of his happiness a cloud had gloomed, spoiling for
a time the perfection of it. He could not think of marriage while the
mystery of Dacre Wynne's death remained unsolved. It seemed unthinkable.

Tony West told him he was getting morbid about it, and to have a change.

"Come up to London and see some of your friends," was West's advice. But
Merriton never took it.

'Toinette seemed the only person who understood how he felt, and the
knowledge of this only served to draw them closer together. She, too,
felt that marriage was for the time being unthinkable, and despite
Brellier's constant urging in that direction, she held her ground firmly,
telling him that they preferred to wait awhile.

"I'm going to solve the blessed thing, 'Toinette," Nigel told her over
and over again during these long weeks and days that followed, "if I grow
gray-headed in the attempt. Dacre Wynne was no true friend of mine, but
he was my guest at the time of his disappearance, and I mean to find the
reason of it."

If he had only known what the future held in store for them both, would
he still have clung to his purpose? Who can tell?

It was at night that the thing obsessed him worst. When darkness had
fallen Merriton would sit, evening after evening, looking out upon that
same scene that he had shown his companions that eventful night. And
always the flames danced on their maddening way, mocking him, holding
behind the screen of their brilliancy the key to Dacre Wynne's
inexplicable disappearance. Merriton would sit and watch them for hours,
and sometimes find himself talking to them.

What was the matter with him? Was he going insane? Or was this Dacre
Wynne's abominable idea of a revenge for having stolen 'Toinette's heart
away from him? To have died and sent his spirit back to haunt the man he
hated seemed to Merriton sometimes the answer to the questions which
constantly puzzled him.

CHAPTER IX

THE SECOND VICTIM

The alterations at Merriton Towers were certainly a success, from the
builder's point of view at any rate. White paint had helped to dispel
some of its gloominess, though there were whose who said that the whole
place was ruined thereby. However, it was certainly an improvement to be
able to have windows that opened, and to look into rooms that beckoned
you with promises of cozy inglenooks, and plenty of brilliant sunshine.

Borkins looked upon these improvements with a censorious eye. He was one
of those who