
with Pink, we must have a couple of men down from
London. It seems that Pink has found the print of a
woman’s shoe at the spot, while in the dead man’s hand
was grasped a piece of white fur. The suspicion is,
therefore, that some woman has had a hand in it. I think,
Willoughby, you’d best run up to London and get them to
send down some smart man from the Criminal Investigation
Department. Go and see my friend Layard, the Home
Secretary, and tell him I sent you to obtain his assistance.
He’ll no doubt see that some capable person is sent.”

I suggested that he should write a note to Sir Stephen

Layard which I would deliver personally, and at once he sat
down and scribbled a few lines in that heavy uneven
calligraphy of his, for he had ever been a sad penman.

The net seemed to be slowly spreading for Lolita, yet what

could I do to prevent this tracking down of the woman I
loved?

The mystery of the man’s movements in London had

apparently thoroughly aroused the young Earl’s desire to
probe the affair to the bottom. And not unnaturally. None of
us care to be followed and watched by an unknown man
whose motive is utterly obscure.

So I was compelled to take the note and promise that I

would deliver it to Layard that same evening.

“I mean to do all I can to find out who the fellow was and
why he was killed,” the Earl declared, striding up and down
the room impatiently. “I’ve just seen Lolita, who seems very
upset about it. She, too, admits that she saw the man
watching me at Ranelagh, at the bazaar, and also at other
places.”

“I wonder what his motive could have been,” I remarked,

surprised that her ladyship should have made such a
statement.
“Ah! That we must find out. His intentions were evil ones,
without a doubt.”

“But he didn’t strike you as a thief?” I asked.

“Not at all. He was always very well-dressed and had

something of a foreign appearance, although I don’t believe
he was a foreigner.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I heard him speak. His voice had rather a Cockney

ring in it, although he appeared to ape the Frenchman in
dress and mannerisms, in order, I suppose, to be able to
pass as one.”

“An adventurer—without a doubt,” I remarked. “But we shall

know more before long. There are several facts which may
afford us good clues.”

“Yes, in the hands of an expert detective they may. That’s

why we must have a man down from London. You go to
town and do your best, Willoughby, while I remain here and
watch what transpires. The inquest is fixed for to-morrow at
three, I hear, so you had better be back for it. The Coroner
will no doubt want your evidence.” And with that we both
walked out together into the park, where the constabulary
were still making a methodical examination of the whole of
the area to the left of the great avenue.

I had intended to obtain another interview with Lolita, but

now resolved that to keep apart from her for the present
was by far the wisest course, therefore I accompanied the
Earl as far as the fateful spot, and then continued my way
home in order to lunch before driving to Kettering to catch
the afternoon express to St. Pancras.
In the idle half-hour after my chop and claret, eaten by the
way with but little relish, I lounged in my old armchair
smoking my pipe, when of a sudden there flashed upon me
the recollection of the ring I had secured from the dead
man’s hand. I ran up to my room, and taking it from the
pocket of my dress-waistcoat carried it downstairs, where I
submitted it to thorough and searching examination.

It was a ring of no ordinary pattern, the flat golden

scarabaeus being set upon a swivel, while the remaining
part of the ring was oval, so as to fit the finger. I put it on,
and found that the scarabaeus being movable, it adapted
itself to all movements of the finger, and that it was a
marvellously fine specimen of the goldsmiths’ art, and no
doubt, as I had already decided, a copy of an antique
Etruscan ornament.

The thickness of the golden sacred beetle attracted me, and

I wondered whether it could contain anything within.
Around the bottom edge were fashioned in gold the folded
hairy legs of the insect just showing beneath its wings, and
on examining them I discovered, to my surprise, that there
was concealed a tiny hinge.

Instantly I took a pen-knife and gently prised it open, when

I discovered that within it was almost like a locket, and that
behind a small transparent disc of talc was concealed a tiny
photograph—a pictured face the sight of which held me
breathless. I could not believe my eyes.

Revealed there was a portrait of Lady Lolita Lloyd, the

woman I loved, which the dead man had worn in secret
upon his finger!
 Chapter Eight.
Wherein I Make Certain Discoveries.

Alas! how I had, in loving Lolita, quaffed the sweet illusions

of hope only to feel the venom of despair more poignant to
my soul.

During the journey up to London my thoughts were fully

occupied by the discovery of what that oddly-shaped ring
contained. That portrait undoubtedly linked my love with
the victim of the tragedy. But how? I believed myself
acquainted with most, if not with all, of her many admirers,
and if this unknown man were an actual rival then I had
remained in entire and complete ignorance.

As the express rushed southward I sat alone in the

compartment calmly examining my own heart and analysing
my own feelings. Hope gilded my fancy, and I breathed
again. I found that I loved, I reverenced woman, and had
sought for a real woman to whom to offer my heart.
Inherent in man is the love of something to protect; his
very manhood requires that his strongest love should be
showered on one who needs his strong arm to shelter her
from the world, with all its troubles, all its sorrows, and all
its sins. I wanted a companion, pure, loving, womanly; one
who would complete what was wanting in myself; one
whom I could reverence—and in Lady Lolita I had found my
ideal.

Yet the difference of our stations was an insurmountable

barrier in the first place, and in the second, if the young
Earl knew that I, his secretary, had had the audacity to
propose to his favourite sister, my connexion with the
Stanchesters would, I knew, be abruptly severed.
Nevertheless, I had with throbbing heart confessed my
secret to my love, and being aware of my deep and honest
affection she allowed me to bask in the sunshine of her
beauty, and she was trusting in me to extricate her from a
peril which she had declared might, alas! prove fatal.

Poor Stanchester! I pondered over his position, too—and I

pitied him. Awakened from the temporary aberration which
made him take as wife Lady Marigold Gordon, the racing girl
and smart up-to-date maiden; conscious that the
camaraderie of the billiard-room, the stable, and the
shooting-party and the card-room was after all but a poor
substitute for the true companionship of a wife. The young
Countess, well-versed in French novels of doubtful taste,
accomplished in manly sports, a good judge of a dog,
capable of talking slang in and out of season, inured to
cigarettes and strong drinks, had been an excellent “chum”
for a short time, but she now preferred the freedom of her
pre-matrimonial days, and drifted about wherever she could
find pleasure and excitement. Indeed, she seemed to have
more admirers now that she was the wife of the Earl of
Stanchester than when she had been merely one of “the
giddy Gordon girls.”

The smoky sunset haze had settled over the Thames as I

crossed Westminster Bridge in search of the pawnbroker’s
whose voucher had been found in the dead man’s pocket,
and a copy of which I had obtained before leaving
Sibberton. It had been a blazing August day and every
Londoner who could afford to escape from the city’s turmoil
was absent. Yet weather or season makes no appreciable
difference to those hurrying millions who cross the bridges
each evening to rush to their ’buses, trams or trains.
At six o’clock that summer’s evening the crowd was just as
thick on Westminster Bridge as on any night in winter. The
million or so of absent holidaymakers are unnoticed in that
wild desperate fight for the daily necessaries of life.

Without difficulty I found the shop where a combined

business of jeweller’s and pawnbroker’s was carried on, and
having sought the proprietor, a fat man in shirt-sleeves, of
pronounced Hebrew type, I requested to be allowed to see
the pledge in question.

He called his assistant, and after the lapse of a few minutes

the latter descended the stairs carrying a small well-worn
leather jewel-case which he placed upon the counter. The
instant I saw it I held my breath, for upon it, stamped in
gold, was the coronet and cipher of Lady Lolita Lloyd!

The pawnbroker opened it, and within I saw a necklet of

seed pearls and amethysts which I had seen many times
around my love’s throat, an old Delhi necklace which her
father had bought for her when in India years ago. In her
youth it had been her favourite ornament, but recently she
had not worn it.

Was it possible that it had been stolen—or had she made

gift of it to him?

I took up the familiar necklet and held it in the hollow of my

hand. I recollected how Lolita, with girlish pride, had shown
it to me when she had received it as a present on her
eighteenth birthday, and how, on occasions at parties and
balls at Government House afterwards, it had adorned her
white neck and its rather barbaric splendour had so often
been admired.

“It’s unredeemed, you know,” remarked the black-haired

Jew. “You shall have it for twenty pound—dirth cheap.”
Ought I to secure it? The police would, no doubt, soon
institute inquiries, and finding the coronet and cipher upon
the case would at once connect my love with the mysterious
affair. But I had by good fortune forestalled them, therefore
I saw that at all hazards I must secure it.

I pretended to examine it in the fading light at the window,

lingering so as to gain time to form some plans. I had not
twenty pounds in my pocket; to give a cheque would be to
betray my name, and the banks had closed long ago.

At last, after some haggling, more in order to conceal my

anxiety to obtain it than anything else, I said, with affected
reluctance—

“I haven’t the money with me. It’s a pretty thing, but a

trifle too dear.” And I turned as though to leave.

“Well, now, ninetheen pound won’t hurt yer. You shall ’ave it
for ninetheen pound.”

“Eighteen ten, if you like,” I said. “What time do you close?”

“Nine.”

“Then I’ll be back before that with the money,” I answered,

and I saw the gleam of satisfaction in the Hebrew’s eyes,
for it had been pawned for five pounds. He, however, was
not aware that it was I who was getting the best of the
bargain.

I drove in a cab back to the Constitutional Club, where I

had left my bag for the night, and the secretary, a friend of
mine, at once cashed a cheque, with the result that within
an hour I had the necklet and deposited it safely in my suit-
case, gratified beyond measure to know that at least I had
baffled the police in the possession of this very suspicious
piece of evidence.

From the Jew I had endeavoured to ascertain casually who

had pledged the ornament, but neither he nor his assistant
recollected. In that particularly improvident part of London
with its floating population of struggling actors and music-
hall artistes, each pawnbroker has thousands of chance
clients, therefore recollection is well-nigh impossible.

Having successfully negotiated this matter, however, a

second and more difficult problem presented itself, namely,
how was I to avoid delivering the letter to Sir Stephen
Layard, the Home Secretary—the Earl’s request that the
Criminal Investigation Department should hound down the
woman I adored?

My duty was to go at once to Pont Street and deliver the

Earl’s note, but my loyalty to my love demanded that I
should find some excuse for withholding it.

I stood on the club steps in Northumberland Avenue

watching the arrivals and departures from the Hotel Victoria
opposite, hesitating in indecision. If I did not call upon Sir
Stephen, then some suspicion might be aroused, therefore I
resolved to see him and during the interview nullify by
some means the urgency of the Earl’s request.

The Cabinet Minister, a middle-aged, clean-shaven man with

keen eyes and very pronounced aquiline features, entered
the library a few minutes after I had sent in my card. He
was in evening clothes, having, it appeared, just dined with
several guests, but was nevertheless eager to serve such a
powerful supporter of his party as the Earl of Stanchester.

We had met before, therefore I needed no introduction, but

instead of delivering the letter I deemed it best to explain
matters in my own way.

“I must apologise for intruding at this hour, Sir Stephen,” I

commenced, “but the fact is that a very curious and tragic
affair has happened in the Earl of Stanchester’s park down
at Sibberton, and he has sent me to ask your opinion as to
the best course to pursue in order to get the police at
Scotland Yard to take up the matter.”

“What, is it a mystery or something?” inquired the well-

known statesman, quickly alert.

I described how the body of the unknown man had been

discovered, but added purposely that the inquest had not
yet been held, and there that were several clues furnished
by articles discovered in the dead man’s pockets.

“Well, the Northampton police are surely able to take up

such a plain, straightforward case as that!” he remarked. “If
not, they are not worth very much, I should say.”

“But his lordship has not much faith in the intelligence of

the local constabulary,” I ventured to remark with a smile.

“Local constables are not usually remarkable for

shrewdness or inventiveness,” he laughed. “But surely at
the headquarters of the county constabulary they have
several very experienced and clever officers. With such
clues there can surely be little difficulty in establishing the
man’s identity.”

“Then you think it unnecessary to place the matter in the

hands of the Criminal Investigation Department?” I
remarked.

“Quite—at least for the present,” was his reply, which

instantly lifted a great weight from my mind. “We must
allow the coroner’s jury to give their verdict, and, at any
rate, give the local police an opportunity of making proper
inquiries before we take the matter out of their hands. I
much regret being unable to assist the Earl of Stanchester
in the matter, but at present I am really unable to order
Scotland Yard to take the matter up. If, however, the local
police fail, then perhaps you will kindly tell him that I shall
be very pleased to reconsider the request, and, if possible,
grant it.” This was exactly the reply I desired. Indeed, I had
put my case lamely on purpose, and had gradually led him
to this decision.

“Of course,” I said, “I will explain to his lordship the exact

position and your readiness to order expert assistance as
soon as such becomes absolutely imperative. By the way,” I
added, “he gave me a note to you.” And I then produced it,
as though an after-thought.

He glanced over it and laid it upon his table, repeating his

readiness to render the Earl all the assistance he could
when the proper time came—the usual evasive reply of the
Cabinet Minister.

Then he shook hands with me, and I left him, reassured

that I had at least prevented the introduction of any of
those clever experts in criminal investigation. The
suspicions against Lolita grew darker every hour, yet even
though they were well-grounded I was determined to save
her.

That broad-shouldered man with whom I had seen her

strolling in the early morning after the tragedy puzzled me
greatly. Had I only obtained sight of him, I should, perhaps,
have learnt the truth. Yet when I reviewed the whole of the
mysterious circumstances my brain became awhirl. They
were bewildering, for the mystery had become even more
inscrutable than it at first appeared.

That my love had some connexion with the affair, I could

not for a moment disguise. Her manner, her very
admissions in themselves convicted her. Therefore I felt that
with the facts of which I was already in possession I had
greater chance than the most expert detective of pursuing
my own inquiries to a successful issue.

On leaving Sir Stephen Layard’s about nine o’clock, I

resolved to ascertain what kind of house was number
ninety-eight in Britten Street, Chelsea, the place where
lived the Frenchwoman, Lejeune. I recollected the
desperate words of my love on the previous night and
wondered whether the death of the unknown man might not
have altered the circumstances. Somehow I had a distinct
suspicion that it might, hence I resolved not to reveal my
presence at the place until I had again consulted Lolita.

The darkness was complete when I alighted from the cab in

the King’s Road, Chelsea, and turned down the rather dark
but respectable street of even two-storied, deep-
basemented houses that ran down towards the
Embankment. It was one of those thoroughfares like
Walpole Street and Wellington Square, where that rapacious
genus, the London landlady, flourishes and grows sleek
upon the tea, sugar and bottled beer of lodgers. In the
night the houses seemed most grimy and depressing, some
of them half-covered by sickly creepers, and others putting
forward an attempt at colour with their stunted geraniums
in window-boxes.

The double rap of the postman on his last round sounded

time after time, by which I knew he was approaching me,
therefore I retraced my steps into the King’s Road and
awaited him.

He had, I noticed, finished his round, therefore a cheery

word and an invitation to have a drink at the flaring public-
house opposite soon rendered us friendly, and without many
preliminaries I explained my reason for stopping him.

“Oh!” laughed the man, “we’re often stopped by people who

make inquiries about those who live on our walks. Number
ninety-eight Britten Street—a Frenchwoman? Oh, yes.
Name of Lejeune. She doesn’t have many letters, but
they’re mostly foreign ones.”

“What kind of people live there?” I inquired, whereupon he

eyed me rather strangely, I thought, and asked—

“You’re not a friend of theirs, I suppose?”

“Not at all. I don’t know them.”

“Well, I’ll tell you in confidence. Mind, however, you don’t let
it out to a single soul—but the fact is that the house is
under the observation of the police, and has been for some
time. Sergeant Bullen, the detective, is on duty up there at
the end of the road,” and he jerked his thumb in that
direction. “He said good-night to me only a minute ago.”

“The place is being watched, then?” I gasped in surprise.

“Yes. They’ve been keeping it under observation night and

day for a week or more. Bullen told me one day that they
expect to make an arrest which will cause a great
sensation.”

“For whom are they lying in wait?”

“Oh, that I’m sure I can’t tell you! The ’tecs, although I
know ’em well, don’t talk very much, you know.” And then,
after some further questions to which I received entirely
unsatisfactory answers, we parted.
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