hat can it mean?' he said at length.

'Who knows, Austin, who knows? It's a black business, but I think we had
better keep it to ourselves, for the present at any rate. I will see if
I cannot learn anything about that house through private channels of
information, and if I do light upon anything I will let you know.'

VII

THE ENCOUNTER IN SOHO

Three weeks later Austin received a note from Villiers, asking him to
call either that afternoon or the next. He chose the nearer date, and
found Villiers sitting as usual by the window, apparently lost in
meditation on the drowsy traffic of the street. There was a bamboo table
by his side, a fantastic thing, enriched with gilding and queer painted
scenes, and on it lay a little pile of papers arranged and docketed as
neatly as anything in Mr. Clarke's office.

'Well, Villiers, have you made any discoveries in the last three weeks?'

'I think so; I have here one or two memoranda which struck me as
singular, and there is a statement to which I shall call your
attention.'

'And these documents relate to Mrs. Beaumont? It was really Crashaw whom
you saw that night standing on the doorstep of the house in Ashley
Street?'

'As to that matter my belief remains unchanged, but neither my inquiries
nor their results have any special relation to Crashaw. But my
investigations have had a strange issue. I have found out who Mrs.
Beaumont is!'

'Who she is? In what way do you mean?'

'I mean that you and I know her better under another name.'

'What name is that?'

'Herbert.'

'Herbert!' Austin repeated the word, dazed with astonishment.

'Yes, Mrs. Herbert of Paul Street, Helen Vaughan of earlier adventures
unknown to me. You had reason to recognize the expression of her face;
when you go home look at the face in Meyrick's book of horrors, and you
will know the sources of your recollection.'

'And you have proof of this?'

'Yes, the best of proof; I have seen Mrs. Beaumont, or shall we say Mrs.
Herbert?'

'Where did you see her?'

'Hardly in a place where you would expect to see a lady who lives in
Ashley Street, Piccadilly. I saw her entering a house in one of the
meanest and most disreputable streets in Soho. In fact, I had made an
appointment, though not with her, and she was precise both to time and
place.'

'All this seems very wonderful, but I cannot call it incredible. You
must remember, Villiers, that I have seen this woman, in the ordinary
adventure of