und one morning in his dressing-room,
hanging from a peg affixed to the wall, and Mr. Collier-Stuart and Mr.
Herries had chosen to die as Lord Argentine. There was no explanation
in either case; a few bald facts; a living man in the evening, and a
dead body with a black swollen face in the morning. The police had been
forced to confess themselves powerless to arrest or to explain the
sordid murders of Whitechapel; but before the horrible suicides of
Piccadilly and Mayfair they were dumb-foundered, for not even the mere
ferocity which did duty as an explanation of the crimes of the East End,
could be of service in the West. Each of these men who had resolved to
die a tortured shameful death was rich, prosperous, and to all
appearances in love with the world, and not the acutest research could
ferret out any shadow of a lurking motive in either case. There was a
horror in the air, and men looked at one another's faces when they met,
each wondering whether the other was to be the victim of the fifth
nameless tragedy. Journalists sought in vain in their scrap-books for
materials whereof to concoct reminiscent articles; and the morning paper
was unfolded in many a house with a feeling of awe; no man knew when or
where the blow would next light.

A short while after the last of these terrible events, Austin came to
see Mr. Villiers. He was curious to know whether Villiers had succeeded
in discovering any fresh traces of Mrs. Herbert, either through Clarke
or by other sources, and he asked the question soon after he had sat
down.

'No,' said Villiers, 'I wrote to Clarke, but he remains obdurate, and I
have tried other channels, but without any result. I can't find out what
became of Helen Vaughan after she left Paul Street, but I think she must
have gone abroad. But to tell the truth, Austin, I haven't paid very
much attention to the matter for the last few weeks; I knew poor
Herries intimately, and his terrible death has been a great shock to me,
a great shock.'

'I can well believe it,' answered Austin gravely; 'you know Argentine
was a friend of mine. If I remember rightly, we were speaking of him
that day you came to my rooms.'

'Yes; it was in connection with that house in Ashley Street, Mrs.
Beaumont's house. You said something about Argentine's dining there.'

'Quite so. Of course you know it was there Argentine dined the night
before--before his death.'

'No, I haven't heard that.'

'Oh, yes; the name was kept