u may call me Doctor, or anything you
please, except Martin Hewitt. Don't forget that!"

There were hurried steps in the hall, a question or two, and the study
door was pushed open. Two servants--they would not venture from the
kitchen singly this dreadful night--made a confused announcement of "Mr.
Myatt," and were instantly pushed aside by Mr. Myatt himself, anxious
and agitated.

The late Mr. Mason's closest scientific friend was a palish,
black-bearded man, of above middle height, with stooping shoulders and a
very quick pair of eyes. There was something about his face that somehow
reminded Hewitt of portraits he had seen of John Knox, and yet it was
not such a face as his; it seemed oddly unlike in its very likeness.

"What is this dreadful news, Mr. Potswood?" he cried. "I heard people
talking in the next street on my way home. Is it true? But the servants
have told me so. They say our poor friend--but there has been an arrest,
hasn't there?"

The rector nodded gravely.

"And who? Tell me about it, Mr. Potswood--tell me!"

"I think I must see how Miss Creswick is doing," said Hewitt, speaking
across to Plummer and making for the door.

"Certainly, doctor, certainly!" answered Plummer with a nod.

Hewitt closed the door behind him, leaving the rector in the full tide
of his account of the day's events; but Hewitt's way took him to the
kitchen, where the servants were cowering and whispering together,
frightened and bewildered.

"Is there any paint or varnish of any sort in the place?" he asked
sharply. "Give me anything there is--black, if possible--and a brush,
quickly."

"There's--there's Brunswick black, sir, for the stove," said the cook.

"That will do; be quick. Oh, there's Gipps, the gardener! You're just
the man I want, Gipps. Come and find me a board or a plank, quick as you
please!" And Hewitt pushed the old gardener before him into the garden
by the kitchen door.

* * * * *

A quarter of an hour later, Mr. Everard Myatt, having heard all that was
to be told of his friend's terrible death and the arrest of Mr. Lawson,
turned to go, meeting Hewitt at the study door on his way.

"And how is poor Miss Creswick by now, doctor?" he asked anxiously.

Hewitt shook his head. "No better than you could expect," he said, "but,
on the whole, no worse. She mustn't be seen to-night, of course, but,
perhaps, if you could call round in the morning with the rector----"

"