at's this?" cried a sharp, imperious voice in French, the
voice of the man in pince-nez, as, next moment, he stood gazing down
upon the dead unknown, who, strangely enough, resembled him in
countenance, in dress--indeed, in every particular.

The startled men halted for a moment, speechless. The situation was
staggering.

Henri Guertin stood there alive, and as he bent over the prostrate
body an astounding truth became instantly revealed: the dead man had
been cleverly made-up to resemble the world-renowned police official.

The reason of this was an entire mystery, although one fact became
plain: he had, through posing as Guertin, been foully and swiftly
assassinated.

Who was he? Was he really the man who came there to suggest suicide in
preference to arrest, or had that strange suggestion been conveyed by
Guertin himself?

The point was next moment decided.

"You see, m'sieur," exclaimed Poland defiantly, turning to the great
detective, "I have preferred to take my trial--to allow the public the
satisfaction of a solution of the problem, rather than accept the
generous terms you offered me an hour ago."

"Terms I offered you!" cried the Frenchman. "What are you saying? I
was not here an hour ago. If you have had a visitor, it must have been
this impostor--this man who has lost his life because he has
impersonated me!"

Philip Poland, without replying, snatched at the detective's left hand
and examined it. There was no ring upon it.

Swiftly he bent beside the victim, and there, sure enough, upon the
dead white finger was revealed the curious ring he had noticed--an
oval amethyst engraved with a coat-of-arms surmounted by a cardinal's
hat--the ring worn by the man who had called upon him an hour before!

THE STORY OF OWEN BIDDULPH

CHAPTER ONE

BESIDE STILL WATERS

If I make too frequent use of the first person singular in these
pages, I crave forgiveness of the reader.

I have written down this strange story for two reasons: first, because
I venture to believe it to be one of the most remarkable sequences of
curious events that have ever occurred in a man's life; and secondly,
by so doing, I am able to prove conclusively before the world the
innocence of one sadly misjudged, and also to set at rest certain
scandalous tales which have arisen in consequence.

At risk of betraying certain confidences; at risk of placing myself in
the unenviable position of chronicler of my own misfortun