still anxious that you should fully understand. All that
I'm saying to you is beyond question and can be proved at any time by
taking evidence on the spot; it is easily available."

Harry had sat down by now and was listening intently.

"On the morning of the 22nd," Edge pursued in his level methodical way,
"the Comtesse went to the station escorted by Dr Migratz; that was his
name--rather that is his name; he is still alive. On the way they met
the British Vice-Consul, and in reply to inquiries from him said that my
brother had had another attack but had rallied again. Dr Migratz
expressed the opinion that he would live another two days, while Madame
Valfier (the Vice-Consul knew her by that name) was sanguine enough to
talk of the possibility of a recovery. She impressed him very much by
her courage and hopefulness; she was, I may remark, a handsome and
attractive woman. Leaving the Vice-Consul, they reached the station and
there parted. Migratz returned immediately to my brother's house and
remained there, the case being declared to be so critical as to require
unremitting attention. Madame Valfier--the Comtesse--took the train to
Petersburg, reached it that evening, presented the authority early next
morning, and was back about midnight--that being the 23rd. The next day
my brother's death was announced, certified by Migratz, and duly
registered as the law of the place required." He drew a paper from his
pocket. "This is a copy of the entry, showing death on the 24th."

"That document is very familiar to me, Colonel Edge. It gives both
styles, doesn't it?"

"Yes, both styles, but--Well, you see for yourself. My story is done.
With Migratz's connivance--a woman who acted as nurse was squared too,
and her evidence is available--the actual date of death was concealed,
and the Comtesse d'Albreville had time to present her authority and
receive the money. After paying her accomplices their price, she left
Russia with the bulk of it immediately."

Harry glanced at Neeld; the old man's face was full of excitement and
his hand trembled as it lay on the leaves of Josiah Cholderton's
Journal.

"My mother was married to my father on the 23rd," said Harry slowly.

"My brother died on the 22nd," said Wilmot Edge. "He was dead before the
Comtesse started for Petersburg."

Harry made no comment. He sat still and thoughtful.

"Of course I was put on the track of the affair," Edge pursued, "by the
disappearance of the mon