ion would not suffice. Brett had seen much that is hidden from
public ken in the vagaries of criminals, but he had never yet met a man
wholly bad, and at the same time in full possession of his senses.

To adopt the hasty judgment arrived at by Hume and Mrs. Eastham, Capella
must be deemed capable of murdering his wife's brother, of bringing about
the death of his wife after securing the reversion of her vast property to
himself, and of falling in love with Helen--all in the same breath. This
species of criminality was only met with in lunatics, and Capella
impressed the barrister as an emotional personage, capable of supreme good
as of supreme evil, but quite sane.

The question to be solved was this: Why did Capella and his wife quarrel
in the first instance? Perhaps, that way, light might come.

He asked a footman if Mrs. Capella would receive him. The man glanced at
his card.

"Yes, sir," he said at once. "Madam gave instructions that if either you
or Mr. David called you were to be taken to her boudoir, where she awaits
you."

The room was evidently on the first floor, for the servant led him up the
magnificent oak staircase that climbed two sides of the reception hall.

But this was fated to be a day of interruptions. The barrister, when he
reached the landing, was confronted by the Italian.

"A word with you, Mr. Brett," was the stiff greeting given to him.

"Certainly. But I am going to Mrs. Capella's room."

"She can wait. She does not know you are here. James, remain outside until
Mr. Brett returns. Then conduct him to your mistress."

Capella's tone admitted of no argument, nor was it necessary to protest.
Brett always liked people to talk in the way they deemed best suited to
their own interests. Without any expostulation, therefore, he followed his
limping host into a luxuriously furnished dressing-room.

Capella closed the door, and placed himself gently on a couch.

"Does your friend fight?" he said, fixing his dark eyes, blazing with
anger, intently on the other.

"That is a matter on which your opinion would probably be more valuable
than mine."

"Spare me your wit. You know well what I mean. Will he meet me on the
Continent and settle our quarrel like a gentleman, not like a hired
bravo?"

"What quarrel?"

"Mr. Brett, you are not so stupid. David Hume, notwithstanding his past,
may still be deemed a man of honour in some respects. He treated me
grossly this morning. Will he fight me,