ave," he snapped. "Who this girl Engledue is I have not a ghost of
an idea. Are you certain she is dead?"

"Positive. I saw her lying dead in the room which adjoins your
library."

"What! My wife's room!" he cried. "Oh, come--let us finish all this
silly talk."

"When you are, at least, frank with me!"

"I am."

"But do you deny that the young lady, Gabrielle Engledue, died there?
Do you not recollect that we both stood at her death-bed?"

"Don't talk such piffle!" De Gex snapped, no doubt believing in the
end that he would convince me of his ignorance of the whole tragedy.

Whatever had happened on that November night was, no doubt, to the
distinct advantage of the wealthy man who stood before me. Yet I was
faced with a difficulty. He had uttered that most ugly word
"blackmail." Suppose he called the police and accused me of it! His
word--the word of a wealthy financier--would, no doubt, be taken by a
jury before my own!

On the other hand, I had up my sleeve a trump-card--the death and
cremation of the mysterious Gabrielle Engledue. Probably the poor
victim was poisoned--hence the object of her cremation to remove all
traces of it! Yet, opposed to that, there still remained my own most
serious offence of posing as a medical man and giving a forged
certificate concerning the cause of death.

Yes. I was only too keenly alive to my own very precarious position.
Yet I was emboldened by De Gex's agitation, and the pallor in his
sallow cheeks.

He was, no doubt, feeling very uneasy. And even a millionaire can feel
uneasy when faced with a witness of his own offence.

"Mr. De Gex, I am not talking rubbish," I said in all seriousness.
"You appear to forget that night when your wife deserted your son in
Westbourne Grove, and then laughed at you over the telephone from a
public call-office."

He looked at me very straight with those deep-set eyes of his.

"Really," he exclaimed. "That is quite a new feature in the affair.
Let me see, what did I tell you?"

"Your man, Horton, invited me, a mere passer-by, into your house in
Stretton Street. He said you were very much worried and asked if I
would meet you. Why? I cannot imagine. When we met you were very vague
in your statements, and at first I could not for the life of me
discover why I had been asked to meet you. But soon you confided to me
the fact that your wife, being spiteful towards you, had abandoned
your heir, little Oswald, in Westbourne Grove, and ha