All at once he seemed to see a way out of his difficulty. His first step
was to do what he could, in the constantly varying light, to reduce the
statue to its normal state. He removed the curls which had disfigured
her classical brow, and, with his pocket-handkerchief, rubbed most of
the colour from her face; then the cloak had only to be torn off, and
all that could betray him was gone.

Near Charing Cross, Leander told the driver to take him down Parliament
Street, and stop at the entrance to Scotland Yard; there the cabman, at
Leander's request, descended, and stared to find him huddled up under
the gleaming pale arms of a statue.

"Guv'nor," he remarked, "that warn't the fare I took up, I'll take my
dying oath!"

"It's all right," said Leander. "Now, I tell you what I want you to do:
go straight in through the archway, find a policeman, and say there's a
gentleman in your cab that's found a valuable article that's been
missing, and wants assistance in bringing it in. I'll take care of the
cab, and here's double fare for your trouble."

"And wuth it, too," was the cabman's comment, as he departed on his
mission. "I thought it was the devil I was a drivin', we was that down
on the orfside!"

It was no part of Leander's programme to wait for his return; he threw
the cloak over his arm, pocketed his beard, and slipped out of the cab
and across the road to a spot whence he could watch unseen. And when he
had seen the cabman come with two constables, he felt assured that his
burden was in safe hands at last, and returned to Southampton Row as
quickly as the next hansom he hailed could take him.

He entered his house by the back entrance: it was unguarded; and
although he listened long at the foot of the stairs, he heard nothing.
Had the Inspector not come yet, or was there a trap? As he went on, he
fancied there were sounds in his sitting-room, and went up to the door
and listened nervously before entering in.

"Oh, Miss Collum, my poor dear!" a tremulous voice, which he recognised
as his aunt's, was saying, "for Mercy's sake, don't lie there like that!
She's dying!--and it's my fault for letting her come here!--and what am
I to say to her ma?"

Leander had heard enough; he burst in, with a white, horror-stricken
face. Yes, it was too true! Matilda was lying back in his crazy
armchair, her eyes fast closed, her lips parted.

"Aunt," he said with difficulty, "she's not--not _dead_?"

"If she is not," returned h