e always said, was, alas! too true. Owing to the
difference of our ages our marriage was a ghastly failure. And now it
has ended in a tragedy."

I responded in words as sympathetic as I could find tongue to utter.
Her eyes were red with crying, and her pretty face was swollen and
ugly. I knew that she now felt a genuine regret at the loss of her
husband, even though her life had been so dull and unhappy.

While she sat in a big armchair bowed in silence, I turned to
Ethelwynn and discussed the situation with her. Their friends were
most kind, she said. The husband was churchwarden at Kew Church, and
his wife was an ardent church worker, hence they had long ago become
excellent friends.

"You have your friend, Mr. Jevons, with you, I hear. Nurse has just
returned and told me so."

"Yes," I responded. "He is making an independent inquiry."

"And what has he found?" she inquired breathlessly.

"Nothing."

Then, as I watched her closely, I saw that she breathed again more
freely. By the manner in which she uttered Ambler's name I detected
that she was not at all well-disposed towards him. Indeed, she spoke
as though she feared that he might discover the truth.

After half-an-hour I left, and more puzzled than ever, returned to the
house in Richmond Road. Sometimes I felt entirely convinced that my
love was authoress of the foul deed; yet at others there seemed
something wanting in the confirmation of my suspicions. Regarding the
latter I could not overlook the fact that Short had told a story which
was false on the face of it, while the utter absence of any motive on
my love's part in murdering the old gentleman seemed to point in an
entirely opposite direction.

Dr. Diplock, the coroner, had fixed the inquest for eleven o'clock on
the morrow; therefore I assisted Dr. Farmer, of Kew, the police
surgeon, to make the post-mortem.

We made the examination in the afternoon, before the light faded, and
if the circumstances of the crime were mysterious, the means by which
the unfortunate man was murdered were, we found, doubly so.

Outwardly, the wound was an ordinary one, one inch in breadth,
inflicted by a blow delivered from left to right. The weapon had
entered between the fourth and fifth ribs, and the heart had been
completely transfixed by some sharp cutting instrument. The injuries
we discovered within, however, increased the mystery ten-fold, for we
found two extraordinary lateral incisions, which almost co